When Never Comes

by Barbara Davis

“No. No torch.” “Right. Good. Guy’s some hotshot with WKPR. Tall, dark, and hair sprayed. Does the evening news. I think they might be living together.” Wade set down his bottled water and reached into the fridge for a beer. He twisted off the top, tossed it into the sink, and took a long pull. He wasn’t sure why the news stung. Simone had always wanted to make the switch from print to television. God knew she had the looks—not to mention the instincts necessary to claw her way up the food chain. “You still there, man?” Wade started. “What? Oh, yeah. Just, you know . . . busy.” “Oh good. For a minute there, I thought I lost you. So what’s the deal with the book? I know you said you were finally going to finish it. How’s that going?” “Good,” Wade replied, hating the lie. “Just polishing, you know.” “Yeah, you were always a polisher. All the i’s dotted, all the t’s crossed. Every word chosen for maximum impact. Killian really screwed up when he let you get away.” Wade checked his watch, suddenly eager to end the call. “Listen, I’m in a kind of time crunch here with the edits, but anytime you want to come down to the cabin to do a little fishing, you let me know.” “Phone works both ways, man. I’m here if you need me. I mean it. Anything.” Wade ended the call, drained what remained of his beer, then promptly reached for another, hoping to drown the