Fifteen Minutes
Melody Rothwell could thank good, old-fashioned nepotism for her job at WLDM. Her grandfather bought the failing television station forty years earlier and, with hard work and skillful management, had turned it around and made it profitable. Although Orville Rothwell felt a responsibility toward his family, he was not willing to jeopardize his business. He expected his granddaughter to do the job well or he would have no other alternative than to replace her. Thankfully, while she was no Diane Sawyer or Katie Couric, the fledgling reporter had the personality and the skills to succeed. Not only did she have her grandfather's brains (majoring in journalism and graduating with honors), but she had her mother's beauty as well.
"I have no doubt someday you'll be anchoring the nightly news," Orville predicted after his granddaughter celebrated her first anniversary at WLDM."
"We'll see," she replied, noncommittedly.
Melody did not want to hurt his feelings, but she had no intention of remaining at the local television station. Once she had a few years of experience under her belt, she hoped to move onward and upward. She would much rather be a field reporter in a city like New York or Boston than a news anchor in Covington.
"I don't want to spend the rest of my life doing these fluff pieces," she confessed to Ingrid Nilsson, the middle-aged secretary at WLDM's newsroom and long-time friend of the Rothwell family.
"Don't underestimate what you do," Ingrid replied. "Those so-called fluff pieces are the stories people watch. It's the best way for you to get noticed."
"Well, I didn't spend four years at college to interview the winner of the pie-eating competition at the county fair. I want to report on a real news story."
"Be patient. Something will eventually come up."
"Here in Covington? I doubt it."
The following week, the young reporter was sent out on an assignment that the head of the news team considered "a real gem": an eight-year-old boy saved his baby sister's life. When Melody and Rafe Silva, her cameraman, showed up at the house, the children's mother welcomed them as though they were there to give her the grand prize in the Publishers Clearing House sweepstakes.
"Please come in," bubbly Luanne Barclay cried with excitement. "Would you like some coffee? I just made a Bundt cake. Let me cut you both a piece."
"None for me, thank you," Melody said, declining the calorie-laden, streusel-topped coffeecake. "Is your son here?"
"Bobby!" the mother called up the staircase to the second floor. "The lady from the TV station is here to interview you."
Bobby Barclay was about as unlikely a hero as one could find. Weighing barely fifty pounds, he looked as though a strong wind might blow him away. The eyeglasses he wore and the early-Beatles haircut reminded Melody of Harry Potter. All he needed was the scar.
"So, you're the hero older brother?" she asked when he came into the living room.
He nodded his head in reply.
"And where's your little sister?"
"Up in her crib, taking a nap."
"I can go get her, if you'd like," Luanne volunteered. "Obviously, you can't interview her because she's only six months old and doesn't talk yet. But maybe you can film the two of them together."
"Yes, thank you. The viewers will want to see what your daughter looks like."
"I'll be just a minute."
"Why don't we sit on the couch and you can tell me what happened?" Melody coached the boy.
The reporter waited for Luanne to return before beginning to question her son. Nearly ten minutes later, the mother came back downstairs, carrying her daughter, who was attired in a frilly dress, as though she were about to have her picture taken at Sears' portrait studio. Melody noticed that the woman, too, had changed into a more formal outfit and had taken the time to apply makeup and comb her hair.
Everyone wants to look their best for the camera, she thought.
The interview had a slow start. Bobby was shy, and the reporter had to coax every response out of him. Eventually, however, he began to emerge from behind his shell.
"I was sitting down here on the floor, in front of the television, watching SpongeBob. My mom put Cammie—that's my sister—in her playpen, right over there. Then the phone rang, and she went into the kitchen to answer it. A few minutes later I looked over and saw Cammie put one of my LEGOs in her mouth. I called to my mom, and when she walked into the room, she screamed that my sister would choke to death."
"And what did you do?" Melody asked into her microphone.
"I picked Cammie up, turned her upside down and hit her on the back until she coughed up the LEGO."
"He saved her life!" Luanne added unnecessarily.
"That was quick thinking on your part," the reporter continued, wishing the mother would keep quiet. "How did you know what to do in that situation?"
