Free Aint too proud to beg sfdg-1 by Susan Donovan

baklava?
    Josie returned her attention to the phone call, trying to wrap up the interview. Issy, I appreciate you taking the time to talk with me today.
    We received the photo, so were set to run the article tomorrow. Again, I am so sorry for your familys loss. Well all miss him. After a few more thank yous and youre welcomes, Josie ended the call.
    This is really depressing, Bea said. He wasnt very old, was he?
    Sixty-four, Josie said.
    I wont survive menopause, Ginger said, blinking. Im sure of it now.
    Josie grinned at her friends. She couldnt help it. She was in love. Just forty minutes ago, she was in Ricks arms, his lips on hers and his hands in her hair, right in front of hundreds of tourists. And Teeny. Hed agreed to come to Josies for dinner Thursday. The other reason she was smiling was because she knew something Bea and Ginger didntIssy Patrakis had just informed her that Paulie had had the decency to place the large tray of freshly baked desserts on the counter before he collapsed, and the restaurant was open for customers to pay their respects.
    You look awful perky for a girl whos just lost her baklava, Bea said, crossing her arms over her chest. Been meditating again?
    Give me twenty minutes, Josie said, holding up her palm. Well get a taxi. Call Roxie and tell her to meet us there.
    Ginger placed her fingers flat upon the center of her brow, intercepting the frown before it could cause any damage. Where are we going?
    Olympia Kitchen. Paulies last tray. Josie turned back to her computer.
    Meet me by the elevators in twenty.
    Josie made her deadline with a whole minute and a half to spare, hitting the send key with that rush of accomplishment that always reminded her how much she loved her job. Shed managed to paint a picture of a persons life in under twenty minutesfather of six, grandfather of fourteen, a regular guy with an unusual work ethic, a restaurateur who for decades dished up spanikopita and moussaka with a story and a smile. Josie grabbed her purse and headed for the lobby, stopping by the city desk on the way.
    Its in, she told Kenny, the city editor. Ill be on my cell if you have questions.
    Thanks, kid, he said, not even looking up from his computer screen.
    She raced down the main aisle of the newsroom and waved to the receptionist as she reached the lobby, where Bea and Ginger waited. Just as Bea hit the down key, the receptionists voice called, Hold up, Josie!
    She spun around. Denise, the newsroom receptionist, was gesturing to a small figure perched on the edge of the lobby couch. I just left you a voice mailtheres someone here to see you.
    You coming? Ginger held the elevator door.
    Josie stared at the gray-haired lady with the unmistakable piercing eyes. She hadnt spoken to Mrs. Needleman since the day her husbands obit was published.
    In ten years on the dead beat, Josie had known family members to stop by the newsroom for only two reasonsto retrieve a personal photo lent to the paper or to complain about an inaccuracy, and Josie knew shed long ago returned the North Pole photo to Mrs. Needleman.
    Was there an error in the story? Josie took a step toward the old lady, her stomach sinking at the thought of running a correction.
    Oh, no. It was lovely. Mrs. Needleman smiled up at her, as if there were nothing odd about her visit.
    With an understanding nod, Josie remembered a third reason why someone might stop byloneliness. Mothers whod lost their soldier sons. Siblings or children of the deceased. Neighbors. Grieving friends. About three years ago, a widower arrived in the newsroom in a suit and fedora and offered to take Josie out for a beer, explaining that he needed to talk about his wife, and Josie had already proven to be an excellent listener.
    Beas voice sounded impatient. I guess well just bring you back a piece.
    Make it two! Thanks! Josie shrugged at her friends and sat down next to the widow, dropping her bag on the floor by her feet. How have you been, Mrs. Needleman?
    Im