chapter
7
Richard Carthage had been a beacon of story ideas. And while the last thing I felt like doing was work, I punched in the number to call him back. He picked up the phone on the first ring.
“Savannah!”
“Hey, Richard, how’s it going?” I asked.
“Got something big for you.”
Despite the pain I was feeling, I was still a journalist to my core. So I immediately sat up and gave him my full attention.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“I’m at Texas Children’s Hospital. A six-year-old bystander has been shot in what looks like a gang shooting in Stafford. A little girl. Her older sister was hit, too, and is in the hospital.”
I frowned in confusion. That was tragic, but why in the world would Richard be calling me about a gang shooting?
“I know you’re wondering what’s the big deal,” he said as if he was reading my mind. “But this isn’t an ordinary case. They were leaving a birthday party at the Main Event. The six-year-old was killed. Her eight-year-old sister is in critical condition.” He paused, like he was about to deliver a cliffhanger. “The girl’s mother is undocumented and INS has been notified. They’re on their way to the hospital to pick her up to deport her.”
“What?” I exclaimed. “Her daughter was just killed, another one is fighting for her life, and they’re about to deport the mother? You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Nope. No one else knows about the story. It’s yours if you want it. You’ll have the exclusive scoop. Tomorrow, everyone will be all over this story.”
“Oh, my God,” I mumbled. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I looked a fiery mess. “I . . . I’m not at work today.”
“Well, if you’re busy, you can send someone else from your station. What about that Isiah guy?”
“You know how I’ve been busting my butt on this immigration beat. I’m not about to turn it over to another reporter. They already gave Isiah his own show over me. I’m not letting this slip away.”
“Well, it’s yours. I owe you from that last story you did for me.”
“I appreciate it, Richard.” Could I really shake this funk I was in and go to work? While my boss had been understanding about my personal leave, she would completely understand why I would need to cancel that to cover this story. “Yeah, I’m on it,” I decided.
“The mother doesn’t know,” Richard said. “But ICE will be here in about two hours.”
“I’ll be there.”
That would give me time to go get some more clothes. I didn’t have a choice. I didn’t want to go home, and this was Pulitzer Prize–winning material. The last thing I needed was to be looking like an old hag as I broke the story.
I glanced at my reflection, trying to see how much I could clean up. My hair had lost all its curl and I hadn’t brought any other work outfits or my curling iron to do my hair. No, I had to go home.
I contemplated calling the Boys & Girls Club to make sure Clark was at work. But everyone knew me there, so I didn’t want to take the chance.
“Hey, Margie,” I said, calling my boss once I was in my car and heading to my house.
“How are you?” she asked. “Feeling better?”
“I’m okay. But actually, I was calling because one of my contacts called me. Got a major story. Can you get a photog to meet me at Texas Children’s in two hours?”
“What’s going on?”
“Six-year-old girl was struck and killed by a stray bullet as she was leaving a birthday party at the Main Event in Stafford.”
“Yeah, we got that call. I have a crew on it,” Margie said.
“Well, the little girl’s sister is in surgery and it’s not looking good. And my source says a deportation order has just been executed for the mom.”
“You have got to be kidding me!” Margie said. “They won’t even let her grieve her daughter?”
“I know, right? Anyway, it’s an exclusive.”
I knew any days I had missed had been forgiven because if there was anything to send my boss into utopia, it was an exclusive story.
“I’ll have a photog there in two hours.”
I thanked her and told her I’d have the story for the news tonight.
Now I just needed to put aside my personal life and focus on my job.
+ + +
When I pulled onto my street, I saw that Clark’s car wasn’t parked in the driveway. I was grateful for small blessings as I dashed into the house to change.
I tried to do something with my hair, but I couldn’t contain my frizz and didn’t have time to flat-iron it, so I just moussed my hair down and pulled it back into a bun.
I was putting on makeup when I heard the chime of the door opening. I silently cursed myself for not putting my makeup on in the car.
“Savannah!” Clark yelled. His footsteps pounded up the stairs. “You came back!” he said, stopping in the doorway to our bedroom.
I glared at my husband. The man I’d thought was my forever love.
“I came back to get some more clothes.” I stepped around him.
“No, wait, baby. We have to talk.” He reached for me, and I immediately stepped out of his grasp.
“There is nothing for us to talk about,” I said.
“Please. You have to hear me out.”
I stopped and glared at him. “I don’t have to do anything but wait for you to get out of my way.”
He held his hands up in defense, but said, “Savannah, please?”
“Clark, I don’t have time to do this with you. I have somewhere to be.”
He moved to block me again. His face was frantic. My husband was usually calm and cool, so I knew he had to be scared crazy. “I’m not letting you go until you hear me out.”
“What are you going to do, hold me against my will?”
“I just need to explain.”
I exhaled my exasperation. “There is nothing to explain. I have an exclusive story I’m working on, and I do not have time to do this with you.”
“Okay, but just hear—”
“No!” I pushed past him. “Go tell it to Dawn.”
“Savannah, please.” He began following me down the stairs. In his state, I had no doubt Clark would follow me to the hospital for my news story, and I definitely didn’t need that. So I turned to him, and he stopped on the bottom step. “Look,” I said, “let me go do this and I’ll come back and hear you out. Is that fine?”
He shifted like he wanted to protest, but the look on my face must have told him not to push me, because he simply said, “Fine. You’ll come back by the house? How long will you be at your story?”
I rolled my eyes but said, “Yes. I’ll come back in a few hours, after I go live for the six o’clock news.”
That sent a wave of relief over him and he nodded. “Okay, I’ll be here.”
I turned to leave without saying another word.
“I love you,” he called out after me.
I let the door slam on his words. And my lie. Because I had no intention of coming back anytime soon.