"I saw it on TV."
"And now you're going to be on TV, and all of Covington will know what a hero you are."
There were a few more questions, and Rafe shot some footage of Bobby holding Cammie on his lap with Luanne proudly smiling at her progeny. Then the cameraman zoomed in on the reporter's face.
"And thanks to one little boy's courage and quick thinking, what might have been a heartbreaking tragedy is a happy ending. I'm Melody Rothwell for WLDM News. Now back to you, Van."
The camera was turned off, and the reporter headed for the door.
"After this segment airs," she told the Harry Potter-like child, "everyone will be talking about you."
* * *
Three weeks later, Melody was asked to follow up on the story.
"Why? What's happened?" she asked.
"The hero brother has become a bit of a local celebrity," the news editor replied. "The mayor is going to give him the key to the city at the annual Fourth of July picnic."
"You're kidding me, right?"
"No. He's up for reelection this November, and no doubt he wants some good publicity."
"So, you want me to go to the picnic and cover the ceremony?"
"Yes, but go do another interview with the kid at his home before you do. We received a lot of positive feedback after your first broadcast. People need to hear good news every once in a while."
"Why don't we just give the kid his own show?" she asked sarcastically.
"Maybe we will. And if we play our cards right, you and I might get a guest spot on it."
The following afternoon, Melody and Rafe returned to the Barclay house. Again, Luanne offered them coffee, but this time it was accompanied by homemade cookies rather than a Bundt cake.
"They're chocolate chip," the stay-at-home mom explained, "my son's favorite."
"Speaking of Bobby, where is he?"
"Out riding his new bike. He'll be home any minute, though. He knows you're going to interview him again."
By the time the reporter politely nibbled her way through one chocolate chip cookie, the Harry Potter lookalike returned. Although his appearance had not been altered since the last interview, there was a definite change in his demeanor. He was no longer the shy, quiet shrinking violet. On the contrary, he seemed to exude self-confidence.
"Hi, there, news lady," he said when he burst through the front door. "You made cookies, Mom? I'll have a few with milk after my interview is over."
Bobby plopped down on the sofa opposite the reporter, eager to begin.
"Wait a sec," the boy said when Rafe turned on the bright lights. "Where's Cammie? You probably want her in the shot, too. Maybe she should sit on my lap."
"Let's you and I talk first," Melody said. "We'll bring your sister in afterwards, like last time."
"Okay," Bobby readily agreed, content not to have to share the limelight.
"I understand there have been some changes in your life since the last time I interviewed you," the reporter began.
"Yeah, lots of them."
"Like what?"
"Everywhere I go people know who I am. They smile at me and say, 'There's that brave little boy who saved his sister's life.'"
"That must make you feel proud."
"Yeah, it does. When they see me, some people even pull out their phones and take my picture."
"That's understandable. You're a hero, after all. I've been told the mayor is planning on honoring you at the Fourth of July picnic."
"He's going to give me some kind of a key—not a real one, though, just a fake one. I like what Dixon's department store gave me better. They gave me a brand-new bicycle. And they're going to put a cardboard cutout of me in their toy department."
"Really?"
"Ah huh. And Bogart's Deli named a sandwich after me. The bologna and cheese sub is now the Bobby Barclay special."
"And what about your friends? Have they been treating you any differently now that you're a hero?"
"I don't have any friends."
With this admission came a return of the timid child she met during the first interview. It was no ploy for sympathy; he was being brutally honest. Bobby had no friends, nor did he ever have any. When he was younger, there had been playmates, but those were forced upon him by his mother. They were arranged playdates with neighborhood children. However, those youngsters never took a liking to him. Melody genuinely felt sorry for the boy.
"Maybe once school starts again in September, all that will change."
"I hope so."
The reporter's prediction proved true. When Bobby entered the third grade two months later, classmates vied for his attention. They had seen his cardboard cutout at Dixon's, read his name on Bogart's menu, were shown his photograph in the newspaper and watched him being interviewed on television—not just once but twice. He was heralded not only at the Fourth of July picnic but also at the Labor Day parade, riding atop a fire engine and throwing out penny candy to the youngsters along the route.
