The Lives Between Us (3 page)

“I...”
Temper, Skye.
She clamped her mouth shut. “I don’t editorialize.”

“You were sent out to cover the opening of the butterfly pavilion at the zoo, yet you ended up lambasting Republicans for their lack of environmental foresight—over a butterfly.”

“Not just any butterfly. The Fender’s blue butterfly was the most-hyped butterfly at the exhibit, and—”

“It’s a
butterfly
, Skye,” Karen broke in. She moved her reading glasses down her nose to stare at her. “An insect in Oregon—not even Michigan. And the piece about the new laser treatment for the woman with the birth defect—”

“Andy Sullivan.” She had a huge hemangioma disfiguring her face, causing visual problems and decades of curious stares. Poor Andy endured multiple surgeries throughout her thirty years until Dr. Anderson came up with a revolutionary treatment to permanently erase the stubborn tissue. It’d been a good human-interest story. “What about it?”

“You made it about gay rights.”

“I did not. I wrote about the amazing surgery and how it changed her life for the better.”

“And then you slammed Republicans for not extending medical benefits to cover gay partners.”

She shifted in her seat. “I just thought it was important to point out that though her life was drastically improved by this amazing new laser technique, it wasn’t fair that she’s now saddled with fifty-thousand dollars of medical bills she would not have had to pay had she been the significant other of a heterosexual partner. The public has a right to know.”

“Not from you, they don’t. Your work is becoming more brazen with each piece—and it was my lapse in judgment to have allowed it, but it stops now. Lay off Senator Hastings before we get slapped with a slander suit.”

“It’s on record that he supported House Bill 4770,” Skye muttered.

Karen’s steady glare over her reading glasses indicated she wasn’t interested in the facts.

Geesh. Surely a politician had a tougher skin than to complain about her mild criticisms of him. Skye raised her eyebrows. “Has he complained?”

“Not yet—and you’d better not give him any further reason to. Nothing like the air-conditioning for the elderly article.”

She sat up straight in her seat. “Now that was a
good
piece.”

“It was very touching reporting on a good Samaritan who donated two hundred air-conditioners to the poor elderly in Detroit, until—” Karen picked up the newspaper and slid her red reading glasses onto her pointy nose, “—we get to the part where, ‘such generosity wouldn’t have been necessary if lawmakers such as our own esteemed Senator Hastings, had seen the value of passing a law that would have granted tax credits on utilities for elderly.’”

Skye inwardly winced.

Karen laid down the paper, pulled her reading glasses down the bridge of her nose, and stared at Skye. “Lay off Hastings.”

“Gotcha.”

“I assume your next work is in my inbox?”

“As soon as I return to my desk.”
And delete a few sentences.

“Great.”

Dismissed, Skye slipped out of the room, muttering, “Damn Hastings. How can the man get me in so much trouble without even trying?”

“Hey, what’s up?” Jenny Grant followed her into her cubby and dropped into the chair beside Skye’s desk.

Jenny was the newspaper's golden child. She’d won the Pulitzer for distinguished feature writing and a few local awards, bringing prestige to their paper. Skye was lucky that for some reason, Jenny had decided to take her under her wing.

Skye pushed the send key. “Nothin’ much, just fighting with my printer and getting chewed out by Karen.”

“Why’d Karen chew you out?”

“Apparently my work’s been leaning a bit too close to editorializing.” She spun around to face Jenny.

“Spotlight pieces are supposed to be simple ‘feel good’ reporting.”

Feel good pieces were not going to get her noticed. “Bo-ring. I figured that finding the twist that gave it a little more substance would be seen as taking initiative—but apparently not.”

Jenny smiled. “I read your ‘twists.’ The one on gay couple rights was clever—inappropriate, but clever. The air conditioner article was a definitely over-the-top. I couldn’t believe Karen didn’t strike your slam on the senator before it went to press. She undoubtedly heard about that from the brass.”

“Maybe it was slightly indiscreet.”

Jenny’s eyebrows shot up. “Ya think? If you’ve got such an interest in politics, why don’t you ask to cover the legislative beat?”

“Me? Politics?” Fear quickly replaced the initial surge of excitement and hope. “I hate politics. I don’t know the first thing about it.”

“Could have fooled me.”

