Page 63 of In a Word, Yes

Except that instead, he clomps across the lobby without even doing me the courtesy of a side-glance and disappears out the front door. The bells are still clanging a split second later when Sam sticks his head back in.

“See you tomorrow,” he says without making eye contact. “Take care, Lucy.”

I stare after him. It feels as if the timeworn floor planks beneath me have opened up and are swallowing me whole. Sam scouring his coffee mug is a minor matter compared to this.

Never in five years has Sam suggested I “take care.”

***

One by one my coworkers bail early, leaving me little to do. Seeing as the day is an emotional bust, with no one at liberty to discuss things, I follow suit. I skitter from room to room, turning off lights, adjusting the heat setting. In Sam’s office, my eyes catch on the photo of his sizable extended family. I’ve lost track of the current total of Sam and Noleen’s grandchildren. Here they’re all fanned out in front of a lake sparkling like a thousand diamonds. Everyone looks relaxed and tan and happy.

It’s been a long time since I saw Sam so unburdened. For all the man does, his salary is a pittance. For decades this paper has been a labor of love.

I run my eyes over the wall of framed certificates and awards theMessengerreceived over the years. Circling back to the lobby, I slide the strap of my bag over my shoulder and then pause in front of a bulletin board layered with cards and letters representing a million thank-yous. Grateful readers. Starry-eyed teenagers given the chance to intern here. Recipients of theMessenger’s coveted college scholarship. Some of these kids went on to pursue their journalism dreams.

Pride swells in my chest, as I count myself part of somethingso integral to the richness of life in this tight-knit community. My community.

Is it all coming to an end? Is that what’s happening here?

I feel like I’m grieving, but I don’t know what for. And yet, this is my chance. Here is where the rubber meets the road. Will I choose to trust that no matter what comes next, there’s a greater plan? I’ve mastered my current job. My current life. Doing the same things day in, day out doesn’t demand much of me.

Is it really even faith if it costs me nothing?

Chase’s hugs are few and far between. Oh, how I crave one now. I want to be honest with my son about life’s challenges. Still, until the facts are out, there’s nothing to be gained by allowing him to see me carrying this weight.

A bit of tension melts away when I walk past the message board outside the veterinarian’s office.

Free belly rubs

Sorry, pets only

After retrieving my car from home, I’m still in possession of a luxurious slice of time to kill before picking up my guy. Thoughts churn as I drive aimlessly through town. Moments later, I look up to find that I’ve parked outside one of my happy places.

From the ginormous bin of carving pumpkins in front of Homer’s Hardware, I select one that’s adorably round and squat. The Danny DeVito of pumpkins. Next I pluck a few bright orange mini pumpkins from a basket. This here is my definition of retail therapy.

But if there’s a single messed-up shopping cart in the bunch, I’m sure to find it. This one crabs to the right. Inside Homer’s, I’m about to force the cart left at the tall gumball machine that looks like it belongs in an arcade when Silas pops his head up from behind the paint counter.

“Lucy ... Lucy ... Lucy...” he croons, a decibel or three louderthan is generally considered appropriate. The owner’s grandson is gawky and loud, but no one seems to hold this against him.

He’s also Dot and Tony’s son.

Silas makes a finger gun. “’Sup?”

“Hey, Silas,” I say, turning toward the display of batteries. One can never have too many double-As.

I blink, and inexplicably Silas is now in front of me. Single vault over the paint counter? The dude is well over six foot and as slim as a number two pencil, so ... maybe? He’s a funny one for sure.

“So, I hear we’ve been two ships passing in the night,” he says in typical deadpan fashion. Which always makes him hard to read. Harmless, just hard to read.

“We ... what?”

Silas slips off his wire-rimmed glasses. He looks like an altogether different person. “I’m just messin’ with ya, Lucy. Mom says you guys came for dinner.”

I can’t seem to look away even as he spits onto the thick lenses and then polishes them using the bottom of his plaid Western snap shirt. “That’s right,” I say. “Too bad you couldn’t join us.”

“I know, right? Me and a buddy were way out past Prineville, geocaching.”

“Sounds fun.” Note to self, this seems like an activity Chase might someday enjoy. “Hey,” I say in a low if-you-know-you-know voice, “got any of the good stuff today?”