"Hello, Bobby," the reporter called to him when he was helped down from the firetruck at the end of the parade.
"Are you going to interview me for the news again?" he asked.
"No. I'm here to cover the parade and talk to the local veterans who participated in it."
"Did your cameraman take my picture on the fire engine?"
"He might have. I don't know."
The little boy was disappointed by her answer.
"He should have! How many heroes do they have in this town, anyway?"
"The veterans are heroes. Some of them fought in Iraq and Afghanistan."
"So what? All they did was shoot at the enemy. I saved my sister's life!"
Luanne appeared momentarily, pushing Cammie in a stroller.
"Are you ready to go home now?" she asked her son. "Your father has fired up the grill so that we can have a barbecue." Then she turned to the reporter and said, "If you have any free time this afternoon, why don't you stop by? I baked snickerdoodles and a strawberry shortcake for dessert."
"I'm sorry. I've got plans, but thank you anyway."
Is that all this woman does every day is bake? she wondered. I'm really surprised her family members aren't overweight.
* * *
Throughout third, fourth and fifth grades, Bobby Barclay enjoyed his newfound popularity. He was invited to every birthday party and was first choice when teams were picked for school sports. Even the teachers showed him preferential treatment. Not only was he chosen as hall monitor, but he was also given a speaking part in every elementary school assembly, including the annual Christmas pageant.
By the time he entered sixth grade, though, his fame had already begun to wane. Other stars eclipsed his glow at Covington Middle School, most notably a boy whose uncle was a rookie pitcher with the Baltimore Orioles. Bobby's act of heroism was forgotten. There were no recent appearances on TV, no newspaper or magazine articles, no keys to the city or firetruck rides in parades. Furthermore, the Bobby Barclay special at Bogart's Deli was once again called a bologna and cheese sub, and the cardboard cutout was no longer on display in Dixon's toy department. It now stood silently in the corner of Bobby's bedroom, a daily reminder of his ebbing popularity.
Somehow, he endured sixth grade, as his social circle grew steadily smaller over the course of the school year. By the time he was in seventh, all of his so-called friends had abandoned him. The only boy who would socialize with him was Herbie Elkins, the class outcast.
"There's a dance on Friday night," Herbie announced as the two sat alone at a table in the cafeteria. "Are you gonna invite anyone to go to it?"
"You mean a girl?" Bobby asked.
"Duh! Of course, a girl."
"I don't think I wanna go."
"Are you kidding? This is the first school dance of our lives. Don't tell me you're going to miss it."
"What about you? Who are you gonna ask?"
There were several young ladies Herbie had in mind, none of which would even consider going to a dance with him.
"I'm probably gonna go alone, but at least I'm going."
There was a time when I could have gone with any girl in the school, Bobby thought wistfully. Now, none of them will give me the time of day.
All that was about to change, however.
* * *
In spite of having received several offers from stations in larger cities, Melody Rothwell was still working for WLDM. A serious romantic relationship with a former high school classmate kept her in Covington. The fact that she was reporting on church rummage sales, boy scout food drives and the Miss Covington beauty pageant no longer bothered her. She was content to put in a day's work and return home to the condominium she shared with Alex Durand, her fiancé.
"Good morning," she greeted Ingrid when she walked into the newsroom.
"Good morning," the secretary replied. "The boss wants to see you right away. He's in his office."
"I wonder what's up."
"Maybe he wants you to cover tonight’s bingo game at the seniors' center."
"Very funny. You should have had a career in standup comedy."
Melody had known Ingrid all her life, and the two women got along well. But then, since her grandfather owned the station, the entire staff was like family to her.
"You wanted to see me?" she asked, popping her head through the news editor's open door.
"I've got a story for you. A real humdinger. Remember that kid Bobby Barclay?"
"Yeah. The little boy who saved his sister's life. What about him?"
"It seems lightning does strike twice. He's done it again."
"Done what?"
"Saved his sister's life. The four-year-old fell into the family's swimming pool and nearly drowned, but—lucky for her—her brother pulled her out and performed mouth-to-mouth. Talk about a coincidence, huh?"
