Lily hadn’t wanted to leave him. From a mere change of perspective, however, she had gained a profound sense of comfort that Samuel would be safe. That, as his mother, she could protect her child without a perpetual fear of the worst.
Geraldine Dillard deserved no less. If only Lily could find a way to help.
“Miss Palmer!” The chief’s hollering tugged her mind back to the newsroom.
She rose from her chair, grabbing her steno pad and pencil, just as Clayton caught her eye. From his typewriter, he shot her a wink, reminding her of their date this afternoon, and returned to his draft.
He had invited her to lunch when he checked on her earlier, concerned over her absence the previous day. She made but brief mention of Samuel’s fever—not wanting to dwell, she had reasoned to herself.
In truth, after the kiss she’d shared with Ellis—a reckless mistake, the culmination of an emotional day—her feelings were jumbled enough. Adding sympathy from Clayton would only tangle them more, creating knots impossible to undo.
The chief shouted again, and Lily resisted plugging her ears while entering his office.
Planted at his desk, he peered over his spectacles. “Shut the door. Take a seat.”
“Yes, Chief.” She complied without question, as the letters and memos he dictated to her were occasionally confidential.
“Miss Palmer,” he said then, “I assume you know how I feel about honesty.” It was a daunting start if ever there was one. The greater cause apprehension, though, was the shifting of his bearded jaw.
“I do.”
“Good. ’Cause I’ve got a question about your need for time off yesterday. The excuse you gave was pretty vague. And now I think I know why.”
Lily held her pencil and pad snugly on her lap. In the wake of her maternal fretting and sleeplessness, she should have been resigned to any turn of events. Particularly the inevitable. After two years of working for the chief, this confrontation was just that.
Still, she shrank inside from his disapproving tone.
“There’s a woman just called. Wanted to confirm that a Lillian Palmer worked here at the Examiner. Evidently, you two became acquainted while you were pinning down some sort of…interview.”
Lily blinked. It took her a moment to jump from Samuel to Sylvia, and the implication that Lily would peddle lies for her own vanity.
“Chief, I assure you,” she said, “I never specified that I was—”
He held up a stubby pointer finger, halting her defense. After all, he hadn’t reached his question yet. Very possibly a variant of How fast can you pack up your desk?
“I notice you’ve been distracted, not acting yourself. And I’m well aware of your bigger ambitions. So, I’m asking you now, Miss Palmer.” At last, here it came. “Are you actively seeking employment elsewhere as a writer?”
Employment elsewhere?
As a writer?
Baffled, she had to backtrack through the links of his rationale. “Sir…no. I wasn’t…no.”
“You certain about that?”
She replied more fervently. “I’m positive. I was helping out a friend, and it was a simple misunderstanding. Nothing more.”
As she held the chief’s gaze, the skepticism seeped from his face. He sat back in his chair. His relief reflected hers, the causes decidedly different.
“Well, all right,” he said with a hint of embarrassment. No one in the news business liked to be wrong. “Back to work, then.” He flicked his hand toward the door and promptly returned to his articles. The issue was settled, and that was that.
Except it wasn’t.
Lily found she couldn’t move. She was tired—physically too, yes—but mostly she was weary from guarding her past, from being afraid. Above all, she was done with feeling ashamed of the proudest accomplishment of her life.
The chief looked up. “There something else?”
“Yes. There is.”
His evident value of her secretarial skills, while reassuring, didn’t allow her blanket impunity, but she charged on, a confession long overdue.
“The reason I was gone yesterday, sir, is because Samuel was sick. Samuel,” she said, “is my four-year-old son.”
The chief remained expressionless. Only his eyes betrayed his surprise.
“I should have spoken of him from the start,” she admitted, “but I needed this job…and a place to live, which Miss Westin surely wouldn’t allow if she knew. You see, that’s why he lives with my parents in Maryville, where I visit every weekend. But I’m saving up so when Samuel’s of school age, we can live in the city, the two of us together.”
She almost continued but held off. The fact she didn’t proclaim herself a widow established the nature of her situation, divorce being nearly as scandalous as a mother never wedded. Yet somehow, through the awkward tension, the potential consequences bearing down, Lily found herself sitting up straighter, even as the chief came back with a level reply.
“Will he be running around here while you work?”
