“There. That’s good. Thank you.” She nodded. “Now if I could have a drink …”

He held the large tumbler to her lips, but as soon as she had the straw in her mouth, she snatched the cup with her good hand and drank. When she finished, she handed the cup back to him.

“Nothing wrong with my left hand, Ford.”

“I can see that.” He set the cup on the tray next to the bed and pulled the chair closer to the bed. “Now, how are you really feeling?” he asked as he sat.

“My left leg hurts like the dickens,” she admitted, “and my right arm isn’t feeling too good either, and I have the headache to end all headaches. Other than that, I’m fine and ready to go home.”

“Do you want me to ring for the nurse and see if it’s time for your pain meds?”

“She’ll bring it when it’s time. I hate to take that stuff, you know. It makes me groggy. And it’s addictive. Why, I’ve read any number of stories of how people have become addicted to prescription medications.”

“We’ll make sure they cut off your supply before that happens,” he said drily.

“Oh, you.” Her left hand reached out for his and he took it. “I’m so glad you’re here, Ford.”

“I’m glad, too. I’m happy that I was here when …” He gestured to her casts. “Of course, I’d be happier if we could have skipped this part.”

“It is what it is. Into each life a little rain must fall, and all that.” Grace sighed heavily, and Ford knew that she was in pain. She closed her eyes and winced.

“Mom, what can I do for you?”

“Nothing, dear.” She winced again, her hand squeezing his. “It’s enough to know that you’re here.”

She closed her eyes, and Ford thought she was drifting back to sleep, but a few moments later, her eyes still closed, she asked sleepily, “What day is it, anyway?”

“It’s Saturday.”

“Saturday?” Her eyes flew open. “But it can’t be Saturday.”

“Yesterday was Friday, Saturday usually comes next.”

“Well, then, they’re just going to have to let me out of here. Give me that damned thing so I can call for the nurse.” She sat up and reached for the buzzer.

“Whoa. Hold on, Mom. What’s the big deal about Saturday?”

“I have an interview this morning. An important one. It’s for the paper and I—”

“So we’ll call whoever you’re supposed to talk to and explain what happened.” If they didn’t already know, he added to himself. He was pretty sure that everyone in St. Dennis knew by now that Grace had taken a tumble. There were almost a dozen flower arrangements lined up on the windowsill. “I’m sure whoever you’re supposed to meet will understand. We can reschedule and—”

“No. You don’t understand.” Her eyes filled with tears and she began to cry. “I wanted to write a series. The articles are supposed to spread out over the next weeks. It’s important. I have it all planned …”

Ford couldn’t remember seeing his mother cry since his father died. A few tears now and then, but she was really crying.

“Mom … Mom … it’ll be okay.” He tried to soothe her.

“I’ve never, ever failed to get the paper out on time. Not one time, in all the years since my father passed it on to me. Not even when your father died. I’ve always gotten the paper out on time.” She began to cry harder, and Ford thought for sure her heart was breaking.

He ran a hand through his hair. He couldn’t stand to see his mother so upset. It almost seemed that this realization—that her beloved Gazette might have to go on hiatus—was more devastating to her than the physical pain of her injuries. “Mom … look, tell me what to do and I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever you need.”

“You would?” With her good arm, she reached for the tissues on the tray next to her bed. Ford handed her the box and she pulled a tissue free. “You’ll help me get the paper out?”

“Of course, Mom. Whatever you want me to do.” He patted her left shoulder reassuringly.

She pulled another tissue from the box and wiped her eyes. “I’m afraid it’s more complex than you might think.”

“So you’ll walk me through it.”

“You’d really do this for me?”

“Mom, I’d do anything for you.” The lump in his throat cautioned him not to say more.

She rested her head back against the pillows. “You’ve taken a huge weight off my mind, Ford. I don’t know what I’d do if we couldn’t …”

“Don’t even think about it. The paper is going to be out on time, Mom. Just give it to me in steps.”

“Well, the first thing you have to do is this interview.” She paused. “Have you ever done an interview, son?”

“Sort of.” He wondered if interrogations might count as roughly the same thing but thought better of asking. “What’s the interview about?”