Saving his sister's life the first time resulted in local news coverage; saving it the second time resulted in a major, nationally covered story. Because of her proximity to the Barclay home, Melody was the first reporter to interview the boy.
"This is déjà vu all over again!" the reporter told her cameraman when she rang the Barclays' doorbell.
This time, Luanne was not giddy with excitement to see them. She did not even offer them coffee or a home-baked treat.
"He's in the living room," the mother announced despondently.
"Is there something wrong, Mrs. Barclay?" the newscaster asked. "Have we come at a bad time?"
"No. Nothing is wrong. He's waiting for you."
Bobby had changed since she last interviewed him. He no longer looked like Harry Potter; he was taller, and his hair was cut differently. He was at that awkward stage of development where his body seemed a bit too big for him, his complexion was likely to go haywire without a moment's notice and his voice had a tendency to crack at the oddest times.
"Hi, there," Melody said as she walked into the living room. "I hope you remember me."
"Sure, I do, Miss Rothwell."
"For the second time," the broadcaster said after a clever introduction for the audience, "this young man has saved the life of his younger sister. First, four years ago, when she was just six months old, he prevented her from choking to death on a toy block. Now, he's saved her from drowning. It seems to me you are pretty good at keeping an eye on your sibling."
"I try to do my best," the boy said.
His mother, who was standing in the doorway, out of the camera's line of view, wiped a tear away from her eye with a crumpled tissue.
What's wrong with her? Melody wondered.
"Can you tell us what exactly happened? How did your sister fall into the pool?"
The only reply to her question was an audible sob from Luanne.
"Bobby? Did you hear what I said?"
"Yeah, but I don't think I can answer that question."
"Why not?"
"There's a magazine writer who wants to do a story on me. My father says they're willing to pay money for a—what's it called, Mom?"
"An exclusive," Luanne answered.
"Yeah, an exclusive. My parents want me to put the money away for college, but I'd like to buy an ATV with it."
"You're too young to have one," his mother said.
"I am not!" the boy insisted.
Melody shut off her microphone and turned to Mrs. Barclay.
"Why wasn't I told about this agreement? What am I doing here if I can't interview your son?"
"He wanted to be on TV again. Can't you ask him some questions that don't pertain directly to the details of the incident?"
Although she wanted to take her cameraman and leave, she agreed to the mother's terms. Having to disregard the questions she had previously planned on asking, she had no choice but to improvise. She decided her interview would not center on the life-saving events themselves but rather on people's reactions to his deeds.
"In the 1960s, a famous artist named Andy Warhol once predicted a future where 'everyone will be world-famous for fifteen minutes.' Four years ago, you were a local celebrity. You had more than fifteen minutes of fame. After you saved your sister's life, you were quite the celebrity with everyone praising your heroic actions. How did you feel about that?"
"It was really great at first," Bobby replied, his face beaming as he recalled those happy memories. "But then it just kinda faded away. Not all at once but gradually. Kids stopped inviting me to their parties, Dixon's took down my cardboard cutout, Bogarts renamed my sandwich and teachers no longer chose me to speak at assemblies. Before I knew it, I was no longer a hero, just some kid in the back of the classroom. I even grew too big for the bicycle I was given, and my parents gave it to my younger cousin."
"Speaking of your parents, did they treat you any differently after you became a hero?"
Bobby glanced in his mother's direction before responding.
"I think they were proud of me—at first. Then people began to say things to them."
"What kind of things?"
"They asked how my sister got the LEGO in the first place. They wanted to know why my mother didn't keep such dangerous things away from her."
Melody now understood Luanne's tears. No doubt, once the accolades for her son's second life-saving feat passed, the fingers of accusation would again point in her direction. They'll call her an unfit mother, blame her for letting a four-year-old near the pool, wonder why a stay-at-home mom was not keeping a closer eye on her children.
"And what do you imagine the future will hold for you?" she asked Bobby, not wanting the interview to get sidetracked to Mrs. Barclay's parenting skills. "Would you like to continue saving lives? Perhaps you would like to become an EMT, a fireman or even a doctor."
