ambiguousâmore definedâthan the girl in the dressing-room mirror.
Not a concept you should share with a sales clerk unless you want her to start throwing strangely cut tops and fringed belts at you.
Finally I settled on a couple of short-sleeved shirts, a pair of pants that I hoped wouldn't wrinkle as badly as my linen ones, and a tan skirt that I thought would go with anything.
And then I texted Bett and Aimee that having a job was expensive.
They texted back that they were living in their swimsuits.
***
At home I shook out my new clothes and ironed the pieces that needed ironing.
I did my laundry, careful first to check that the washing machine hoses and drains were functioning properly.
I mowed the yard and wondered if Mom and I could afford to hire a lawn service. Mowing was something Dad had always done, one of many things we'd counted on him for. We'd counted on him for so much.
I still couldn't get my mind around how we'd known him so well but also hadn't known him at all. Taken him for granted, I suppose.
And I still hadn't come up with any good ideas for learning where in all California he might have come from. I'd searched an online database of birth records without finding one that I thought might be his, and I hadn't figured out what to try next.
***
On Monday I started working on Metro, for its editor, Fran Paglioni. Most of the morning I answered the phones and helped her go through the mail, learning as I did which reporters covered what beats. I had to switch desks a couple of times in the process, for as an intern I didn't have a nest of my own. Instead I worked at whatever nearby desk was available, until the owner appeared and booted me away.
Then, after lunch, just when I was wondering where everyone had disappeared to, Fran stood up and said, "It's time for the who's-got-what session. Come on."
As we walked to a small conference room that opened off one side of the newsroom, she explained, "These sessions prep me for the daily news budget meeting that Sam Braden runs. And they give us a chance to make connections that otherwise might get missed."
I slid into a chair beside Jillian. Lynch sat on the other side of her, his crutches between them.
"Hey," Jillian whispered. "So you're here now? Maybe we can really get to know each other."
She broke off as Fran got the meeting rolling. "I think you've all met Maggie Chen by now, our other intern." She turned to the reporter on her left, a woman whose beat was the environment. "Want to start, Chris?"
"The bad water at that new medical clinic has been traced to a bankrupt machine shop. Cleanup's likely to be expensive, and the arguing about who'll foot the bill has already begun."
"Rough on everybody involved," Fran said. She made a note. "Anything else?"
"The Forest Service would like a reminder put in about campfire regulations. No hurry running it."
The education reporter promised a piece on a new pre-kindergarten program. Fran said it would run, but she wanted to hold another on school assignments for a day when the news hole was bigger.
I listened, fascinated by the seemingly casual way the content of the next day's newspaper got decided.
Then the man assigned to covering the courts launched into a complicated explanation of a suit involving a restaurant's method of computing hourly wages, which seemed to come down to stiffing the wait staff.
Eyes glazed over, and Fran finally interrupted. "Okay. Write it up. And if you've got any humanizing quotes,
please
throw them in."
She turned to the police reporter, Gary Maitlen. "What are you working on?"
"Got an ID on that drive-by shooting at the end of May."
Fran raised her eyebrows. "Just now? I'd forgotten about it."
"Me, too," he said, hands signaling
Sorry.
"The police withheld it pending notification of next of kin, and then ... Anyway, you want something for tomorrow?"
"They're still treating it as a random killing?"
"Yeah, but I can lead with the angle that the
Not a concept you should share with a sales clerk unless you want her to start throwing strangely cut tops and fringed belts at you.
Finally I settled on a couple of short-sleeved shirts, a pair of pants that I hoped wouldn't wrinkle as badly as my linen ones, and a tan skirt that I thought would go with anything.
And then I texted Bett and Aimee that having a job was expensive.
They texted back that they were living in their swimsuits.
***
At home I shook out my new clothes and ironed the pieces that needed ironing.
I did my laundry, careful first to check that the washing machine hoses and drains were functioning properly.
I mowed the yard and wondered if Mom and I could afford to hire a lawn service. Mowing was something Dad had always done, one of many things we'd counted on him for. We'd counted on him for so much.
I still couldn't get my mind around how we'd known him so well but also hadn't known him at all. Taken him for granted, I suppose.
And I still hadn't come up with any good ideas for learning where in all California he might have come from. I'd searched an online database of birth records without finding one that I thought might be his, and I hadn't figured out what to try next.
***
On Monday I started working on Metro, for its editor, Fran Paglioni. Most of the morning I answered the phones and helped her go through the mail, learning as I did which reporters covered what beats. I had to switch desks a couple of times in the process, for as an intern I didn't have a nest of my own. Instead I worked at whatever nearby desk was available, until the owner appeared and booted me away.
Then, after lunch, just when I was wondering where everyone had disappeared to, Fran stood up and said, "It's time for the who's-got-what session. Come on."
As we walked to a small conference room that opened off one side of the newsroom, she explained, "These sessions prep me for the daily news budget meeting that Sam Braden runs. And they give us a chance to make connections that otherwise might get missed."
I slid into a chair beside Jillian. Lynch sat on the other side of her, his crutches between them.
"Hey," Jillian whispered. "So you're here now? Maybe we can really get to know each other."
She broke off as Fran got the meeting rolling. "I think you've all met Maggie Chen by now, our other intern." She turned to the reporter on her left, a woman whose beat was the environment. "Want to start, Chris?"
"The bad water at that new medical clinic has been traced to a bankrupt machine shop. Cleanup's likely to be expensive, and the arguing about who'll foot the bill has already begun."
"Rough on everybody involved," Fran said. She made a note. "Anything else?"
"The Forest Service would like a reminder put in about campfire regulations. No hurry running it."
The education reporter promised a piece on a new pre-kindergarten program. Fran said it would run, but she wanted to hold another on school assignments for a day when the news hole was bigger.
I listened, fascinated by the seemingly casual way the content of the next day's newspaper got decided.
Then the man assigned to covering the courts launched into a complicated explanation of a suit involving a restaurant's method of computing hourly wages, which seemed to come down to stiffing the wait staff.
Eyes glazed over, and Fran finally interrupted. "Okay. Write it up. And if you've got any humanizing quotes,
please
throw them in."
She turned to the police reporter, Gary Maitlen. "What are you working on?"
"Got an ID on that drive-by shooting at the end of May."
Fran raised her eyebrows. "Just now? I'd forgotten about it."
"Me, too," he said, hands signaling
Sorry.
"The police withheld it pending notification of next of kin, and then ... Anyway, you want something for tomorrow?"
"They're still treating it as a random killing?"
"Yeah, but I can lead with the angle that the
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