“No. Well, not immediately, at least. You’ll learn every aspect of the business, from selling ads to typing copy to composition. Even subscriptions.” She leaned forward. “You’ll learn that some subscribers probably used to be doctors, because the handwriting looks more like Sanskrit than English.”

Michelle chuckled. “I’ll cope. My dad had the worst handwriting in the world.”

“And he was a doctor,” Minette agreed, smiling.

The smile faded. “He was a very good doctor,” she said, trying not to choke up. “Sorry,” she said, wiping away a tear. “It’s still hard.”

“It takes time,” Minette said with genuine sympathy. “I lost my mother, my stepfather, my stepmother—I loved them all. You’ll adjust, but you have to get through the grief process first. Tears are healing.”

“Thanks.”

“If you need to talk, I’m here. Anytime. Night or day.”

Michelle wiped away more tears. “That’s really nice of you.”

“I know how it feels.”

The phone rang and one of the employees called out. “For you, boss. The mayor returning your call.”

Minette grimaced. “I have to take it. I’m working on a story about the new water system. It’s going to be super.”

“I’ll see you after school Monday, then. And thanks again.”

“My pleasure.”

Michelle went home with dreams of journalism dancing in her head. She’d never been so happy. Things were really looking up.

She noted that Roberta’s car was in the driveway and she mentally braced herself for a fight. It was suppertime and she hadn’t been there to cook. She was going to be in big trouble.

Sure enough, the minute she walked in the door, Roberta threw her hands up and glared at her. “I’m not cooking,” she said furiously. “That’s your job. Where the hell have you been?”

Michelle swallowed. “I was in...in town.”

“Doing what?” came the tart query.

She shifted. “Getting a job.”

“A job?” She frowned, and her eyes didn’t seem to quite focus. “Well, I’m not driving you to work, even if somebody was crazy enough to hire you!”

“I have a ride,” she replied.

“A job,” she scoffed. “As if you’re ever around to do chores as it is. You’re going to get a job? Who’s going to do the laundry and the housecleaning and the cooking?”

Michelle bit her tongue, trying not to say what she was thinking. “I have to have money for lunch,” she said, thinking fast.

Roberta blinked, then she remembered that she’d said Michelle wasn’t getting any more lunch money. She averted her eyes.

“Besides, I have to save for college. I’ll start in the fall semester.”

“Jobs. College.” Roberta looked absolutely furious. “And you think I’m going to stay down here in this hick town while you sashay off to college in some big city, do you?”

“I graduate in just over three months...”