A Reason to Stay (12 page)

T
he pilot maneuvered the Citation Bravo down the tarmac and taxied to a private hangar east of the main terminal. Faith and Geary collected their luggage, then made their way to the parking area.

“I can't believe two weeks went by so quickly,” she lamented as she climbed inside Geary's pickup truck.

Geary sighed and started the engine. “Yup. Back to the real world.”

The real world with rising temperatures and humidity, clogged freeways and iPhones buzzing with social media alerts. Her email inbox held hundreds of unopened messages. She groaned and started sifting through until one particular email caught her attention.

She frowned. “Oh, honey—I hate to ask, but it looks like I need to stop by the station before we head, uh, home.” She felt funny calling his place her home. Especially since she hadn't yet completely moved her stuff in.

Geary changed lanes. “Now? We just barely got back.” He reached across the seat and lightly drifted his fingers up her arm in a suggestive manner.

She apologized, hoping he'd understand. “I promise, just a quick
stop. Apparently, we have a new executive news director—a guy named Clark Ravino. They're having a quick meet and greet at four.” She looked up from her phone and turned to her husband. “I can't miss that.”

Geary nodded. “Yeah, sure. I mean, that's going to put us in five o'clock traffic, but I agree. That's pretty important.”

She was glad he understood. As much as she'd adored their time sequestered away on a remote white beach, a tiny bit of her felt anxious knowing she wasn't at the station keeping up with everything. News was a highly competitive sport, and she had to guard the goal line closely so someone didn't sneak one past her.

All she had to do was sneeze and five other wannabe anchors would be hoping she was out of commission so they could slide into her weekend slot. Especially DeeAnne Roberts, a spray-tanned gym bunny who lived on gossip and raw celery sticks.

“I'll wait here,” Geary said from inside the truck. He turned up the radio.

“Okay, I won't be long. I promise.” She closed the door and hurried to the front lobby.

The receptionist looked up from behind the counter. “Well, hey—look who's back! You look great, Faith. White sand and sun agree with you.”

“Thanks, we had a marvelous time.” She glanced at the clock on the wall above the bank of television screens. “Do you know where everyone is meeting?”

The receptionist buzzed her through the door so she wouldn't have to use her security card. “Everyone's gathered in the area back by the orange room. You'll have to hurry.”

She gave the gal a grateful nod and scurried in that direction, rounding the corner and joining the group just as the station manager, Mark Grubie, started speaking. When he noticed her, he smiled. “Welcome back, Faith. I trust you had a nice vacation.”

Everyone turned.

She held up a hand. “Yes, wonderful time. But glad to be back.” It wouldn't hurt to remind everyone she had her priorities straight.

“Well, look—I know everyone is on a tight schedule and we have the five o'clock looming, so let's get on with this. You can read his full bio in the email I sent out, but I wanted to take a few minutes to introduce Clark Ravino and let him say a few words.”

Mark patted the shoulder of the man standing next to him, a guy who was tall and incredibly handsome in a Cary Grant kind of way. His black hair had grayed at the temples. When he smiled, the corners of his eyes broke into a set of creases that suggested he did that often—smiled, that is. Unlike the rolled-up sleeves on Mark's shirt, Clark Ravino's crisp white shirt was impeccably pressed, and the cuffs were fastened at his wrists with gold links.

In one word, she'd describe their recently hired news producer as
class
. Pure class.

He rubbed at his chin and smiled. “Thank you. I'm glad to be here. As you might have heard, I came from Portland, Oregon—a smaller and much cooler market.” He grinned even wider. “I'm talking temperature.”

The crowd laughed.

“But I'm here to make each of you a promise. More than the temperature is going to heat up over the next months here in Houston. I'm thrilled to be producing in one of the top ten markets and at an O&O station—not that I minded an affiliate-run outfit, but the independence at an owner-operated station provides ample opportunity for us to position ourselves for mighty achievements.” Like a politician, he championed his cause. “Building on the tremendous strengths of this news organization, I intend to take this station straight to the top!” He leaned slightly forward. “And not only is this station going to soar to the top in the rankings, but those of you willing to help in the process will become our rising stars as well.”

