Hannah extracted a sheet of foil-stamped letterhead paper and skimmed its contents. Each line knotted her stomach tighter. “They’re cutting us off?”
Mom slumped in her worn desk chair. “Agnes Jankowski’s heirs have withdrawn their support. This month’s check is our last.”
“But, but,” Hannah spluttered, “how can they dothat?” Without the patronage of their uber-wealthy benefactor, their small-town newspaper, one of the last in Washington State, would plummet into the red.
And then what? TheBeaconwas her whole world. Losing it was unthinkable.
Hannah’s mental wheels whirred. “We’ll cut costs. Take in more ad revenue.”
“Pfft.” Mom waved an arthritic hand. “The more we stuff our pages with ads, the more subscribers we lose.” With a grunt, she pushed to her feet and hobbled over to perch on Hannah’s desk.
A shiver crawled down Hannah’s spine. Since when had Mom looked so pale and pained and…old? The lines bracketing her mouth seemed deeper today, and a slight tremor shook the hand she laid over Hannah’s tight fist.
“The news industry is changing, love. Local papers are dying off like mayflies on a frosty night. Hell, even the big papers are struggling.”
“But our digital edition—”
“Is also losing subscribers. We’re down twenty-seven percent from last year.”
Old Fred Knudsen shuffled by, pausing to snatch a fry from Mom’s plate. “Afternoon, Hannah. Linda, I’ll have that write-up on the water commission meeting by COB today.”
Mom gave a tight grin. “Can’t wait.”
Once Fred was out of hearing range, she continued in a hushed voice. “There simply isn’t enough news in TC to keep our doors open. It’s time to put the paper to bed for good.”
Heat rose in Hannah’s throat. “And the minute we do, it’ll all happen again.” She shot to her feet and paced the timeworn black and white tiled floor, her hands karate-chopping the air. “It’s our duty to expose that kind of back-room corruption. If the citizens of Trappers Cove can’t see who’s pulling the strings, those strings will strangle us.”
Mom planted herself in Hannah’s path. “Easy now. What happened to us was unfortunate, but—”
“Unfortunate? It was a tragedy! An outrage!” She smacked her desk, knocking papers to the floor. “And it’s not gonna happen again, not on my watch.”
Mom pulled her into a hug. “Honey, I get it. Journalism is in your blood, but it’s a lost cause.”
Hannah jerked free and resumed her frantic pacing. Give up? Lost cause? Not on her watch.
“All we need is one spectacular story that’ll draw subscribers and save theBeacon. Otherwise, where will people get their news? Social media? An informed citizenry is the cornerstone of democracy, and…”
Mom chuckled. “Just like your grandfather, holding a beacon of light to the masses.”
Hannah held only vague memories of her nonno sitting in the Editor-in-Chief’s chair Mom now occupied. She remembered his striped suspenders, his walrus mustache, his ink-stained fingers. Always kind to his over-eager granddaughter, he printed her “stories” on the children’s page. Nonno loved his work so much he never retired, heading theBeaconuntil his sudden heart attack at the age of seventy-five.
Fear snaked around Hannah’s heart and squeezed. Would she come to work and find her mother slumped over in her desk chair, the way they found Nonno Leone?
As much as she loved the newspaper, she couldn’t risk her mother’s health and happiness to save it.
Mom grasped Hannah’s shoulders and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Change is inevitable, my love.”
Grim determination tightened her jaw. “Not this time, Mom. There’s too much at stake.”
A loud rattle came from behind an office divider. Almah Reyes, another of their part-time reporters, poked her head out. “Printer’s acting up again.”
Hannah dragged a hand down her overheated face and muttered, “Why does she insist on printing out her stories?”
Almah harrumphed. “You young reporters and your digital newspapers. I proofread my work the old-fashioned way—with a red pencil.”
Hannah and her mother exchanged a look of weary amusement, knowing whatever Almah turned in would contain several typos.
“What are you working on, Almah?” Mom called.