Earning Edie (Espinoza Boys #1) (10 page)

“I’m sorry,” he murmured into my ear. “I don’t want to do it.”

I jerked away from him. “Then why are you?”

I stood up and began pacing. Nick watched me with a pained expression, and stood up too.

“Someone told my boss you lived here. I told her we didn’t know each other before the column, and that nothing was going on between us. But it wasn’t good enough. If I don’t write this column, she’ll fire me.”

Damn
. I met his eyes, and I could see he honestly felt bad about it. That was more remorse than he’d ever shown about the first column. Maybe I’d begun to make him think about his actions, even if it didn’t help in this situation. I watched him, trying to decide if I should give him the forgiveness he wanted.

I wouldn’t — couldn’t — ask him to choose my happiness over his job. I was living with him, as dependent on his paycheck as he was. But beyond that, it wouldn’t be right. I’d said those things about my parents; they should have the right to respond. I hated to think of their angry words in print, but there wouldn’t be many people I knew who read it. These days, my social circle was small anyway: Nick, Lily, Tequila and my boss Joy.

“Okay,” I said quietly.

Nick collapsed onto the couch and dropped his face into his hands. “I’m sorry.”

This time,  I sat close to him and wrapped my arm around his waist. I leaned my head on his shoulder. “It’s okay.”

I felt him tense up, so I pulled away. He turned toward me, his eyes intense.

“It’s not okay. I shouldn’t have let it get to me so much when they threatened to kill the column. I never would have acted so irresponsibly—”

“What are you talking about?”

He sighed and slumped back against the couch. He was still wearing black slacks and a gray striped button-down. Usually he changed the second he got home. His shirt was all wrinkled, and I kind of liked seeing him look a little less than perfect.

“They gave me eight weeks to save my column. They said I had to start writing more compelling content to prove it was worthwhile.”

“Ah, and this started when?”

He smiled ruefully. “I found out the day you graduated.”

My eyes widened, and he nodded.

“Yep. I was trying to come up with a better column topic at the last minute, and I was having total writer’s block, and that party was screaming outside my door. And then I went into the hall, and there you were.”

I had the urge to let him off the hook in that moment. It was the first time I realized Nick wasn’t solely responsible for his bad decision that night. Management had put pressure on him, and he’d responded to it poorly. But ultimately he made the decision to do what he did, so I swallowed down the words of sympathy I wanted to extend.

Nick, unaware of my internal struggle, continued with the story. “I just stepped out to grab a drink and distract myself a few minutes. I wasn’t making any progress, so I needed a few minutes to clear my head. But it was so crowded down there,” he mused. “When I saw you, I didn’t think, ‘There’s a story.’ I thought, ‘There’s someone else who isn’t into this party either.’ You looked like you didn’t want any company.”

“So you decided to come talk to me?” I said, my voice tinged with disbelief.

He chuckled. “Yup. I was pretty sure you wouldn’t try to hit on me or puke on me, and in that moment, I just wanted someone to chat with, just to get out of my own headspace. Plus, I was curious why you weren’t down there. If you were shy, or antisocial, or if someone had harassed you.” He shrugged. “Anyway, stumbling on your story was an accident.”

He turned and made eye contact for the first time since he’d started his explanation. His gaze was intense, like he was desperate to convince me of something.

“I didn’t set out to make you into a story, but the more I heard the more compelling it seemed. I thought it was sad your parents weren’t more supportive, and I thought your story was a message that would be meaningful to other people. I didn’t mean for it to hurt you; it honestly never occurred to me there would be so much fallout. But I never got a chance to tell you what your story really meant. I got a lot of feedback on that column, and people were moved by it, by you. You put a face on a problem that’s probably not as uncommon as we think it is.”

I chewed on my lip a minute, thinking over his words. Was it possible my story would make an impression on a distracted parent and encourage them to pay more attention to their kid? Or maybe simply show another student out there they weren’t alone in their frustration at being overlooked? Maybe.

“I never really thought about it that way. If we had it all to do again, and I knew the full story, I wouldn’t volunteer to be your subject. But … I’m glad there’s some good to come out of it.”

Nick grasped my hand and squeezed gently.

