Better Late Than Dead: Episode 4

This is episode four of the novel Better Late Than Dead. It is the 7th book in the Rich Larsen Adventure Series. An episode will be posted every Monday and Friday.  

Rich has returned to the home he ran away from six years earlier. He’s back living with his parents, hoping to make amends for the pain he caused them. Two years have passed since returning home. That’s where this story begins.   

Episode 4

Rich picked up his portfolio from his desk. On his way to the steps, he stopped at the door to the sports newsroom. Stan looked up from his desk. Rich tossed his head for Stan to follow him.

They met outside. “What’s up?” Stan asked.

“Have you had breakfast?” Rich asked.

“I finished a beer from last night,” Stan said. “Does that count?”

“I’ll meet you at Ted’s,” Rich said.

“Let me go back upstairs and get my bottle of Maalox,” Stan quipped.

“I’ll meet ya there,” Rich said.

Twenty minutes later, they were sitting in a booth at a rustic little lunch diner named Ted’s.

“Whatcha havin’, boys?” a round waitress in her fifties asked.

“I’m buying,” Rich said, “so if you want the steak and eggs, I’m okay with that.”

“Nah,” Stan said, “I had the steak here a month ago, and it’s still in my gut. Pancakes and sausage links.”

“Excellent choice,” the waitress said sarcastically and looked at Rich.

“Two eggs over, bacon, and hash browns, toast,” Rich said.

“Comin’ right up,” the waitress said and walked away.

“You better watch how you talk to her,” Rich said.

“She’s an old friend,” Stan said. “She’ll spit on my pancakes just to show how much she likes me.”

“So,” Stan said, “you get a raise or something?”

“I got another job,” Rich said, giving a crooked grin.

“No way!” Stan said. “Around here?”

“I’m moving to Augusta.”

“Where exactly is Augusta?”

“Capital of Maine.”

“Is that right?” Stan said. “Good for you.”

“I have a friend who's the news editor in Augusta,” Rich said. “I got off the phone with him not more than half an hour ago.”

“Does Briggs know?”

“I’ll tell him toward the end of the week,” Rich said.

“You want your paycheck, right?”

“I want my paycheck,” Rich affirmed. “And if you don’t mind, keep this between us. I want to go quietly. You know, Monday morning, there’s an empty desk, and it takes another three days for everybody to sense something is different.”

“You’re a sly dog,” Stan said, smiling.

They talked over breakfast. The waitress removed the plates, and they continued to talk as they sipped coffee.

“Look,” Stan said, “this makes me feel uncomfortable. You look around this newspaper, and you've got guys who have been there for years. It’s where bad writers go to continue writing bad. It’s not hard to figure; they don’t pay. You move up because somebody retires or dies. I only know of two guys, now three, who moved on up to better paper.” Stan leaned forward and said very seriously, “You are going to a better paper?”

“The best in the state,” Rich said, “but it’s not a big state.”

“So,” Stan said, “if something comes open in sports, can you give me a call? I don’t want you to go to bat for me, just give me a heads up. If I can do the rest on my own, well, you know the rest.”

“Stan, you’re a good writer,” Rich said. “This paper doesn’t reward talent. It’s just a rag that cranks out filler for advertising. When you run a weekly footer for car dealerships, that’s a really big clue.”

“I remember in one of my journalism classes in college, our professor used to laugh at this paper. I never told anybody where I was from.”

“Sam White always said too many journalism students leave school thinking they’re going to step right into the shoes of the next Nellie Bly or Ernie Pyle. And they’re more likely to end up being Gomer Pyle. He said he told his students to sack groceries, pump gas, and write for a community newspaper to get their start and write like they’re writing for The Times.”

“Hmm,” Stan said, “community newspaper, that’s what my prof said this paper is.”

“So what’s next on your docket?” Stan asked.

“I got a few stories to tap out,” Rich said. “I’m not sure whether to inform personnel or Briggs first.”

“I think our employees’ handbook says either one,” Stan said.

“And it says something about the customary two weeks’ notice,” Rich said. “But if I gave two weeks’ notice to Briggs, he’d fire me right away.”

“Sounds to me like you just figured it all out,” Stan said.

“Then I’ll have to square things with mom and dad,” Rich said. “Frankly, I think it will be a relief for them. Relationships are never stagnant. They grow together or grow apart. When they start to grow apart and can’t be fixed, it’s sometimes best to leave them where they are and move on. There comes a time when you have to realize you’ve done all you can do.”

“A wound can be stitched, but there is always a scar,” Stan said.

“Thanks, Stan, I needed to hear that.”

They left the diner and drove off in separate directions. Rich finished his day. He drove home, rehearsing how to break the news to his mom and dad. He wanted it to go well and expected it. He thought they might express sorrow, but would wish him well. What he was now doing was more natural than what happened nine years earlier, when he left home with no notice. A proper goodbye can now occur. At least that is what Rich hoped.