Lane’s opinion, Roxie One’s response was cruel and bul-
lying. To her dismay, her mother came to Gabby’s defense.
“Things aren’t always black-and-white. Sometimes a
person has to do what a person has to do.”
In a stew of annoyance that was partly in response
to her mother’s reaction, and partly in response to what
Roxie One had said—Lane got so riled up that she was
moved, for the first time in her life, to post a comment
online. She wrote it in a thunder of indignation and when
she was done, she felt surprisingly great. It was the first time she’d ever dared express her rage.
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What happened next was as much a surprise to her as it
was to everyone else. Hundreds of Roxie readers clicked the Like button on Lane’s post. Dozens more commented on it.
She was hooked. Expressing her opinion about Roxie One’s
increasingly tone-deaf answers—always careful to keep
below the limit of fifteen hundred characters—became
how Lane began her day.
What Lane didn’t know was that while she was writing
snappy comments to Roxie One’s answers, Roxie One
had segued from writing insensitive replies, to making
up Ask Roxie letters of her own. It was an oft-told story at the Guild, a cautionary tale. First Gabby created fake
letters, then she ran out of ideas for fake letters, then
she turned to poaching letters from the archives of her
competitors. If she had taken the time to paraphrase the
letters, it’s possible no one would have been the wiser,
but all she changed were the pronouns. It didn’t take long before an eagle-eyed reader noticed it and called her out.
And just like that, Roxie One was gone.
Credit where it was due, it was Sam’s assistant, Chloe,
who flagged Lane during the search for Roxie’s replace-
ment. Chloe had given up on reading Gabby’s answers
altogether—they’d gotten too weird—and went straight
to Lane’s comments instead. She wasn’t alone. As Bert
would soon confirm with a spreadsheet, the number of
readers who currently commented on Gabby’s answer
was a fraction of the number who commented on Lane’s.
For Lane, getting the Roxie gig was like winning a
lottery she’d never even thought to enter. Writing the
column allowed her to pour out all the emotions she would
never express in real life. And the column brought her
the perfect kind of friends: virtual. The gig was a perfect match she got through a lucky break.
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But getting approval to work remotely was not something
she could afford to leave to luck. Her strategy was a two-
pronged appeal to Sam: first as the trusted mentor who’d
always championed her, next as someone who’d recently
suffered a loss. Sam’s wife passed away a year ago. Unlike her marriage, theirs had been a grand love story. Lane wasn’t planning to lie to Sam about her relationship with Aaron,
but if he assumed, based on his own experience, that she
was devastated by grief, she wasn’t going to correct him.
h h
h h
When Patty Petronacci, the Life and Death editor, sat down next to her, Lane tensed. Had Patty heard too? But
the editor didn’t offer condolences. She just waved the air and said, “Good luck getting that off.”
“Pardon?”
“I don’t know what they put in that diffuser but last
week it got me.” She raised her arm to her nose. “It’s gone now. Took forever. I tried soap, vinegar, lemon, lavender.
Nothing worked. Just time.”
“Morning, everyone.” Sam walked in with Bert trail-
ing behind. “Before we get started, Bert wants to say a few words.”
Bert stood behind his chair. “Who are we?” The mood
in the room shifted. “People used to say the Guild was
a place for innovators.” Earbuds came out. “The Guild
always looked beyond the present moment. Now?” He
snapped his fingers but no one spoke up. “Are we still
connecting the dots or are we regurgitating the garbage?”
Everyone was on high alert. This was not how Bert usually
spoke, so many words, none of them click. “Things move fast out there.” He tipped his head toward the window.
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“Those who don’t adapt don’t survive.” Even the noisy
breathers were now holding their breath. “I’m here to tell you change is coming. Big change. Sam is leaving us.”
At the sound of gasps, Sam stood up. “Okay, Bert.
I’ll take it from here.”
Bert sat down, lips pressed together, hands in fists,
“I’m not leaving anyone,” Sam said. “I’m relocating,
temporarily, for the Guild-Europe start-up. You folks,
right here in this room, are still my first priority. This is the best team the Guild has ever had.” Faces brightened.
From behind him Bert said, “But—”
“But,” Sam continued, “none of us can pretend the
landscape hasn’t changed. As most of you know, our
friends across town decided they’re going to shut down
their in-house podcast division. The good news is we’re
going to take advantage of that. Over the next few months
a crew of podcast producers will be coming over here
to work on what was our webcast team. Unfortunately
there will be redundancies.”
A well-groomed young woman raised her hand. “So,
if all these podcast producers are coming on the webcast
team, what does that mean for our webcasts? Are you
saying video is over?”
