my legible longhand, from my new tote and handed them over with a smile. “Let me know what you think. But remember, this magazine is aimed at your average citizen,” I reminded him.
He took the papers from me and began to read while I ate dry toast and watched him.
Things didn’t look good. First, I noticed a tightness visible around his mouth. Then dimples appeared as he compressed his lips. By the time he’d finished reading, furrows had appeared across his forehead. He set the pages down on the table.
“What?” I asked, puzzled by his too-silent reaction.
“This reminds me of the story about the baby giraffe last summer. It was a good public relations piece. Very … sweet.” He shrugged, handing the article back to me. “I guess I just hoped for something more.”
Whatever I’d expected him to say, it wasn’t that. My story was a good one, I knew. The article was lively and informative, telling readers just the things they’d find most interesting. I leaned back in my chair, feeling stunned.
Tucking the article back in my tote, I said, “Did you read the part where I say it will take more than tourism to save the rain forest?”
“That’s the best part,” he said.
“It’s the last paragraph because it’s also the lead-in for my next article,” I explained. “I thought I’d suggest to my editor that the series be continued beyond the four parts already planned. Stretch it out to include some of the things you’ve told me about the zoo. Not just Rochester’s zoo, but all of them.”
“Sounds great.” He reached for his newspaper. “Think you’ll get the go-ahead?”
“It’s all in the angle, as you said,” I told him. “But I’m hopeful.”
Sipping at orange juice, I thought about the pitch I could make once we were home, framing sentences in my mind. Silence stretched between us, but it wasn’t a comfortable one. Today, at Altun Ha, Mart could watch me in action from a distance, I decided as we wordlessly finished our meal and joined the tour group out front.
“See you!” I called, walking away from him, toward the vehicle bringing up the rear of the caravan.
“Allison!” Dan Underwood’s robust shout greeted me as I ducked my head to enter the SUV.
I jumped, startled, and cracked my skull soundly against the door frame. Wincing and cursing under my breath, I took a seat beside the professor and rubbed my bruised cranium.
Behind me, the Underwoods made sympathetic noises of concern.
“Oh, Allison, sorry to scare you like that.”
“Are you all right, dear? That looked like it hurt!”
My smile was pained. “It did hurt, thanks.”
“Poor girl,” Elaine clucked. “I’m always telling him to pipe down. ‘Use your inside voice,’ I tell him. As if he were a little child.”
Dan didn’t seem to mind this public scolding and sat with hands folded, looking cherubic and harmless. After several minutes, however, he said, “Oh, Elaine, stop. I think the patient will live.”
“I’m fine,” I assured them, putting more wattage into my smile. “Looking forward to the trip?”
The change of subject was effective. Elaine launched into a lengthy but not uninteresting oratory on the background of Altun Ha which had me reaching for my notebook.
“You’ve really done your homework,” I said as we rumbled along the sandy roads out of town.
“Oh, yes. It seems to me you get so much more out of a visit if you know the history of the place. Like knowing about the author when you read a book,” Elaine explained.
“Oh, but not entirely!” Professor Ramsey spoke for the first time and we all turned our attention to him. He cleared his throat. “I mean, facts and figures have a place and a purpose, to be sure, but I think one needs to immerse oneself in a country. Soak up its culture objectively, using your own senses and your own judgment. No preconceptions. Not all guidebook philosophy.”
“Well, that’s as it may be,” Elaine jumped in and the debate
He took the papers from me and began to read while I ate dry toast and watched him.
Things didn’t look good. First, I noticed a tightness visible around his mouth. Then dimples appeared as he compressed his lips. By the time he’d finished reading, furrows had appeared across his forehead. He set the pages down on the table.
“What?” I asked, puzzled by his too-silent reaction.
“This reminds me of the story about the baby giraffe last summer. It was a good public relations piece. Very … sweet.” He shrugged, handing the article back to me. “I guess I just hoped for something more.”
Whatever I’d expected him to say, it wasn’t that. My story was a good one, I knew. The article was lively and informative, telling readers just the things they’d find most interesting. I leaned back in my chair, feeling stunned.
Tucking the article back in my tote, I said, “Did you read the part where I say it will take more than tourism to save the rain forest?”
“That’s the best part,” he said.
“It’s the last paragraph because it’s also the lead-in for my next article,” I explained. “I thought I’d suggest to my editor that the series be continued beyond the four parts already planned. Stretch it out to include some of the things you’ve told me about the zoo. Not just Rochester’s zoo, but all of them.”
“Sounds great.” He reached for his newspaper. “Think you’ll get the go-ahead?”
“It’s all in the angle, as you said,” I told him. “But I’m hopeful.”
Sipping at orange juice, I thought about the pitch I could make once we were home, framing sentences in my mind. Silence stretched between us, but it wasn’t a comfortable one. Today, at Altun Ha, Mart could watch me in action from a distance, I decided as we wordlessly finished our meal and joined the tour group out front.
“See you!” I called, walking away from him, toward the vehicle bringing up the rear of the caravan.
“Allison!” Dan Underwood’s robust shout greeted me as I ducked my head to enter the SUV.
I jumped, startled, and cracked my skull soundly against the door frame. Wincing and cursing under my breath, I took a seat beside the professor and rubbed my bruised cranium.
Behind me, the Underwoods made sympathetic noises of concern.
“Oh, Allison, sorry to scare you like that.”
“Are you all right, dear? That looked like it hurt!”
My smile was pained. “It did hurt, thanks.”
“Poor girl,” Elaine clucked. “I’m always telling him to pipe down. ‘Use your inside voice,’ I tell him. As if he were a little child.”
Dan didn’t seem to mind this public scolding and sat with hands folded, looking cherubic and harmless. After several minutes, however, he said, “Oh, Elaine, stop. I think the patient will live.”
“I’m fine,” I assured them, putting more wattage into my smile. “Looking forward to the trip?”
The change of subject was effective. Elaine launched into a lengthy but not uninteresting oratory on the background of Altun Ha which had me reaching for my notebook.
“You’ve really done your homework,” I said as we rumbled along the sandy roads out of town.
“Oh, yes. It seems to me you get so much more out of a visit if you know the history of the place. Like knowing about the author when you read a book,” Elaine explained.
“Oh, but not entirely!” Professor Ramsey spoke for the first time and we all turned our attention to him. He cleared his throat. “I mean, facts and figures have a place and a purpose, to be sure, but I think one needs to immerse oneself in a country. Soak up its culture objectively, using your own senses and your own judgment. No preconceptions. Not all guidebook philosophy.”
“Well, that’s as it may be,” Elaine jumped in and the debate
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