“Seriously. I don’t think I even took a government class. Never had the patience to wade through all the BS.”

“So? Learn.”

“I didn’t even vote in the last election.”
Apparently I’ll need to vote next month to keep moralistic bullies like Hastings out of power.

Jenny’s eyes popped wide. “You’re joking, right?”

“I’d make a fool of myself.” But at least she’d be writing something that might make a difference.

“Why didn’t you vote?”

Could she learn politics? Would she even like it? Not likely, but at least she’d have a chance at making a difference. Maybe then she’d be taken seriously.

“Not even for president?” Jenny asked.

Would Karen even consider her? She wasn’t exactly her editor’s favorite person right now. Skye’s mind whirled with the myriad of details. “It’s crazy. I need to start with something smaller. Simpler.”

“You’d be a natural.”

“I’d humiliate myself. I don’t know the first thing about politics.”

“So learn. I don’t know the first thing about most of what I write, but by the time I finish my article, I’m pretty well-versed about the subject.”

“But you’ve been at this a lot longer than I have.”

“Well then, keep to the status quo, gopher girl.” Jenny slapped her legs and heaved to her feet. “I better get going.” She paused in the doorway. “Hey, how’s your niece?”

Skye’s face lightened. At least that area of her life was doing better. “Holding her own. She seems to be adapting to home schooling. Niki misses having friends her own age, but there’s not much we can do about that. Her closest friends stop by once in a while to play cards and do puzzles with her. Maybe it’s a good thing she sleeps so much.”

“Must be tough. But kids are resilient. Once she’s got a new heart, she’ll jump back into the pack like nothing’s ever happened.” She headed for the door. “Don’t work too hard.”

Skye waved her away. Cover the legislative beat? Crazy. She reached in the drawer for her purse when the phone rang. “Skylar Kendall.”

“Skye?”

Skye’s heart jump-started at her sister’s choked voice. Her purse hit the desk with a loud thud. “Faith, what’s wrong?”

“I...” Her voice broke up.

“Where are you?” She swiveled in the chair and stood. “I’ll be right there.”

“Skylar?” Pete’s deep voice rumbled into her ear.

“Is Niki sick?” She patted her pockets for her car keys. Damn. She tugged at the cord connecting her to the phone. If Faith had called on her cell, she could continue this conversation as she drove.

“Skye, Niki’s gone.”

Skye froze. Gone? She frowned and tilted her head, feeling strangely threatened. “Gone where?”

Part of her knew what Peter had said—the part that slowed her heartbeat, making it hard to breath—but her brain refused to process the words. If she didn’t give the words meaning, it wouldn’t be true.

“Niki died.” He cleared his throat. “She had a massive heart attack. They couldn’t bring her back.”

Skye backed away from her desk, stretching the phone cord until it pulled on the base, inching it across her desk, sending a pencil rolling to the floor. Her ears filled with cotton, and the room faded away. “Um. What?” She swallowed hard. “What did you say?”

A heavy breath brushed over the phone. His voice thickened. “Oh, hell, I’m sorry. We should’ve waited to tell you in person. Meet us at home in a half an hour.”

Skye scowled at the desk as angry heat rushed her cheeks. “She can’t be. You—Faith said you’d take care of it.”

“We did, but—”

“You have a plan. The plan. She wouldn’t tell me what it was, but you
had
a plan. She can’t be gone.”

“Honey, we just didn’t have enough time—”

“I...I have to go.” Skye dropped and slumped into her chair.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Skye glared at the insistent phone still clutched in her hand, then slammed it in the receiver. Niki dead?

Her breath rushed out as if released from a pressure valve. Again. And again. Tears stung her eyes. She rubbed her throbbing temples, and her glance landed on a press announcement on the desk across from hers.

SENATOR HASTINGS TO ARRIVE AT DETROIT METRO FOR PRESS CONFERENCE AT NINE P.M.

Hastings. Again. Damn that man. He was coming home like the conquering hero and Niki was dead.

They were going to have to put her still, little body in the ground, and he was warm and alive. He faced a victory celebration and she faced a heartbreaking goodbye.

Bitter bile burned the back of her throat. Anger welled up in Skye’s chest until the pressure threatened to choke her. Her breath came in rapid bursts and tears flooded her eyes.