Lane went on alert. Bert had been leaning on her to do
a Roxie webcast for months. The only reason she’d agreed to do the online Live-Chat was to get out of doing that.
Bert took the answer. “Let’s just say that’s not a profit-
able avenue for us at this time.”
“Could we back up?” asked a scruffly young man.
“When you say redundancies, are you talking about a
couple of people losing their jobs? Or are you talking about a full-on BuzzFeed-style fifteen percent staff slash that—”
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A commotion of sidebars drowned him out, most of it
about the latest gossip on which company’s digital writing staff was talking about joining which union.
Another scruffly young man, this one angry, broke
through the scrum to call out his question to Sam, who
was standing, patiently, but looking unhappy. “Word on
the street is that the Guild is considering cutting its news division.”
A wide-eyed young woman across from Lane looked
at her and mouthed, Is that true?
Lane shrugged. She wasn’t a person who would know
anything about words on the street.
“The word on the street is wrong,” Sam said. “Our
news division is the beating heart of this organization.
Folks, no one here is talking about massive layoffs. We’re talking about adjustments. Small adjustments. The Guild
has always done things differently. Being different is one of our core values. That’s not changing. We will work
through this together and we will find the path of least
pain.” He turned to Bert. “Agreed?”
“Clickety click.”
“Okay,” Sam said. “Since the Earth, as far as we know,
is still turning, what do we have? What do we want?
What do we need?”
The meeting proceeded. As always, the editor of the
Crime column was last to report. When she finished her update Sam stood up. “Go forth and write well.”
h h
h h
It took half an hour for Sam to finish up with all the
people who wanted a quick word. When he was done
he slid into the seat next to Lane, who’d been answering
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email while she waited. “The hordes have been placated
for now. I’m all yours.”
Bert slid in beside him. “Lane-Roxie-Lane, you have
hit a new and inspiring high with that Crazy Bride column.
Which you then topped with the Weird-Finger Mom.
The people have spoken. They love it when you’re mean.”
“I’m not mean.”
“Call it whatever you want. But do yourself a favor.
Give a rest to the depressed. That guy who wanted to…”
He shook his head. “Click-a-cide. Earnest is over. Stick
to snark.”
“I need a minute alone here, Bert,” Sam said.
“Sure.” Bert smiled. “Snark yourself out.”
As soon as Bert left, Sam’s face softened. “How you
doing? You have good people around you? That was key
for me.”
“I do. Thanks.”
He looked relieved. “I know how hard this is. It’s going
to be hard for a while. I’m sorry I’m leaving town, but I’m just a call away. You need anything, you say the word.”
“I need to work from home.” There. She got it out.
“I realize the timing’s terrible.”
Sam nodded. “Bert won’t like it. But—okay. I’ll handle
him. You keep doing what you’re doing. Maybe throw
him a crumb. Go a little heavy on the snark for a bit.
Can you?”
She nodded. “And I can’t do the Live-Chat.” She
hadn’t planned to bring that up.
Sam winced. “Oh Lanie. We’ve been promoting the
hell out of that. Why not?”
“I’m not good live.”
“You’ll be great. And it’s not in-person live. It’s online.
You can do it in your pajamas.”
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“I’m not kidding.”
“Okay. I hear you. But Bert really wants the Chat.
The only thing he wants more is a podcast. Can you give
him a podcast? He’s got some big idea about a podcast
with you and—”
“No. A podcast is worse. I can’t. I’m sorry. It’s just
right now—”
“You don’t have to explain. I get it. I’ve been there.”
He drummed his fingers on the table. “Okay. Here’s what
we’ll do. You work remotely. We table the podcast. I’ll
come up with a workaround to make you more comfort-
able with the Chat. I feel for you, Lanie. It was rough,
those first weeks after Hannah died. It stayed rough for
a while.”
“Thanks. I really appreciate your help. I’m going to
be fine. I just need to keep my focus on Henry right now.
Henry and the column.” She saw Sam waiting. “And the
Live-Chat.”
h h
h h
Back at her desk Lane blew off the troubling thought
that despite Sam’s assurances, her job was on precarious
footing. She had definitely made a tactical error when
she stopped talking to her magazine contacts. There were
half a dozen of them, editors she’d worked for over the
years. Not friends—at least she didn’t think of them as
friends. Work people. After she started at the Guild, most of them had reached out for a drink or a meal but she put
them off. She put them off as many times as it took for
them to give up. That was a mistake. She seemed to go
from mistake to mistake.
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Losing her job was not an option. Her plate was full
and her expenses were on the rise. Her rent had just gone
up—the landlord had slipped a note under her door about
the increase. She needed to find a therapist for Henry.