"No. I'd like to be a reporter, so I can be on the news every night—just like you. Then people won't be able to ignore me anymore."
Melody turned toward the camera as though speaking directly to the television audience.
"And there you have it. A heroic young man who saved his sister's life not once but twice. I'm Melody Rothwell for WLDM News. Now back to you, Van."
The interview was over. Rafe Silva turned off the bright lights, and the reporter put her microphone away. She thanked the boy and his mother and headed for the door, her cameraman following close behind.
"All's well that ends well," Rafe said as he stored his camera equipment in the back of the station's minivan. "The little sister is alive and well, and the older brother is going to get another fifteen minutes of fame."
But at what cost to the family? Melody wondered.
* * *
Following the most recent televised interview, Bobby Barclay was once again thrust into the public eye. The new mayor, hoping to outdo his predecessor, awarded the young man a special Covington Man of the Year medal rather than a key to the city. Instead of riding on a fire engine in the annual Memorial Day parade, he rode down Main Street with his parents in a classic Cadillac convertible in the Bobby Barclay Day parade.
As the twelve-year-old prepared for his eighth-grade graduation, he found himself the most popular boy in school again. For the second time in his life, he was invited to all the parties, he received countless text messages on his new iPhone—another gift from Dixon's—and, despite his lackluster grades, he was chosen to make a speech at the graduation ceremony.
As expected, Melody covered both the Man of the Year award ceremony and the parade for WLDM. Although Bobby's father proudly attended the functions with his son, the boy's mother kept a low profile, not wanting to see condemnation in people's eyes. Oddly enough, no one seemed to pay much attention to Cammie. The four-year-old had not even been present for the last televised interview.
On the day of Covington's Fourth of July picnic, Melody enjoyed a rare day off. A college intern was covering the event with Rafe Silva, and she was free to enjoy the holiday with her fiancé.
"Would you like a slice of watermelon?" Alex offered when they finished their hot dogs and potato salad.
"That sounds good. While you're at it, can you get me a refill on the lemonade?"
"I just saw your young friend," he announced when he returned several minutes later with the watermelon and lemonade.
"What friend is that?"
"That kid who saved his sister's life. What's his name?"
"Bobby Barclay."
"He was surrounded by a horde of friends."
Melody craned her neck to see if she could spot the family in the crowd. She saw Mr. and Mrs. Barclay, but there was no sign of Cammie. Surely, she was too young to be off on her own.
Maybe people have good reason to blame Luanne for her daughter's life-threatening experiences, she thought.
"What are you looking at?" Alex asked.
"I was searching for Cammie, Bobby's sister."
"Why?"
"I see the parents, but the little girl is nowhere in sight."
Suddenly, Melody got up from her lawn chair and handed Alex her lemonade.
"Here, hold this a minute."
"Why? Where are you going?"
"To the bathroom—and to see where Cammie is."
"Today's your day off," her fiancé reminded her.
"So? Does that mean I can't be curious?"
She took the long route back from the ladies' room, one that took her past the picnic table around which the Barclays sat.
"Hello!" she called, acting as though she was surprised to see them. "How have you been?"
Luanne neither smiled nor spoke but just stared somberly at her uneaten hamburger.
"We've been good," her husband answered. "And you?"
"Fine. I'm getting marred in September, so I'm staying busy—as you can well imagine."
"Are you covering the picnic for the news?"
"No. I'm here relaxing and enjoying myself. How are the children?"
"Great. Bobby is around here somewhere with his friends."
"And Cammie?"
"My mother-in-law is watching her today."
"Oh? Isn't she feeling well?"
"We're staying to watch the fireworks tonight. They don't end until past Cammie's bedtime."
"Believe it or not Miss Rothwell," Luanne said, finally breaking her silence, "I do care about my daughter's safety and wellbeing."
"I never doubted that you did," the reporter said.
"Well, some people feel differently."
"All right, Luanne," her husband cautioned. "Let's not get into that. You know what the therapist said."
"I'd better get back," Melody announced, eager to make an exit now that her curiosity had been satisfied. "My fiancé will think I got lost."