The query was so unexpected she had to think. “No, Chief.”
“Around the boardinghouse?”
“No. Of course not.”
“Then I don’t see the problem.”
And with that, the chief’s focus dropped from Lily to his work pile.
The utter simplicity of the exchange left her almost confused, a smidge dizzy, and feeling altogether foolish.
Could it have always been that easy? Or was it the product of her job dedication over time? Perhaps it was her show of strength while volunteering the truth on her own accord.
She settled on a combination of them all as she made her way toward the door. Each step became lighter than the last, until she reached for the knob.
The safest choice was to take her leave, but an idea was emerging. Not in pieces. Rather like a photograph being developed, an image coming forth, already complete. And it entailed far more than her bigger ambitions.
Empowered by a fresh injection of moxie, she pivoted to face him. “Chief, one thing more,” she said, and he begrudgingly glanced up. “It’s regarding a potential new column for the paper…”
“Ah, Jesus,” he murmured, though not in a way that told her to stop.
“A column,” she said, “about single parenting. The realities of it, the struggles, the highlights. Not just for women. For men too.” Her enthusiasm grew as she spoke. Like her previous vision for a column, this would still be an adventurous endeavor, but with deeper meaning for people like Geraldine.
“There are likely just as many mothers widowed from the Great War as fathers whose wives were lost to childbirth, or other terrible tragedies. I can tell you firsthand, they don’t need advice about how to prepare the perfect dinner by five, or about the latest fashion trends. What they need is understanding. To know they’re not alone. They need to hear—”
“I got it, I got it.” The chief heaved a sigh that sent gray specks drifting from his ashtray. Again his beard twitched, but he didn’t say no. Yet.
He thrummed his fingers on his desk. She knew the concept was progressive, but just maybe it was the type of risk Nellie Bly would have applauded.
At last the chief answered. “I suppose I…might be able to squeeze something in.”
He was agreeing.
To her idea.
For her own column.
Lily could barely contain her smile.
“On two conditions,” he stressed, stunting her joy. “It doesn’t interfere with your regular duties. And second, you don’t dare make all those dead parents out to be martyrs.”
She would agree to both, of course, though the oddity of the latter caused her to hedge.
The chief added with reluctance, “My father drank away near every cent we had before putting himself in the grave. We made out just fine, me and my brothers, but only on account of my mother. We clear on that?”
Lily was stricken by the personal nature of the admission. Even more so, she was astounded by the connections to be made.
For now, she managed to reply, “Completely. Thank you, Chief.”
He simply nodded and resumed his work.
- • •
Today, no challenge in life could temper Lily’s thrill, for this reason: If she could accomplish one seemingly insurmountable task, why not others?
As an added boost, a story broke in the paper. On a recent radio broadcast, Mrs. Lindbergh had made a personal appeal about her kidnapped son, including how to care for him and what baby foods he most enjoyed—right in line with Lily’s suggestion that the chief had waved off. But that didn’t matter now. The broadcast had led to a tip about a suspicious, childless couple who’d just stocked up on those exact food items. Authorities were optimistic.
How wondrous would it be if both families wound up reunited?
On her lunch date with Clayton, after celebrating news about her column, she would speak to him about the Dillards. He was, after all, an ace reporter. It was time to seek his advice—in confidence, of course. She would have to trust that his strict views on right and wrong, on good and bad, wouldn’t prevent him from doing all he could to help.
She later told herself this as they settled into a cushioned booth at Geoffrey’s. The restaurant was on the top floor of a twelve-story building, affording an impressive view of City Hall and William Penn standing tall in bronze. With damask linens and single roses in etched, crystal vases, the restaurant was even lovelier than the Renaissance.
The thought of their forgotten date still caused Lily twists of guilt.
But all of that faded, along with their surroundings—the clinking of ice and tinkering of china, the chattering among diners in their daytime finery—at the announcement of a job offer.
Only it wasn’t Lily’s.
“My, Clayton,” she said. “The national desk.” The waiter had only just stepped away after taking their orders. “That’s marvelous.”
Clayton brightened. “It’s the Chicago Tribune,” he said, throwing her off further.
“Chicago?”
“You know I grew up there,” he reminded her, “and how I’ve always wanted to go back.”
