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Blake raises his own voice, silencing her.
“Alright! That’s enough. I get it!” he growls, balling his hands into fists and hitting one of his knees with a force that frightens me.
Instead of being shocked, or even angry… the old woman purrs, grinning to herself as her eyes widen and shine brighter.
“That’s my boy!” she exclaims, patting his knee. Unraveling one of his fists and taking his giant hand into her own.
“I came to collect you both, to give you a head start. Let this young lady get her story straight before she pitches it to the media, for a fair price,” she adds firmly, flaring her nostrils as she raises a finger to me.
“What really happened Blake?” I ask him, “The night of that crash… Why’d you do it? Did you really switch seats to make it looked like you were the one driving? How could anyone who knew you believe that? You’re a teetotaler,” I tell him.
“That’s the story you have to tell,” Mrs. B. says, ignoring Blake’s protests and leaning forward to confide in me.
“He’s always stuck up for other people even if it means he gets burned.”
“I can’t… I won’t rat out on a teammate, it’s pretty simple stuff, Lois. Don’t ask me to incriminate someone whose career depends on my own version of what happened.”
“Then at least tell the world about how you felt you couldn’t pitch anymore, after the car crash, after the plane crash,” I plead with him.
“I don’t think the team wants you back, Blake,” Mrs. Barnes says coldly, and I shiver with anger, wondering how someone so old, so caring for Blake could be so heartless in half of what she says to him.
“She’s right,” Blake admits, holding my gaze.
“I could sing against my teammate, who’s won them a championship, by the way, or I could stay hidden. But I don’t think I can do that anymore.”
“What do you want?” I ask him, and he takes my hand in his.
“I want this, Lois. I want us.”
I expect Mrs. Barnes to make a distasteful sound, or to scoff, but she’s watching me like a hawk, her eyes suddenly clear with a brilliance I can only tell myself is her own memories. Her own wishes from her past she never fulfilled.
Mrs. Barnes taps her gloved finger on my laptop, urging me to open it up.
“Tell me more about your story, Lois. Any takers so far?”
I look to Blake, who shrugs, and I open it, loading my emails and expecting to pick up where I left off the night before.
Halloween.
Maybe it was a trick or treat deal?
A hundred thousand dollars for an independent story, it’s a little out there.
But Blake did tell me to delegate, so I did.
I pitched the idea to my professor from college and when I see the hundreds of emails waiting, I gasp.
“Did you…?” I ask, looking up at Mrs. B.
She frowns.
“Honey, I can hardly see the ends of my hands, let alone type anything these days. I only picked you two up off the train and asked Sheldon to hold off the feds, but he can’t do that.”
“What is it?” Blake asks me, sounding worried, mixed with excitement.
“You did it, Lois didn’t you.” Is all Mrs. Barnes will say before she looks out the window again, and I can tell she’s thinking of a long-forgotten time.
A simpler time, when the world was railways and roads, not information superhighways.
“One of the offers is from a major news agency,” I stammer. “They’re offering a million dollars for an exclusive,” I gasp again. “A million dollars for a single exclusive.”
“It’s a start,” chimes Mrs. B.
Blake flushes with pride and grips my hand in his.
“It’s what you always wanted, Lois. I say go for it!”
“One of you is gonna have to earn a living,” Mrs. B. says dryly, winking at Blake and then suddenly laughing out loud.
A warm, sweet laugh, full of affection… a laugh I will come to know and love.
Scanning through the rest of my mail, I can see a dozen or more from my old boss, Malibu Barbie Barbara, begging me to let her have in on the story, even offering me a share in the newspaper… giving me the newspaper if I’ll just let her in on the story, even just a bit.
Looking over at my man, Blake, and my new friend, Mrs. Barnes…?
Ummm, I don’t think so, Barbara.
I really don’t think so.
Epilogue
Three Months Later
Blake
The best story is one that unfolds. That’s what Lois says she learned in college.
It gains traction and people follow it for months, maybe years.
Lois is down with this, and her college friends don’t let her down either.
With my blessing, she milks my story for everything its worth, and I don’t even have to give one single live interview, that was the only condition of her being my agent.