She and Shelley had to figure something out for their
parents. Something was not right with them. Either they
needed to move closer or someone needed to check on
them more often. Not her. It was Shelley’s turn for that.
Except Shelley would never agree because … She took
a breath and stopped. She didn’t have time to solve this
problem now.
Laptop open. Roxie in-box open. Most recent letter open. A man was troubled by his difficult decision to turn down his ne’er-do-well brother’s request for his kidney:
I have a family of my own. Three beautiful boys. My
wife’s pregnant with our fourth. What if one day one
of my kids gets sick or in an accident and—perish the
thought—they need my kidney. Which I no longer
have because I gave it to my brother who doesn’t take
care of himself. I swear I’m not sure he’ll even be alive in five years. My mother says I’m a monster to think that.
My mother says family sticks together no matter what.
But I’m turning him down because of family. My fam-
ily. My boys and the baby I don’t know yet. My mother
says I’m hard-hearted and selfish and cruel. I’m worried
she’s right. What do you think?
Yours,
Donor Do or Donor Don’t
Finally—disappearing into someone else’s life—Lane
could breathe.
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“Dear Donor,” she wrote. “Not hard-hearted. Not
selfish. Not cruel.”
h h
h h
On her way out, Hugo gave her a smile so big it looked
like it hurt. She flashed back to Jem telling her about the latest group on Eeze, “What Does Hugo Do All Day?”
He had no idea he was the butt of so many jokes.
She stopped at his desk. “Have you ever thought about
working somewhere else?”
“What did you hear?”
“Nothing.” She hadn’t thought this through. Telling
Hugo he was the subject of an Eeze group would crush
him. She wasn’t herself. “I didn’t hear anything.”
“What didn’t you hear?”
“Nothing. I was just thinking about how you’re so
friendly and full of energy and good at your job. Any
place would be lucky to have you.”
The elevator doors opened. She said, “G’night,” and
disappeared inside.
As soon as the doors closed, she escaped into her
thoughts about the letter from the brother with the kidney.
She liked what she wrote at the beginning of her answer,
but she was worried about the ending, which wasn’t at all
snarky. She’d tried to be snarky, but it felt wrong. Maybe it was the letter. Some letters were just too heartbreaking to have fun with. Or maybe it was her. Maybe she was
losing her snark.
The elevator landed. The doors opened. She walked
out into the night and headed home. It too
k her three
blocks before she realized she was heading in the wrong
direction.
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CHAPTER SEVEN
Lane had just figured out how to turn off the TV in the
small waiting room when Henry ran in, followed by the
therapist.
“Hey buddy. How’d it go?”
Henry gave her a big hug and said nothing.
Doctor Bruce stood behind him, face inscrutable,
which worried her until, a moment later Henry gave her
a spirited double thumbs-up. What a relief.
“Two thumbs up for me too,” Doctor Bruce said. “Also
two toes-up but you’ll have to trust me on that. I never take off my shoes at work. Smelly feet,” he confided to Henry.
Lane thought the therapist looked like he might actu-
ally have smelly feet. His rust-colored shoes were scuffed and had taken on the shape of his toes. His pants were
creased across the thigh. His shirt was a shade of gray
that looked like it may have started out white. None of
that mattered to Henry, who was now smiling up at him.
“Mom and I are going to have a little talk,” Doctor
Bruce told him. “You can stay here and watch TV, or do
a puzzle, or draw—”
“Henry loves to draw,” Lane interrupted. “Sorry. You
probably know that already.”
“No. Thanks for sharing that. I offered Henry paper and
he shook his head and I assumed drawing wasn’t something
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he liked to do. Always a bad idea, to assume.” He turned
to Henry. “You probably weren’t in the mood to draw.”
Henry nodded. “Are you in the mood now?” Henry nod-
ded again. “Great. I’ll show Henry where to find markers
and paper,” he told Lane. “I’ll meet you over at my desk.”
h h
h h
As Lane made her way around the perimeter of the play-
room adjacent to Doctor Bruce’s office she wondered if
Henry had been playing. The cardboard containers of
play food in the wooden kitchen cabinet were lined up
on the shelves in tidy order. Open plastic tubs filled with blocks, LEGOs, stuffed animals and toy dinosaurs all
looked undisturbed. She spotted the small puppet theater
in a corner; a family of puppets of assorted ethnicities,
ages and genders lay collapsed on the stage like victims
in a murder scene. Was Henry responsible for that? Or
had he been sitting in the reading nook?
There were two foam chairs there, close together,