Again by Sharon Cullars

knew what the future would hold.
    “OK, children,” she said, standing at last. “Class is officially over. You all be good and I’ll see you back here in September. And remember, learning doesn’t stop when the school doors are closed. I know it might be hard, but if you can, find something to read, and I’ll be ever so pleased to hear what exciting adventures you discover in those pages.”
    They nodded, nearly tripping toward the door.
    And just as soon as the minute had come and gone, she found herself alone again.
    It was a state she realized she would have to get used to.

C hapter 9
     
    “T yne, could you come in here for a minute,” Stan said over the phone.
    She closed her eyes as she hung up. She was being summoned—never good. She took a deep breath and got up from her seat. As she passed the other cubicles on her way to Stan’s office, she noticed the unusual quiet. No gossiping on the phones, no bantering. Rhoni was actually doing work, and Gail hadn’t bothered to come in at all. Rumors had already made the circuit. The Chicago Clarion was shutting down. There would be no survivors. When she passed Lem’s cubicle, he looked over his shoulder, his face grim.
    Stan was waiting for her. No distractions today. He pointed to the seat and she sat down dutifully. His face was unreadable.
    “I guess I don’t really need to tell you what this is all about?” Stan never beat around the bush.
    Tyne felt unusually unruffled. All the apprehension leading up to this moment suddenly left her.
    “So, should I start packing up my desk?”
    “Tyne, if it were up to me, none of us would be packing. This is Stingley’s decision.”
    Stingley was Allen Stingley Jr., grandson of founder Willard Stingley, and the only son of Allen Sr., the previous owner, who had died from a sudden heart attack over a year ago. Allen Sr. would never have shut the paper down, no matter what. He had seen it as his personal mission to keep the landmark up and running, to maintain one of the few last black-owned newspapers in the country. Allen Jr., however, had been treating the paper more like a dying elephant about to stink up his lawn, and something that was eating up his money, black loyalty be damned. Seemed he had already made preparations for a quick burial. There wasn’t even time to mourn.
    “The Clarion’ s been losing too much money. It just doesn’t make sense to keep it going.”
    Spoken like a true company man. Obviously, Stan had been completely indoctrinated by Allen Jr. Tyne wondered how much the editor-in-chief would be walking away with. Probably more than enough to retire comfortably to Florida or even the Caribbean. Then she thought better of it. Stan seemed more a Vegas man, perhaps with aspirations of becoming a high-roller.
    She on the other hand would be planning budget meals for the next few months. The safety net was gone. She was on her own.
    “Why’re you smiling?” He asked, his eyebrows up, looking perplexed.
    “Nothing, Stan. Just thinking about future opportunities.” As she sat there, she really tried to look on it as a window opening where a door had shut. Now would be her chance to prove herself. No more crunching numbers, checking and rechecking facts for someone else’s articles. She smiled a little more.
    Stan looked at her like she’d finally lost it. She just shook her head and stood up. “So when is all this going down?”
    “Well, we officially close shop two weeks from Friday. We’ll finish up this last issue and that’ll be it. Allen’s going to write a formal farewell, as will I. And as a nod to the past, Allen wants us to dig up the very first editorial done by his grandfather. I think it’s a good idea. I’ll leave that duty up to you.”
    Tyne wasn’t sure if she was dismissed or not. Then Stan went back to poring over papers on his desk. “That’s all, Tyne.”
    When she got back to her desk, she saw that her message light was blinking. She dialed into her phone