A lesson for anyone hiding an important secret We all have our regrets in life. Mary is mine. Mary and I were both young reporters at the Cleveland News.
The morning we met she had been with the paper just a week. “Hello. I’m Mary,” she said, startling me as I was typing. I looked up to see, standing next to me, a young woman, perhaps two or three years older than my age of 21, clad smartly in a navy suit.
I saw her round face and short, ash brown hair, but what I fixated on was her broad, welcoming smile and clear blue eyes. I stood up to introduce myself, but she stopped me, saying, “You’re Vincent, and you’re on the police beat.
I saw you the other day and asked about you.” Mary added that she had time to go to breakfast with me as soon as I finished typing my story.