“That’s a nice story.” Ross smiled warmly. “So what happened? Were you okay?”
“Oh, sure, I was fine. It was a routine—” Her smile suddenly broke down and she pressed a tissue to her eyes. “I’m sorry, I usually don’t get emotional like this. It was just a bad time.”
“Neela, what is it?”
She took a deep breath. “My father was trying to rescue a young child in a burning apartment building that night. The roof collapsed. I never saw him again.”
Ross placed his arm around her and drew her close. She laid her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes to the sounds of family members in the room sobbing uncontrollably.
“I hate covering tragedies,” she said softly.
“It’s all right,” he whispered, not wanting to let go.
Griffin was naturally attractive, but it wasn’t that quality that drew Ross in. It was her sense of caring. This was a woman who felt for others. It was a quality he had always admired. He gently held her hand. She responded with an appreciative sigh.
“I’m supposed to eat,” Griffin finally spoke. “Are you hungry?”
“I am, but I don’t have a clue about the area. If you can drive, I’ll follow you. It’s got to be simple and quick and I could use something hot. Anything but fast food.”
Two miles away and open 24/7, George Webb’s was a traditional stool-and-counter restaurant and a Milwaukee landmark specializing in homemade soups and signature décor — two wall clocks synchronized down to the sweep of the second hand.
They ordered.
Griffin’s eyelids drooped slightly, and she gave out a long yawn. “You know what’s really frustrating as a local reporter? You wait for hours before anybody gives out any information. Everything’s so secretive. Then the national network teams arrive and immediately get preferential access. I heard someone already asking family members how they felt. That really bugs me.”
“That’s bad,” Ross agreed. “I’m not proud of this, but one time I got in a fight at a press conference. Some arrogant reporter from the Associated Press was badgering a woman who’d lost her son. The guy was actually demanding that she answer his questions. I grabbed the collar on his fur coat and yanked him outside.” Ross sighed. “He was a real idiot, and it was ugly. I was a lot younger then and guess I took things a little too personal.”
“He had a fur coat?”
“Yeah. Full-length rabbit or something. It really set me off.”
The waitress arrived with two steaming bowls of chicken noodle soup.
Ross reached into his jacket and tore open a small red bag.
Griffin wrinkled her nose. “Never saw anyone do that before. But I did hear that pumpkin seeds are a great source of protein.”
Ross wasn’t certain if she was being sincere or simply patronizing him and his quirky habit. He offered to share. She politely declined.
“How do you like working for Fox?”
“It’s okay, I guess. I’m sort of on probation. They think I’m a problem child. I try and make an impact, but then I also try and do what’s right. Sometimes the whole local news business drives me crazy, especially the corny coverage. Every time I suggest something, they tell me that it’s either too politically sensitive or doesn’t fit the station’s image. I hate fluff. I can’t seem to find a happy medium.”
“How long have you worked there?”
“Funny you should ask. Tomorrow’s my six-year anniversary and the official end of my three-year contract. I’m not looking forward to renegotiating. What about you? I suppose you were right in the middle of 9/11—shoot, I completely forgot. Excuse me.” She dialed her phone.
“Newsroom,” a youthful voice answered.
“Robby, this is Neela. Did Susan add any extra time for me tomorrow?”
“Hmmm, I didn’t see her today. I don’t think so, but let me check… nope, sorry. Hey, Neela? Nice job on the exclusive today.”
She thanked him and clicked off.
The elderly white-haired man standing at the cash register couldn’t stop his hand from shaking and dropped several coins. Griffin scurried after them. On her knees, she stretched under an empty booth. She returned the coins and then straightened one of the man’s suspenders. He smiled warmly.
Ross mused to himself. He contrasted the scene with Marcia cursing angrily at a disabled man with a walker who couldn’t move fast enough in a grocery aisle.
“What are you smiling at?” she asked.
“That was a very nice thing to do,” Ross replied.
“He reminded me of my grandfather. I’ve always believed that we owe the elderly. They built what we have today. Sometimes I think that we treat them like a forgotten class of citizens. When’s the last time you saw them marching for their rights?”
Ross was staring at her face again, mesmerized by the symmetry. Her eyes, nose, and mouth were perfectly balanced on her face, outlined by shimmering black hair. But his probing went beyond the physical. Neela Griffin. He didn’t know a thing about her, but he still felt at ease. She was genuine. She was different. But why? he wondered. It was crazy. He’d known her for a total of two hours. Both Marcia and Neela were interesting, intelligent, and attractive women. Why the difference? One has a caring heart, and the other doesn’t. Could it be that simple?
She waved her hand. “Hellooo, anybody listening?”
“Huh? Oh, I’m really sorry,” Ross apologized. “It’s been a long day. Um, the elderly. I guess I never thought about that before, but I tend to agree.”
“Are you that tired, or am I boring you?”
Ross straightened himself. “You, my friendly reporter, are definitely not boring. I’m just… I was… I’m a little nervous.”
“I make you nervous?”
Ross felt his pulse quicken and reached for his water. Three voices were screaming: one daring, one cautious, and one logical. Go on, say it. Tell her how you feel. Tell her you like being with her.
No. She’ll think you’re weird. Weird or desperate.
You just met. Wait for a better time.
No — you don’t have any time. Just say it.
“I wanted to tell you that I—” His cell phone started to vibrate. He glanced at the number and turned it off.
Griffin noticed the time and opened her purse. “I’m really tired too. This is compliments of Fox, agreed?”
“Are you married?” Ross blurted.
“Not anymore,” Griffin replied matter-of-factly.
“But you were?”
She pondered that. “Sort of.”
“What does that mean?”
“Who’s interviewing whom? This is my ten minutes. What about you?”
“Your time has expired. No comment.”
“No way, mister,” she said playfully. “You don’t get away that easily.”
“I don’t want to get away. What’s your cell?” Ross asked. They exchanged numbers. “Let’s continue this another time. Please?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Why?”
“Because you owe me.”
“For what?”
“A new shirt. I prefer dark-blue, collared polos with short sleeves and one pocket. How about tomorrow? We could celebrate your contract renewal?”
“I can’t. I’m just swamped,” she said. “And I’m sorry about your shirt. I think it got tossed.”
“No big deal.” Ross downplayed the obvious rejection. “Good grief, what am I thinking? I’ll be lucky to see anyone for the foreseeable future.”
Griffin produced a business card and patted his hand gently. “Thanks again. I need to go. You should too.”
Ross escorted her to the parking lot and watched her speed away. His cell phone buzzed once. It was Neela. The text message said, Shirt size?