As the reporter walked back to where Alex was sitting, her mind traveled four years into the past to the day when she first met Luanne Barclay. The stay-at-home mom had been such a warm, caring and friendly person, a woman who made guests to her home feel welcome.
And now she's seeing a therapist. Is this all the result of the publicity surrounding her son's actions or is there something else going on here?
* * *
Life is rarely static. Thankfully, most of us learn to navigate its changes. Those that cannot or will not adapt often face serious consequences. Over the next four years, Melody's life held many new challenges. She married, purchased a house and had a baby. During that time, she was also offered the position of news anchor, but she turned it down because she preferred the flexible hours of being a field reporter. It was the easiest way for her to balance her career and family life.
Bobby Barclay went on to high school. His freshman year was the highlight of his life. Not only was there an entourage of admirers clamoring for his attention, but he also had a steady girlfriend. Unfortunately, like before, time ran out on his so-called fifteen minutes of fame. His sophomore year was a repeat of seventh grade, a time when his friends switched allegiance to other heroes. Even his steady girlfriend left him to date the high school quarterback. By the middle of his junior year, Bobby had no friends at all, not even Herbie Elkins, who had moved with his family to Atlanta a year earlier.
During the summer between his junior and senior year, the lonely young man got a part-time job at the snack bar of a nearby waterpark. Being behind the counter exacerbated his social failings. For four hours a day, five days a week, he was forced to watch teenagers he once considered friends enjoying themselves while he worked. Worse yet, he was put in the position of having to be courteous when he waited on them.
Then one Saturday in mid-July, his ex-girlfriend showed up in a skimpy bikini, hanging on the arm of her football player boyfriend.
"Can I help you?" he asked, straining to move his lips into some semblance of a smile.
"Yeah," the quarterback replied. "Two chili dogs, a large fry and two Cokes."
The girl did not say anything. She was too busy looking up adoringly at her gridiron Romeo.
It's like I don't even exist for her anymore, Bobby thought despondently.
Nadir. He learned the word years ago in school. It was one of his vocabulary words in eighth grade. He had always associated nadir (the lowest point) with its more scientific definition in relation to a celestial sphere. He further recalled that zenith (the highest point) was its antonym. Until that summer, he never fully understood its more general meaning: "a low-water mark; an extreme state of adversity; the lowest point of anything."
If my freshman year was the zenith of my life, this certainly qualifies as the nadir. It can't get any worse than this!
As the young man in the refreshment stand was contemplating putting an early and permanent end to his misery, Melody was enjoying all that life had given her. She and Alex were planning a vacation, their first since the baby was born.
"How does Disneyworld sound?" her husband asked.
"It's way too soon. Abby can barely walk yet. I'd rather we wait another two or three years for that."
"California?"
"I don't know how she'd be on a long plane ride, and I definitely wouldn't want to make a cross-country drive with a baby."
"Someplace local then. That doesn't give us many choices."
"Are you kidding? There are plenty of beaches up and down the East Coast, and the Appalachian Mountain Range is within a few hours' drive. There are also plenty of small, family-oriented amusement parks that cater to younger children. There's a Christmas-themed place in New Hampshire that is perfect for a child Abby's age. And it's not that far from Maine. We can go to the park and then spend a few days at Old Orchard Beach afterward."
"Sounds good. I'll go ahead and make the hotel reservations."
Early Monday morning, as she was daydreaming about spending a few days on the beach, Melody walked into WLDM's newsroom for her next assignment.
"Good morning," she greeted Ingrid Nilsson.
"Good morning," the secretary said in turn. "The boss has got a real doozy for you today."
"Oh, no! What is it?"
"A fire."
"Please tell me it's not the Covington Inn. I love that old place."
"No. It's the house at 87 Bedford Road. Does that address sound familiar?"
"That's the Barclay home."
"Last night, shortly after midnight, the whole place went up in flames."
"Was anyone hurt?"
"Mr. and Mrs. Barclay were taken to the hospital, suffering from smoke inhalation and minor burns."
"What about the children?"
"You're gonna love this! Bobby managed to carry his sleeping sister out of the burning house before he phoned 911."