Clark Ravino looked directly at her. She noticed, and so did others.

His cheeks dimpled as he smiled, giving him a handsome boyish charm. “Oh, and we'll be working to rebrand the station. A new promo and tagline will debut soon. So, like they say in the business, stay tuned.”

Applause broke out in the room, some clapping with more enthusiasm than others. The station manager patted Clark on the back. “Let me tell you, everyone, this man had multiple stations vying for him to join their teams. KIAM-TV is very fortunate to have landed someone with his vision, his skill. Now, let's get back to work and show Clark he made the right decision.”

A couple of people lingered after the meeting broke up. DeeAnne Roberts leaned over to her. “Sounds to me like our new station motto should be ‘Change You Can Believe In.' Word on the street is Mr. Hotshot News Director plans on some major staffing moves, including canning Barbara.”

Faith turned from watching co-workers who had wandered up front to shake hands with the news director. “What? How do you know that?”

“This is a newsroom. I have sources.” Her co-worker sauntered back to her desk with a knowing grin on her face.

Barbara Dover Nelson was a television icon. As one of the first women to break into television broadcasting in a significant way, she often claimed she'd been poured in with the foundation. Now in her late sixties, she was still at it. Still striving for the interviews, the exclusives, the field reporting that had made her welcome in people's homes night after night.

Kicking her to the curb after all these years didn't seem fair somehow.

On the other hand, Barbara's exit from the picture opened up a very desirable slot in the lineup of on-air talent. With any luck at all, Faith could land in the much-coveted morning anchor chair.

The idea was a long shot, but strangely she couldn't help but hear her mother's voice.
Things work out best for those who make the best
of how things work out.

Suddenly, she was acutely aware of a man standing beside her. Startled, she looked up to see Clark Ravino. He smiled and extended his hand. “Hi. I've been anxious to meet you, Faith—uh—”

“Marin. Faith Marin,” she said, finishing his sentence with her new name that sounded foreign even to her own ears.

“Ah yes. And you are just back from your honeymoon.”

Despite her pounding heart, she forced an air of confidence. “Yes. Jamaica. We had a wonderful time.”

He placed his manicured hand on her shoulder. “Look, I was terribly impressed with that piece you did from the bridge. Few in this business are gifted with your natural inclination and way of connecting with both the subject and the audience.”

“Thank you,” Faith managed to utter. She smiled and grasped her new boss's outstretched hand, amazed at the notion her career seemed to have moved into the fast lane by driving sideways.

Clark Ravino granted her another wide smile, staring at her with eyes the color of liquid copper. “I hope you have a few minutes. I'd like to talk to you about a story package I have in mind to kick-start our new approach.”

Her hand involuntarily went to her chest. “Why, sure. Of course.”

Fifty minutes later, she scrambled across the parking lot and opened Geary's pickup door. The movement and sound pulled his attention from his iPhone. “For Pete's sake, Faith, what took you so long?”

“I know, I'm sorry,” she explained while climbing in. “But you won't believe what—”

“Now we're late.”

She looked across the seat and frowned. “Late for what?”

He shook his head and started the engine.

“Hey, are you mad?”

He put the truck in gear and glanced into the rearview mirror before backing out of their parking spot. “No, not mad. Just—”

She raised her eyebrows. “Just what? I know that took a lot longer than I expected. But there's a good reason.”

Geary took a deep breath. “It's just that they're all waiting.”

“Who's waiting?”

He pulled onto the highway and merged into traffic. “My family.”

She nestled her purse in her lap and held up her open palms. “Wait—apparently I'm missing something here.”

“It was supposed to be a surprise. My family and some of the folks from the church are putting on a pounding for us.”

“A what?”

“A pounding. You know, what a bunch of people do for a couple returning from their honeymoon?” Seeing the blank look on her face, he continued. “A pounding. I can't believe you've never heard of the southern housewarming tradition. The church throws one for every newlywed couple when they return from their honeymoon.”

