Leaves by Michael Baron Page B

since that first party. Foremost of course was the passing of both of his parents. But somewhere along the line, the shimmer of the party had dimmed for him. It still meant a lot, but more for its historic value than any resonance it could provide in his life these days. Maybe if they held onto the inn for a couple more years and he could see Joey there at a point when he understood what was going on, some of the unalloyed joy Maxwell once felt might return. But holding onto the inn for even one more day was impractical, and they had gotten a very good price in the sale.
    Mike Mills walked out to greet him, extending his hand. “Sorry to hold you up. It’s been crazy here the last few days.”
    â€œThat stuff with Bruce?”
    Mike smiled at him knowingly. “Yeah, that stuff with Bruce. Our readers are a little fascinated.”
    â€œHey, no such thing as bad publicity, right?”
    â€œI don’t think that applies in this case. Come on back to the office.” Mike gestured toward a door and then guided Maxwell through a series of cubicles. The newsroom was certainly buzzing, much more so than any time Maxwell could remember from his days here.
    â€œSo what’s up?” Mike said when they were seated in his office.
    â€œI’m hoping you’ll do me a favor.”
    â€œWhat? A pillar of our community asking for special favors? This is the kind of thing that has Bruce in hot water.”
    Maxwell laughed. “Not that kind of favor. I guess you could say that I’m here to pitch you a story.”
    â€œShoot.”
    â€œYou know that we sold the inn and the new owners are taking over at the beginning of November, right?”
    â€œYeah, of course I know. I’m already negotiating an ad contract with the new guys.”
    â€œAnd I know you know about the Halloween parties we’ve had over the years, because I’ve seen you there scarfing down goodies.”
    â€œYour sister’s a great chef.”
    â€œWell, we’re doing it one more time and I was hoping you’d consider running a little feature piece about it maybe the week before.”
    â€œYou got it. I’ll have John McVie call you to discuss angles in a couple of days.”
    â€œReally? That’s it? I figured I’d need to be more persuasive than that.”
    â€œNah, don’t be ridiculous. I loved your parents, the inn’s a freaking institution in town, and as you yourself pointed out, I’ve enjoyed more than my share of your hospitality over the years. I’m kind of ashamed I didn’t think of it myself.”
    â€œThanks,” Maxwell said, standing and shaking Mike’s hand.
    â€œDon’t mention it. Besides, I figure it behooves me to stay on your good side.”
    Maxwell didn’t have a clue what that meant, but he figured it was best not to ask.

**^^^**

    It didn’t dawn on Deborah until she got there that she hadn’t been to Corrina’s house in months. That dinner for Ryan’s birthday when he went postal on Tyler. Since then, they’d spoken dozens of times and gotten together for a few Wednesday night dinners at the inn, but Deborah hadn’t been in this house since the early summer.
    There was a time when Corrina had the entire family over for brunch nearly every Sunday. Mom and Dad would let Larry Mullen handle things for the afternoon so they could be there, and more often than not Maxwell and Annie would come up from Manhattan to join them. Mimosa in hand, Corrina would toast the family and then each person sitting at the table would talk about their highs and lows for the week. It was a great way to keep everyone in the loop and let people know what was on your mind. It was also a useful tool for soliciting advice if you needed it.
    Then Dad died one Sunday morning and it was a month before anyone had the heart to do anything on a Sunday again. Not long after that, Ryan’s mother died and he moved in with