“I am sorry, you know. I didn’t really act like it when you confronted me. But I’ve had a first row seat to how it’s affected your life, and I wish I hadn’t made things more difficult for you.” He wrinkled his nose in distaste. “And I really don’t want to write this follow-up with your parents. I hope you know that.”

I shrugged a shoulder. “I understand.”

“I feel awful. I thought about calling Tanya’s bluff, you know, just telling her she’d have to fire me. But she’d probably just get someone else to write it anyway. This way, I have some control—”

“Nick,” I interrupted. “It’s okay. I know you don’t have a choice. I don’t expect you to give up your job.”

“I’d deserve it, though.”

“If I wanted you to lose your job, I could have complained to your boss. Look, I don’t really care about the article. Most people I know probably won’t read it.”

He made a pained face at that.

“Sorry, just being honest,” I added.

“It’s fine. I have no right to feel bad about anything, except what a jerk I was to you when we met.” He turned to me. “You can say anything you want to me. Have at it.”

“There’s not much else to say.” I shuddered and waved my hands in the air. “Enough of that terrible topic. Let’s talk about something else.”

I shifted forward, and grabbed up the takeout menus. “Do you feel guilty enough to buy me dinner?” I asked and batted my eyes at him playfully.

He grabbed the Pizza Hut menu out of my hand. “Only if I get to choose what we eat.”

I sighed. “Order away.”

CHAPTER 8

Week 3

Headline
: Two sides to every story

Byline
: Nick Espinoza

Lead-in
: The Lonely Graduate column printed recently raised a lot of questions about families, and their responsibility to support each other. But, as with everything, there’s more than one side to a story. This week, I talked with Edie Mason’s parents, Paul and Debra Mason, and Sheila Staples about their perspective on Edie’s solo walk across the graduation stage …

NICK

As much as I’d procrastinated, the day arrived that I had to interview Edie’s parents, so I headed over to Debra and Paul Mason’s unassuming ranch home.

I had mixed feelings as I took a long drink of iced tea and looked around Edie’s former home. On the one hand, I dreaded this interview. On the other, I looked forward to it. I didn’t want to write a story that would hurt Edie again, but I couldn’t deny I was curious as hell to get a little sneak peek into her life.

The living room was neat and orderly, if a little too floral. The matching sofa and armchair boasted matching violet blooms on a creamy background just begging for the glass to slip from my fingers. My lips twitched as I fought off a smile at the outrage I imagined it would cause Mrs. Mason if I were to stain her perfect furniture. The carpet, too, was light. The place was very Stepford wives, and frighteningly clean and organized.

To be honest, it’s not what I would have expected of Edie’s home. I’m not sure why. I pictured peeling wallpaper and dingy, sagging couches — something to represent the lackluster care her parents seemed to have for her. But everything here was perfectly average. Perfectly bland, too.

Debra settled on the sofa next to me, a smile on her face, while Paul took the armchair. I hated that I was here to interview them. I could have done it over the phone, of course, but I couldn’t pass up the chance to see Edie’s infamous parents. Directly after this, I was headed to her mom’s place.

“Thanks for the tea,” I said, favoring Debra with a smile.

I’d asked Edie for a little background to prep myself for this meeting, and she’d mentioned I was her step-mom’s favorite columnist. The look on Debra’s face now said I was in the penalty box but the game wasn’t over. So, I turned on the charm.

“I don’t usually get such a nice reception for an interview, especially under these circumstances.”

“Yes, well.” She sniffed and flashed a look at her husband before turning to me. “We’re not the terrible people Edie made us out to be. And we just want to share our side of the story.”

I nodded, and leaned forward to place the tea glass on the coffee table. Debra immediately picked it up and slipped a coaster under it.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, as I pulled out a copy of the column I’d originally written about Edie’s relationship with her parents.

Debra’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you have that?” she asked, the last word loaded with so much disgust you’d think I was holding a bag of dog crap.

“Just for reference, to be sure you’ve gotten a chance to address each point,” I said, keeping my tone light.

Paul hadn’t said a word yet. I glanced at him, and he was staring into space. Taking out a tape recorder, I paused with my finger over the record button.

“Are you ready to start?”

“Yes,” Debra said.

I waited a beat, but Paul didn’t speak. “Mr. Mason?”