Grace told him about Curtis Enright’s handing over his property to St. Dennis and the new art center in detail, and her plan to do a series of articles about the proposed gallery in Enright’s newly renovated carriage house. She yawned, the effort to explain having exhausted her. She rested her head again and closed her eyes.

“The appointment this morning at the carriage house is to interview the person setting up the gallery and the exhibits. Today’s just the first interview, like I told you. It’s just to introduce her to St. Dennis. Take some pictures. Make sure there’s a good one for above the fold. There’s a file on my laptop that has a good deal of background material on it along with my notes for the interview. There’s also a little notebook on my desk that you should probably read before you go.”

“Okay. Not a problem.” He leaned over to kiss her forehead. “Don’t worry about a thing.”

She sighed happily and began to drift off to sleep.

“Mom.” He shook her gently. “You didn’t tell me who I’m supposed to be interviewing.”

“Carly,” she whispered. “Carly Summit …”

Carly Summit. Ford frowned. Where had he heard that name before? It sounded familiar, and yet he couldn’t put a face to that name, something he was usually very good at.

He hurried through to the parking garage, located the car he’d borrowed from Dan, and drove straight to the inn. On his way to his mother’s office, several people stopped him to ask about Grace. He realized then he didn’t have a key to the office and couldn’t find Dan. The grandfather clock in the lobby chimed twelve noon. Frustrated, he stood outside his mother’s office door, wondering if it would be inappropriate to kick it down. He was seriously considering doing just that when Dan showed up and unlocked the door. Ford went straight to Grace’s desk. Her laptop sat in the middle, but once he turned it on, he realized he didn’t know her passwords. He groaned, then spotted the notebook she’d mentioned. He picked up and flipped through it. Just as she’d said, there were lots of notes about the carriage house renovations and a list of questions she wanted to ask during what she referred to as “Interview #1.” He didn’t have time to read through it now, but he could skim the outline as the interview progressed. How hard could it be?

He pocketed the notebook, turned off the light, and headed for the lobby door and the car he’d left right outside the door in front of the “No Parking at Any Time” sign.

The drive to Enright’s took exactly seven minutes, due mostly to traffic in the center of town. Summer Saturdays in St. Dennis, he was learning, were swell for the merchants and the restaurants because of the weekenders and the day-trippers, but they were murder on the residents. He took backstreets all the way down to Old St. Mary’s Church Road, all the while wondering what he’d gotten himself into.

He almost wished he’d kept his mouth shut. In one way, he did wish exactly that. He knew nothing about real interviewing. Oh, he’d taken a course or two in journalism back in college, but that was years and another life ago. Even he had to admit that interrogating terrorists wasn’t the same thing. But his mother had looked so despondent, had been in such a state of despair—well, there was no way he could not have stepped up.

In his mind’s eye, Ford kept reliving over and over that terrible moment, watching Grace fall. He could see himself moving as if in slow motion to reach the bottom of the stairs before she did, hoping to catch her, to break her fall—and failing. He couldn’t help but think if he’d been just a few steps quicker, she might have been spared the pain of those broken bones. The doctors said it was a miracle that she hadn’t fractured her hip. Actually, what they’d said was they couldn’t understand how she hadn’t.

Grace had been a great mom—the absolute best—and if what she needed was someone to take her place at the paper, he’d be her man. He wouldn’t fail her in this.

The Enright place looked pretty much as Ford remembered it. Big and stately, the graceful brick house in the Georgian style stood surrounded by tall trees on the biggest single parcel of land that still remained in St. Dennis. He parked in the wide driveway behind a big, shiny, expensive-looking SUV with Connecticut plates and a battered old pickup with more than its share of nicks and dents. He paused once on his walk down the driveway to admire the gardens behind the house that were in full and glorious bloom.

He still thought it sounded crazy that anyone would just hand over a place like this, just give it away, since it must be worth a fortune. Mr. Enright must have a philanthropic streak as wide as the Chesapeake, Ford was thinking as he approached the door.

He’d just reached for the handle when the door opened.

“Hey, man. What’s up?” Cameron stepped out into the bright sunlight, the door closing quietly behind him.

“Not much. You working here?”