Page 51 of Hello, Summer
“Sounds like Pops,” Grayson said. She tapped her fingertips on the desktop. “You know we can’t run a story like that now, right?”
“Why not?”
“It’s ancient history, Sarah. That happened, what, thirty-four yearsago? Nobody cares about that stuff now. And you especially can’t write about it in light of our esteemed congressman’s untimely death. What? You think theBeaconis gonna run a story telling the world that Charlie Robinette is, literally, a bastard? The week after his old man gets killed in a car wreck? That’s like lighting a bag of dog poop and leaving it on the old man’s grave.”
Conley stared openmouthedly at her sister. “You can’t be serious.”
“Dead serious,” Grayson said. “Granddaddy was right. It is beneath our dignity, especially now.”
“Dignity? We’re a newspaper. Who cares about dignity? We publish the news. Facts. Good or bad, they’re the facts. Look, I know that back in the day, the press looked the other way when politicians behaved badly. They ignored JFK’s affairs, but that all changed with Bill Clinton. Symmes Robinette was an elected official. If I can prove what Rowena claims, then Vanessa was a member of his staff when she got pregnant with his kid, which means he was bonking her while she was on the government payroll.”
Grayson stood up from her desk and glared at her younger sister. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re notThe New York TimesorThe Atlanta Journal-Constitution.We are the by-GodSilver Bay Beacon.We are a tiny, struggling weekly paper, and we’ve managed to stay in business because this town considers us part of the community.” She tapped the page proofs she’d been working on. “These ads might not seem like a big deal to you, but they’re what keep the lights on and the press rolling around here. The community’s goodwill keeps us in business.”
Conley returned her glare, and suddenly, she felt they were right back in the living room at Felicity Street, teenagers bickering over whose turn it was to borrow their father’s Buick. She took a deep breath and tried to tamp down her anger.
“So what? You want me to write a puff piece about Robinette? Overlook any inconvenient facts that might tarnish his heretofore sterling reputation?”
“Not a puff piece,” Grayson said. “The facts. The police report, a statement from his office, list of accomplishments, like that.”
Conley went out to her new desk and picked up the press release. Itwas printed on letterhead from the U.S. House of Representatives. She read it over, then carried it back to Grayson’s office.
“Here,” she said, her voice dripping acid. “Here’s your story. Symmes Robinette, war hero, champion of freedom, defender of democracy, beloved colleague, husband, and father. Why bother paying me any of theBeacon’s good money? Just run this, verbatim. Or better yet, let Rowena write your story. She’s already all over it. Made a trip to the funeral home just this morning to pick up the obituary.”
“Damn it, Sarah,” Grayson started. “What? You’re quitting?”
“Damn straight,” Conley said. “And for the last time, my name is Conley.”
She’d driven halfway around the square, her hands still shaking with barely suppressed rage, when her cell phone rang. It was G’mama. Had Grayson already called to tattle about their fight?
“Sarah?”
“Yes, ma’am,” she said wearily.
“Are you still downtown?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Oh, good. I was wondering if you could pick up a prescription for me. Sean called to say it was ready, and he even offered to bring it out here to the Dunes, which was so sweet of him, but I told him I thought maybe you’d pick it up.”
“Happy to,” Conley said.
“How is your research on Symmes Robinette coming along?”
“I’ll tell you about it when I get home,” Conley said. She didn’t feel up to explaining her sudden resignation over the phone.
“Fine,” Lorraine said. “See you soon.”
Kelly’s Drugs hadn’t changed much over the years. The big neon sign outside, in the shape of a mortar and pestle, still hung over the front door. A spinner rack near the front held comic books and paperback romance novels. The soda fountain ran along the left side of the store,and the pharmacy was at the back. The black-and-white checkerboard linoleum floor tiles were a little more scuffed, and the prices posted on the menu board by the lunch counter had of course increased, but that was about it.
“Hello there!” a woman’s voice called from the back. Conley was startled to see June Kelly perched on a high-backed stool behind the pharmacy counter. “Can I help you?”
Conley stared. June Kelly seemed to be her old self today. Her white hair was freshly coiffed, her lipstick seamlessly applied. She wore the starched lab coat with her name above the pocket.
“Sarah?” Miss June said, studying the new customer. “Sarah Hawkins!” She bustled around the counter and gave Conley a warm hug. “Where have you been hiding yourself?”
“Um, well,” Conley stammered, at a loss for words. “I guess I’ve been working.”
“How’s your daddy’s bursitis?” she asked. “Is Chet taking the medication Patrick prescribed?”