"This makes it the third time he saved her life."
The secretary nodded her head and said, "Talk about coincidence!"
"Sounds kind of fishy to me. I can believe it happening twice, but three times? I don't think so."
Melody's opinion was one shared by many of the people of Covington. Both the chief of police and the town fire inspector conducted thorough investigations into the cause of the blaze, but no sign of arson was found. Still, suspicion seemed to surround Bobby like a swarm of angry bees. Even though he had saved the lives of his sister and parents, there was no parade this time, no award from the mayor, no gift from Dixon's department store, no magazine article and only a brief mention by WLDM news.
Notwithstanding the lack of media coverage, Bobby's popularity during his last year of high school skyrocketed. His social life was a whirl of sporting events, school dances, graduation parties and the all-important senior prom. He even had a new girlfriend, one much prettier and smarter than his first.
"And what are your plans for the future, now that school is over?" Melody asked when she ran into Bobby at the mall one day.
"I'm going to work with my girlfriend's father. He's a plumber, and he's going to take me on as an apprentice."
"That's great. A good plumber can make a lot of money."
"That must be true because he's loaded! And if I marry his daughter—who knows? Maybe I'll eventually inherit his business when he dies."
Melody found it disturbing that a man not yet twenty years old would think about something as morbid as death and inheritance. But then considering how many life-and-death situations he had been exposed to, maybe it wasn't so unusual.
* * *
Melody and Alex Durand walked their son to the bus stop on his first day of kindergarten. Abby, the child's older sister, who was in the third grade, was already in school.
"Our kids aren't babies anymore," the mother said, wiping a tear from her eye.
"They don't stay small for long, do they?" her husband agreed. "Before you know it, they'll be going off to college."
"Don't rush things!"
"Feel like a cup of coffee?" Alex asked after the school bus drove away.
"You must have read my mind."
When they walked into the donut shop on Main Street, Melody ordered two large coffees from a teenage girl in a pink uniform.
"Coming right up, Miss Rothwell," the girl said, addressing the reporter by her professional name.
Melody was not surprised that the barista recognized her. After all, she had become a permanent fixture at WLDM.
"You don't know me, do you?" the teenager asked after the couple took their coffees and began to walk away.
"I'm sorry. Have we met before?"
"Several times you came to my house to interview my brother."
Melody then noticed the girl's resemblance to her mother.
"You're Bobby Barclay's little sister!" she exclaimed with surprise. "You're—no, don't tell me. I'll remember."
She searched her memory until she found the correct name: Cammie.
"How is your family? I heard they moved away after the fire."
"They did. Then, about a year after that, my parents divorced. My mom and I are living with my grandmother. My dad remarried and moved to California."
"I'm sorry to hear that. And what about Bobby?"
"He's married," Cammie replied, casting her eyes aside, clearly not wanting to discuss her brother.
"The last time I saw him he said he wanted to become a plumber."
"Yeah. He's working for his father-in-law."
"Well, I better get to work myself," Melody said, looking at her watch. "You take care. It's nice to see you again."
"You, too."
After leaving the donut shop, the Durands went their separate ways. Alex kissed his wife and walked back to the house for his car so that he could drive to work. As the reporter headed west on Main Street toward the television station, her thoughts returned to her son's first day of school, and the Barclays were forgotten for the time being.
* * *
On the first Sunday in December, the Durand clan put up their Christmas tree. It was a project for the entire family. Alex began by stringing the lights. Then his wife did most of the decorating, with five-year-old Alex, Jr., being given the task of hanging the non-breakable ornaments on the lower branches. Lastly, Abby hung the strands of silver tinsel.
"Now it's time for hot chocolate and cookies," Melody announced once the tree was finished.
As she headed toward the kitchen to make the cocoa, the doorbell rang. At first, she failed to recognize the young girl who stood on her stoop, shivering from the cold. Then her memory kicked in.
"Cammie, what are you doing out on a night like this without a coat?"
"I'm sorry to bother you, but I didn't know where to go."
As Melody let the teenager into her house, the girl broke down sobbing.
"Please don't let him hurt me. He might succeed in killing me this time."