“Tonight?”

“Well, yeah. We're returning home from our honeymoon tonight. That's how all this is done.”

He looked at her like she was crazy. But he was the crazy one to think she'd be happy to hear she had to go home to a houseful of people. “Oh, Geary. Not tonight. I mean, goodness, I'm so tired.”

Seeing the deflated and confused look on her new husband's face, she quickly added, “Unless, of course, you want to.”

Geary braked for a line of cars ahead. “Well, it wouldn't be so late, except we had to spend nearly two hours at the station.”

“Ouch.”

“I—I didn't mean it to sound like that.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Well, maybe I did. But I'm sorry.” He glanced across the seat at her. “Look, regardless, it's too late to do anything about
it now. My mom and family are all there with people from the church waiting for us.”

She quickly nodded. Her mother would've torn into her dad, battled until she won. But Faith wouldn't do that.

She extended her hand and lightly brushed her fingers through the hair at his temple. “Hey, you're right. Let's make the best of things. What's a little gathering going to hurt, huh?” She smiled, hopeful her small offering would quickly douse the heat before any argument flared.

He nodded and reached for her hand, bringing her palm to his mouth where he placed a series of kisses. “I love you, babe.”

“I love you too. Now, both hands on the wheel, mister.”

They arrived home and his parents greeted them at the open door. Veta gave her and Geary big hugs and Wendell waved them inside. “So, son—did you learn to do the hula?”

Geary laughed. “Wrong island, Dad.”

Wendell looked confused. His wife gave him a playful slap. “You're thinking Hawaii, you old silly. The kids went to Jamaica.”

As predicted, the house was filled with people. Faith recognized the children's ministry director and her husband, the worship leader—she thought his name was Ed. Craig and Cynthia Meyers, Amy Elliott, Adele Beers, the Nystroms, the Lippincotts—all brought sacks of flour and sugar, canned and dry goods meant to fill the pantry like they believed she cooked.

As if reading her mind, Veta slid a large album from the counter and presented it to her. “This is a custom among Marin women—a scrapbook filled with my recipes, and recipes from my own mother and Wendell's mother. And a few from our grandmothers.”

Dilly, who had just arrived with little Sam on her hip and the twins following close behind, pointed at the book. “You gotta try the catfish fry from my grandma Marin. Oh, and Mama's peach cobbler recipe is to die for. And it's easy too.” She glanced around. “Where's Bobby Lee? He said he'd be here.”

Wendell bent and took little Sam from his mother. “He was here. I think he said he was making a run for ice. Isn't that right, Veta?”

“What?” Geary's mother paused unpacking grocery sacks.

“I said, didn't Bobby Lee say he was going to get ice?”

Veta rolled her eyes. “No, you old silly. He went to get rice. I sent him out for some because no one here brought any.”

Unsure what to do with the heavy compilation of family recipes, she handed the weighty book off to Geary. “Look, honey. Wasn't that nice?” She pasted on a smile, hoping her good effort would stay in place until after everybody went home. Which hopefully wasn't far off.

There was no place left to sit in the crowded condo, so she moved into the kitchen currently occupied by three women trying to talk over the noise the twins were now making.

“Dear, where do you want to keep your raisins and walnuts?” A woman with full cheeks, someone she failed to recognize, stood with a bright red and yellow box in her hands, waiting for her to answer.

“Uh, I'm not really sure.”

Another turned from an open cupboard. “Where would I find your Tupperware lids, honey?”

Before she could tell them she had no idea, Dilly moved into the kitchen and joined them. She stood at the sink, opened the cupboard to the right, pulled out a plastic tumbler with a Taco Bell logo, and turned on the water. “Sooo . . . how was it?”

“It?” Faith repeated.

Dilly filled her tumbler. “You know . . . the big night.” Her sister-in-law winked and moved the tumbler to her mouth, eyeing her from over the top while she drank.