He grunted. Debra nodded, and leaned in close. “He’s in a lot of pain this time of day. Please start.”

I nodded uncertainly, glancing again at Paul’s glassy stare. I glanced down at the column that had started this mess, and began asking questions.

“The night I met Edie, she told me you did not attend her graduation. Is that correct?”

“Yes,” Debra said stiffly. “Paul was unwell.”

“I see,” I said. “Did you tell Edie you wouldn’t be there, then? Ahead of time?”

Her mouth tightened. “I don’t recall. It’s not uncommon for her father to be too ill to go places. It should have been no surprise.”

Fair enough. Common courtesy would seem to dictate letting someone know you wouldn’t be attending an event in their honor, but if it was a common state of affairs, perhaps it wasn’t unreasonable for Edie to expect as much without notice. I would try to give Debra the benefit of the doubt.

“What about her 15th and 18th birthdays?” I said. “Edie indicated that neither of you celebrated with her those years. She seemed to think you’d forgotten her 15th birthday entirely, and that you’d told her she was old enough to celebrate on her own when she turned 18.”

Debra rolled her eyes and sighed. “Yes, it’s such a sad life. Just like ‘Sixteen Candles.’ You know, that movie from the Eighties with Molly Ringwald?” I nodded my understanding, and she kept going. “It was such a favorite of Edie’s. I imagine she just embellished the truth, wanted to imagine herself a martyr who would capture the handsome boy.”

She paused and gave me a pointed look.

“She didn’t strike me as a liar,” I said.

“She’s not a liar.”

Paul’s voice made me jump. I turned toward him, but Debra was already talking over him again.

“No, not a liar, but she exaggerates, certainly.”

Paul sighed. I got the impression he had long ago given up forcing his voice against the steamroller that was his wife. But Edie was his daughter. He needed to stand up for her.

I bit my cheek to resist speaking up in her defense.
I am here to be unbiased, not to stand up for her character
, I reminded myself.

“So, you did remember her birthday those years?” I asked, just to be sure.

“Of course!” Debra said.

“Did you hold a party, or give her presents?” God, I was supposed to be a journalist, and here I was interrogating a couple of parents about a girl’s birthday. Why did I ever write that God-forsaken column?

Edie had seemed so forlorn that night, like an unloved puppy. Still, I should have never printed such a he-said, she-said article. I was trained better than that.

“Well, no,” Debra said. “The year she turned 15 was a very tough year. She’d only recently moved in with us from her mother’s, and there was a lot of anger in her. She point-blank said she couldn’t imagine a party without her mom there. She was very upset that her mother was angry about the move. And this last year, she turned 18. Surely, that’s old enough to have friends to plan parties for her. She didn’t need us for that.”

“That explains why you didn’t hold a party when she turned 15. But didn’t you wish her happy birthday, or offer to have a quiet birthday dinner? Something to mark the occasion.”

Debra huffed. “I honestly can’t remember that far back. I’m sure we did.”

“I see.” I decided to go another direction. “She mentioned you had never been to a parent-teacher conference, or visited her school.”

Debra made an angry hissing noise. “So hateful, so ungrateful,” she said. “She should have been happy to be living in our nice house instead of in that sty with her mother!”

“Deb,” Paul said in a pained voice.

“It’s true, Paul. She just came barging into our lives and then expected the royal treatment. She’s not a princess, she—”

“That’s enough,” Paul snapped. But now I was curious.

“She came barging in?” I asked.

She was Paul’s daughter. How exactly did a daughter get blamed for her appearance in her parent’s life?

“She moved in just before her 15th birthday,” Debra said. “Before that, she always lived with her mom. That’s who you should be talking to.”

I nodded. “I will talk to her, as well.”

I ran down the rest of my questions, touching on the other disappointments I had highlighted in the first column. Each time, Debra gave me a half-truth, avoided the question or tried to redirect me by complaining about Edie’s lack of appreciation. I was noticing a pattern.

Taken one at a time, the offenses didn’t seem so large. A missed birthday. Missed conferences at school. A missed graduation. But taken together it painted a picture of parents who couldn’t be bothered to take an interest in their daughter. And that hurt her. I had seen it firsthand the night we met, though she tried to cover her sadness with self-deprecating humor. I had seen the damage to Edie, the feeling she was unworthy of anyone’s notice.

