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TWENTY-TWO

“Well, that’s nearly everything from one bin!” Lucy chirps. Alex gives her a weak smile. Her fingers are covered in paper cuts and her eyes throb from reading all of the letters on her desk, a full-on mountain of them but nothing that is right for her first column.

“Thanks,” Alex says. As Lucy begins to stack fresh envelopes on her desk, the basket of letters tips, spilling all over her office floor.

“Shit. I’m so sorry,” Lucy says, dropping to the floor and scrambling to gather the letters, stacking them in neat piles.

“It’s okay, really.” She joins Lucy on her hands and knees. “This is probably not in the job description you imagined for yourself when you applied here.”

Lucy rocks back onto her heels, blowing a piece of hair out of her face. “I don’t mind this at all. Truly. I’m from a small town. I never dreamed I’d get to work in an office like this, at a place everyone recognizes when I go back home for Thanksgiving. Even if they might not all like the Herald, they respect it. It means something. This job has been such a good experience for me. I like being an assistant. It’s better here than where I’m from. There’s nothing there.” Her face darkens with some memory of it. Alex swallows. She can relate.

“Have you found the one yet?” Lucy asks.

“For this week? No, not yet. It’s making me a bit nervous, honestly. There are a few here that I feel so connected to, but so far nothing that seems just perfect. And I really want this first one to be the best I can make it.” Alex is tempted to ask her assistant more about Francis. Did she ever have trouble choosing her column each week? Did she just reach in and pick one, or was she more deliberate, more calculating? But she remembers the grief that transformed Lucy’s features when she spoke about her former boss. She should tread lightly.

“Maybe I’m overthinking it,” she says instead.

“It must be a lot of pressure,” Lucy says. “Big shoes to fill and all. But I’m sure you’ll find something soon. I believe in you.”

“Thanks, Lucy,” Alex says, not feeling certain at all. The tapping of footsteps in the hall makes them both pause and look to the door until the sound recedes. “Every time I hear something out there, I keep thinking it’s Howard Demetri.”

Her assistant glances back at the door. She’s gone pale, Alex notices, at the mention of Howard. “Lucy? Is there something wrong?”

“No. Nothing at all,” Lucy says quickly, then stands up and brushes herself off. “I should go get some more letters for us! I’ll come back up later and see if you need anything.”

She gives Alex a bright smile as she leaves. Does it seem a bit forced? Alex wonders as Lucy backs out of the office, glancing along the hall before letting the door close behind her.

She turns back to the letters, now stacked in precise rows on her desk. She selects one from the top of her pile and slides out the single page.