Alex quickly ushered his children out of the room and up the stairs where they could not overhear the conversation.
"Who wants to hurt you?" Melody asked.
"Bobby, my brother."
"Has he hurt before?"
"Yes. But only when he wants attention. The first time he saved my life, I was just a baby. I don't know what really happened then. I might have put the LEGO in my mouth myself. But the other times it was all his doing. He pushed me into the swimming pool when I was four and then pretended to save me from drowning."
"And the fire?"
"He started it. I saw him."
"I had a feeling he was responsible. But what about now? Why do you think you might be in danger?"
"His wife left him, and his father-in-law fired him. He hasn't a friend in the world. And ...."
The girl's answer was interrupted by a renewed bout of tears. Melody put her arms around the teenager both as a means of comfort and for moral support.
"... and now he's moved back in with us," the frightened sixteen-year-old continued. "I think he wants to pretend to save my life again so that people will think he's still a hero."
"If you're really that afraid of your brother, you should go to the police."
"No!" the girl cried hysterically. "I don't want to make him angry. Who knows what he'd do to me then!"
It took a while, but eventually Cammie calmed down.
"I wanna go home now," she announced.
"Wait. I'll drive you."
"No need. I don't live that far from here."
"Well, let me lend you a jacket at least. It's cold outside."
As she helped the girl into a warm parka, the reporter gave her a word of advice.
"If you think you're in any danger at all, call 911."
The girl nodded and then she pulled the hood of the parka over her head and walked away.
* * *
After the children went to bed, Melody and Alex enjoyed a quiet evening in front of the fireplace and the brightly lit Christmas tree. Shortly after ten, the peace was shattered by police sirens.
"They sound awfully close," Melody said.
"Maybe it's a car accident," her husband theorized. "In this weather, there's always the danger of black ice."
As the blaring sound grew louder in volume, the TV newswoman went to the window and looked out.
"I don't see anything. If it is an accident, it must be on the next street."
When Melody walked into the newsroom the following morning, the writers were at their desks, frantically pounding away on their computer keyboards. No one was hanging around the coffeemaker or talking about the weekend's football games.
"What's up?" she asked Ingrid.
"You haven't heard? There was a murder in town."
A murder in Covington was as rare as an honest politician in Washington.
"Who?" Melody asked with a sense of foreboding.
"Bobby Barclay."
"Who did he kill? His sister?"
"No one. He was the victim."
Melody was too upset by the young man's death to cover the story. Besides, she had relevant information that she needed to share with the investigators. When she arrived at the police station, the detective in charge tried to brush her off.
"No comment," he said gruffly. "We'll put out a statement later in the day."
"I'm not here as a reporter. I have information that might be pertinent to your investigation. Cammie Barclay came to my house last night."
The detective changed his tune and led the reporter into the interrogation room where they could talk in private. When she told him the details of her conversation with the frightened teenager, he nodded his head as though she had confirmed his own suspicions.
"Don't you see?" Melody cried. "She must have killed her brother in self-defense."
"You've got it all wrong," the detective said. "Cammie isn't the killer. Her mother is."
"What? Why would a mother murder her own son?"
"You seem to know this family pretty well. You tell me."
As she left the interrogation room and was heading for the exit, Melody passed Luanne Barclay who was being escorted to a cell by two uniformed policemen. The women's eyes met briefly before the accused murderer turned away in shame.
I've seen that look in her eyes before, the reporter thought. It was there when I interviewed her son after he saved his sister from drowning and again when I saw her at the Fourth of July picnic.
The words Luanne spoke that day came back to her: "Believe it or not Miss Rothwell, I do care about my daughter's safety and wellbeing."
That's why she did it! She killed one child to protect the other. Like Cammie, she must have believed Bobby was planning another life-saving situation. Maybe she even caught him in the act of orchestrating it.
Either way, the girl was now safe. Only this time, it was her mother who saved her life. And, unlike her son, Luanne Barclay didn't play the hero to get fifteen minutes of fame; rather, she acted unselfishly and out of maternal love.
Salem is very protective of his baby sister, even if she is the white sheep of the litter.