I turned off the recorder and stuffed the column clipping back into my pocket. I’d afforded Debra an opportunity to say whatever she wanted about how she viewed their relationship and their parenting of Edie. She’d given me more than enough material about their good intentions, Paul’s illness that preoccupies their time and a daughter who didn’t appreciate what she was given. I didn’t want to use any of it, but I would. I didn’t have a choice.

On a whim, I asked if I could see Edie’s room. She’d been living in my house, sleeping in my bed, and I found myself curious to see what her own space would look like.

“She doesn’t have a room anymore,” Debra said.

My eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Oh?”

“We turned it into a craft room,” she said. “It’s not as if she needs it now, is it?”

Not when you’ve kicked her out.

I forced a tight smile. “So, you don’t expect she’ll want to visit, then?”

“She can visit; she just can’t stay overnight. I suppose there’s always the couch in an emergency.”

I nodded again. “I understand. And, Mr. and Mrs. Mason, I do want to apologize for writing that first column. I hope you understand Edie didn’t realize I was going to print her comments. So, perhaps you’ll forgive her for speaking out of turn.”

Debra snorted. “Whether her thoughts were going in print or not, it’s how she felt. She spewed poison to a stranger.”

“Maybe. But it was a party, and all kids complain about their parents, right? It seems worse in black and white.”

I stood up and extended my hand, and Debra shook it. “Thank you so much for your time,” I said, adding a beaming smile.

That brightened her up. She patted my arm.

“Play your cards right, Nick, and you just might be my favorite columnist again. Do you think you can do that?”

My lips pressed together tightly to keep my words in. I desperately wanted to tell her that not only did I not care about being her favorite columnist, I’d prefer she not read my column at all.

I gave a stiff nod and walked out the door. One interview down, one more to go. It couldn’t be any worse, right?

Edie’s mother’s house was more as I’d originally imagined her childhood home. I pulled into the address, and looked up at a teal blue trailer battered by hail. The porch was cluttered with two junked computers that were years outdated. I stepped out into gravel, and made my way up the steps. The screen door opened before I knocked.

“Hello,” Sheila Staples said, with a close-mouthed smile. “There’s not a lot of space in there. Ray is working on his computers. Can we just sit on the bench out here?”

She gestured to a worn wooden bench I hoped would hold our weight.

I nodded. “Can I just use your bathroom real quick?” I couldn’t miss my chance to get a peek at this side of Edie’s life.

She heaved a sigh but nodded. “Fine.”

I followed her inside, and noticed a head of thinning dark hair bent over the insides of a computer hard drive. The living room was chock full of junked out computer towers and monitors, some stacked several high and looking none too steady. A few battered tablets and old cell phones also lay on a counter nearby. Ray had apparently developed a niche in outdated technology, something for the people who couldn’t afford the hundreds of dollars it cost to get the newest tech gadgets, I supposed.

A small path one body wide weaved through the room to a hallway. Sheila led me back to the bathroom, and I shut myself in. I actually could pee after all that tea from Debra. So, I did my business and then made my way back to the front door.

“Mr. Staples,” I called, and his head popped up from the computer he tinkered on.

“Eh?”

“Just wanted to say hello. I’m the reporter who wrote about Edie before…” I trailed off at his blank look.

He nodded. “Sheila’s out on the porch.”

“Thanks.” I lifted a hand in good-bye and stepped outside to interview Edie’s mom.

She was more lucid than Paul and more sympathetic than Debra. Though she, too, ignored many of her daughter’s needs, her excuses rang more true than Debra’s evasive answers.

“Edie was just always such a good girl. She was a great student,” her mom said with a small smile. When she smiled genuinely, I noticed she was missing several teeth. “I guess I never realized it bothered her that I didn’t check up on her at school. It never seemed necessary, and as a single mother, I really didn’t have the time.”

“Single?”

“I met Ray later on, when she was a teen. She went to live with Paul not long after. They had a bigger house, a nicer one. Edie started to think she was too good for this place. Too good for me.”

Bitterness edged her words.

“You were angry she left?”