“Yes. Certainly. I remember.” She hadn’t known he meant so soon.
“That’s why I’ve been gone so many weekends lately. With my parents down in southern Illinois now, I needed to go back on my own, to check out areas to live in. Make sure it really made sense.” His expression took a turn, growing serious. “Lily, I want you and Samuel to come.”
“To…Chicago?” She repeated the name again as if it were an alien planet, and Clayton laughed a little at her confusion. Or maybe from a touch of his own nerves, she noted, as he pulled a shiny gold ring from his suit pocket.
“Sweetheart, I want you to marry me.” After the briefest pause, he added with conviction, “And I want to care for Samuel as my own son.”
Lily took in a light gasp. The proposal alone was enough to stun her. The consideration given to her child only multiplied that effect as he continued. “You’d never have to work again. You could be home with him every day, all day. No more buses, no waiting to see him on the weekends. We could be a real family.”
From the row of tall windows, light glinted on the diamond at the center of the band, perfect and round and lovely. In its reflection she envisioned the life he was offering. She saw a home of their very own and a future full of promise.
“I know it’s a bit of a surprise, but a good one I hope.” His tone matched the rising worry in his soft-brown eyes, exposing a vulnerable side of him she had never seen. Moved by this, and so much more, Lily hastened to respond.
“It’s incredible, Clayton. All of it.” As a smile spread over her lips, his did the same but at an angle she recognized. The kind brimming with an assuredness that made others feel safe.
“If I’d had my way,” he said, “I would’ve preferred to ask you at a nice, long candlelit dinner. Not a lunch hour like this. But I’m supposed to give notice to the chief today, and of course I had to come to you first.”
The scenes in her head, easily formed as hypotheticals, fell away at his last remark. “You’ve accepted the job already?”
“Well…yes.”
In the quiet beat that followed, he reached across the table and placed his hand over hers. “I know it might seem fast. But I’ve thought it all through.”
She didn’t doubt him there. He wouldn’t have asked without thinking of everything. “I’m sure you have, but…”
“Lily.” The sincerity in his voice, from just her name, stopped her. “I love you. And I want to do this for us.”
Us.
That was how he thought of them. With all the benefits the move and promotion would add to their lives, why wouldn’t he have nabbed the offer? He would have been foolish not to. Just as she, too, would be foolish not to accept his.
Wouldn’t she?
Teetering on a choice, toes on the edge of a cliff, she smiled.
- • •
The rest of the day passed in a blur of phone calls, memos, and internal questions with no easy answers. Patches of absentmindedness slowed Lily’s productivity and left her working late to assure her tasks were done with diligence. She couldn’t risk erring today of all days. She could ruin her chance to actually write her own column, the shot of a lifetime. One she would have to abandon if she accepted Clayton’s proposal.
If.
She had asked him for a little time, saying she had to be cautious with a child to think about. He said he understood, even insisted she keep the ring in the meanwhile. In agreement, she tucked it with care into a coin pocket of her purse, and they left it at that.
It hadn’t seemed right to share news of her own job opportunity. After all, if they were to marry, the point would be moot. As it ought to be already. Honestly, what was the great debate? To be torn by the prospect of a column, which could wither faster than it bloomed, would be as selfish as it was silly.
Clayton was smart and charming and kind. And he loved her. She was far too protective of her heart to say she loved him in turn, but she cared for him deeply. That much she knew. She also knew she would be safe with Clayton, as would her son. There would be no more critical looks or whispers to endure. No more discomfort during chats on marriage and parenting. No more chances of ending up the fool with another man—like Ellis. The emotional pull she felt around Ellis Reed was enough to warn her off.
The list of no mores continued throughout Lily’s trek to the boardinghouse. There, her room of solitude waited—without Samuel, without anyone. The way it would remain for at least another year if she stayed on her current path.
The bleakness of that vision was so engrossing that she didn’t sense another presence until footsteps registered from behind. A dim city haze further veiled the shadowed figure.
Lily hugged her purse to her body. Clayton’s ring would be a thief’s lucky find. She increased her speed. But like echoes in a cave, the footfalls kept pace with her own. Not stopping, barely slowing, she threw a glance over her shoulder. The head lamps of a passing car threw beams at her eyes. Dots of light floated in the air.
Someone was definitely following.