Niki was gone, and the man who blocked potentially life-saving research was celebrating.

“Bastard.” Skye swiped the tears from her eyes and grabbed keys from her purse. Snatching the press release from the desk, she bolted toward the door.

Edward Hastings pushed aside the weariness of his sixteen-hour workday and donned the positive attitude always shimmering just a smile away, as easily as he shrugged into the navy Armani suit jacket. Slipping the newspaper under his arm, he hefted his carryon onto his aching shoulders and made his way to the front of the plane.

The flight attendant smiled, whispering, “G’night and congratulations again, Senator.”

He smiled back. “Thank you. And take care of that throat. Tea with honey—my wife swears by it.”

Edward and his staff hurried up the dim jet bridge, then slowed in the waiting area, blinking as their eyes adjusted to the stark, incandescent terminal. He pulled back his sleeve to check the time. “Ten minutes.”

“Right on time,” Ben, his campaign manager, said with satisfaction.

He and his staff moved down the long corridor, bypassing the stairways to the tram. Edward preferred the exercise of the walk after hours sitting on the plane. Besides, he did some of his best thinking while walking. Spying a recycle container for paper material, he folded his newspaper, wove right, and stuffed it in while barely breaking stride.

Edward couldn’t wait to get home and sleep at least seven long, uninterrupted hours in his own bed. After months of campaigning and eating cold chicken at banquets, he just wanted his family—and homemade spaghetti and Noelle’s spicy red pepper soup. Even that arrogant robomotor feline that insisted on sleeping on his pillow and shedding all over his suits couldn’t diminish Edward’s happiness at finally going home.

To his right, he spotted a Sees Candy store and darted into it. Ben muttered an expletive and rushed after him. “What do you need? Adrienne can get it and catch up with us.”

A young woman sitting on a stool behind the counter reading a glamour magazine looked up at his abrupt appearance. In one smooth motion, she smiled, stood, and tossed the magazine aside. “May I help you?”

“Uh...” Edward searched the nearby shelves. With a quick step, he snagged a box of peppermints to his right and then craned left to see around Ben before turning back to the sales clerk. “I’m looking for those thin little...” He held up his finger and thumb an inch apart. “Wafer-like chippy things my wife loves.”

Her face lit in amusement. “Molasses chips?” She rounded the counter and headed for the wall behind him. “Dark chocolate or milk?”

“That’s it. Dark.” He placed the peppermints into her waiting hands and reached into his back pocket for his wallet.

Ben shifted his carry-on to the other shoulder and then looked at the staff waiting outside the shop. He checked his cell phone. Lowering his voice, he said, “Adrienne could have done this.”

Edward handed the girl his credit card. “I wanted to do it myself.”

She took the card and scanned it. “Would you like me to wrap a bow around them?”

Ignoring Ben’s hiss of irritation, he flashed her a bright smile. “That’d be great. Thank you.”

Ben consulted his phone again and shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“Stop worrying. I’ve never been late to a press conference.”

Ben studied his spotless loafers, then stared at the large wall clock over the truffles. “You pay me to worry.”

“Here you go, Senator.” The girl handed him his credit card and the candy. “Hope your wife enjoys it.”

He hefted the package. “Great job with the bow. Have a good night.”

She blushed and giggled. “You, too.”

“Oh, geesh,” Ben muttered as they turned and hurried out of the shop. “What’d you forget?” He shrugged. “Not that it’s any of my business.”

Edward tucked the candy into his carry-on. “What do you mean?”

“Well, chocolate’s only good for one thing—making up. It’s like catnip for women.”

Edward smiled and shook his head. “And that, my friend, is why you’re not married.”

Ben stopped and threw him arms wide. “What?”

Edward slowed so the jogging Ben could catch up. Explaining what little he knew about women would have to wait. Down the hall, just beyond the Detroit Metro airport security checkpoint, Edward glimpsed pro-life supporters clustered together whispering, peering intently up the hall for him.

Large signs featuring photos of in utero fetuses were propped against their thighs or held loosely in hands. At a time when most people were preparing for bed, the press and cameramen meandered close by, congesting the wide lobby in hopes of procuring some witty comment or juicy gossip to headline their eleven o’clock news.