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Authors: Joan Hall Hovey
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been easy coming forward like that. She didn't strike him as someone who sought the limelight.
"She's a grown gal," Len said when Eric shared his concerns. "It's her choice. And who knows? She might get lucky and nail a killer. That's the reason she's doing this." He grinned at Len. "You got a thing for the lady? Not that I blame you."
Eric just gave him a look and left the office, quietly closing the door behind him.
Chapter Ten
On Monday morning, Eric Grant set the story on his boss's desk. While Hayward read the article slated for the front page of the local section of the paper, Eric placed both palms on his desk, drawing Hayward's gaze away from the paper. He leveled his gaze at him.
"What?"
"I'm still not feeling good about this, Len."
Len Hayward frowned. "Why not? It's a damn good write-up. Great shot," he added, checking out the photo attached to the story. "It's not like we're paparazzi. She came to us. She asked us to write the story."
"I'm not sure she's in any condition to make that decision. A month from now, maybe. But aside from the fact that she's got to be traumatized, just losing her mom from cancer and learning what she did about her beginnings. I also think running this story could put her in physical danger. Her birth mother's attackers could be still out there."
"Did you share those concerns with her?"
"More or less. She's taken a bit of a defensive posture." He didn't mention that he'd already managed to tick her off with his dumb comment about how lucky she was that Lillian Waters had adopted her. Like she wouldn't know that, and what in hell did it have to do with the price of tea in China?
"We're not therapists here, Eric, me lad," Len said. "We're reporters. We're running a newspaper." He waved the story at him. "And this is news. Local news, but news. And human interest. AP will probably pick it up. People love human interest."
Chapter Eleven
Naomi waited on pins and needles for the story to come out in the paper, her heart in her mouth, torn between wanting it published and terrified it would be.
Which, on Tuesday, it was. She heard the small thump as the paper came through the letter slot and hit the floor.
Seeing her own face looking up at her from the hall floor made her feel ill. She picked up the paper, feeling naked and threatened, as if she'd been tied to a tree and smeared with honey. It didn't help that she'd done it to herself.
She was a private person, and here she was laying herself out there for all of River's End to feast upon. At the same time, she wanted people to know her story. There had to be someone still around who would remember what happened to a Native girl all those years ago.
And one or two of those people just might remember details long buried. She was counting on it. At the same time, she was praying this wasn't all for nothing.
She sat down on the living room sofa with the paper, acutely aware of her mother's eyes gazing down at her from the photo above the fireplace. She had an eerie feeling that if she looked up she would see disappointment on her mother's face, maybe even accusation. I'm the one who should be angry, she thought. And I am. I'm damned angry. But she didn't look up at the photo, or into her mother's eyes.
Instead, she read the article:
WOMAN LEARNS SHE IS A CHILD OF RAPE
Oh, God. Knowing everyone in town who subscribed to the Tribune was reading this didn't feel good. But what had she expected? Get over it, she told herself, and continued to read:
28-year-old Naomi Waters was born and raised in River's End.
She is a talented voice actor and adopted daughter of the late Lillian Waters, nurse and labour leader, who died recently after a brave and lengthy battle with cancer. Shortly after Ms. Waters passed on, Naomi learned she was adopted and that her birth mother, Mary Rose Francis, was in fact aboriginal, of Mi'kmaq descent.
Twenty-eight year ago, on a warm June night, Mary Rose was
"She's a grown gal," Len said when Eric shared his concerns. "It's her choice. And who knows? She might get lucky and nail a killer. That's the reason she's doing this." He grinned at Len. "You got a thing for the lady? Not that I blame you."
Eric just gave him a look and left the office, quietly closing the door behind him.
Chapter Ten
On Monday morning, Eric Grant set the story on his boss's desk. While Hayward read the article slated for the front page of the local section of the paper, Eric placed both palms on his desk, drawing Hayward's gaze away from the paper. He leveled his gaze at him.
"What?"
"I'm still not feeling good about this, Len."
Len Hayward frowned. "Why not? It's a damn good write-up. Great shot," he added, checking out the photo attached to the story. "It's not like we're paparazzi. She came to us. She asked us to write the story."
"I'm not sure she's in any condition to make that decision. A month from now, maybe. But aside from the fact that she's got to be traumatized, just losing her mom from cancer and learning what she did about her beginnings. I also think running this story could put her in physical danger. Her birth mother's attackers could be still out there."
"Did you share those concerns with her?"
"More or less. She's taken a bit of a defensive posture." He didn't mention that he'd already managed to tick her off with his dumb comment about how lucky she was that Lillian Waters had adopted her. Like she wouldn't know that, and what in hell did it have to do with the price of tea in China?
"We're not therapists here, Eric, me lad," Len said. "We're reporters. We're running a newspaper." He waved the story at him. "And this is news. Local news, but news. And human interest. AP will probably pick it up. People love human interest."
Chapter Eleven
Naomi waited on pins and needles for the story to come out in the paper, her heart in her mouth, torn between wanting it published and terrified it would be.
Which, on Tuesday, it was. She heard the small thump as the paper came through the letter slot and hit the floor.
Seeing her own face looking up at her from the hall floor made her feel ill. She picked up the paper, feeling naked and threatened, as if she'd been tied to a tree and smeared with honey. It didn't help that she'd done it to herself.
She was a private person, and here she was laying herself out there for all of River's End to feast upon. At the same time, she wanted people to know her story. There had to be someone still around who would remember what happened to a Native girl all those years ago.
And one or two of those people just might remember details long buried. She was counting on it. At the same time, she was praying this wasn't all for nothing.
She sat down on the living room sofa with the paper, acutely aware of her mother's eyes gazing down at her from the photo above the fireplace. She had an eerie feeling that if she looked up she would see disappointment on her mother's face, maybe even accusation. I'm the one who should be angry, she thought. And I am. I'm damned angry. But she didn't look up at the photo, or into her mother's eyes.
Instead, she read the article:
WOMAN LEARNS SHE IS A CHILD OF RAPE
Oh, God. Knowing everyone in town who subscribed to the Tribune was reading this didn't feel good. But what had she expected? Get over it, she told herself, and continued to read:
28-year-old Naomi Waters was born and raised in River's End.
She is a talented voice actor and adopted daughter of the late Lillian Waters, nurse and labour leader, who died recently after a brave and lengthy battle with cancer. Shortly after Ms. Waters passed on, Naomi learned she was adopted and that her birth mother, Mary Rose Francis, was in fact aboriginal, of Mi'kmaq descent.
Twenty-eight year ago, on a warm June night, Mary Rose was
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