by Irene Hannon
I’m not complaining, Lord. We’ve done good work there. Your work, for more than a hundred years. But it’s slipping away from me. If there’s a way to save the Gazette, please help me find it before it’s too late. And if that’s not Your will, help me figure out what I’m supposed to do with the rest of my life, and give me the courage to trust in Your guidance.
The prayer helped restore Abby’s sense of balance. But peace of mind was still elusive. And as she turned out the light she knew sleep would still be a long time coming.
It was the perfect picture of domestic tranquility. His brother, Rick, was tossing a large red ball back and forth with five-year-old Elizabeth. A very pregnant Allison was setting the table with a red-and-white checked cloth. And the barbecue grill on the cement patio was smoking.
Mark paused at the back corner of the small brick bungalow, propped his shoulder against the wall and jammed his hands in his pockets, suddenly feeling ill at ease. He had no clue what had prompted him to stop by on his way to the airport to catch his flight back to Oak Hill, except that he’d been at loose ends all morning.
After canceling out of a brunch he’d been invited to, he’d gone for a walk along the lake, hoping some fresh air might improve his melancholy mood. But as he’d dodged young families—bending once to pick up a toddler who’d escaped his mother’s grip and tumbled at his feet with a toothy grin—he’d felt even more depressed.
For whatever reason, he’d had a sudden urge to visit his brother. It had been months since he’d seen him. Christmas, to be exact. Somehow they’d drifted apart, through no fault of Rick’s. His brother called at least once a week, but the chats were brief. Mark was usually distracted and didn’t make much effort to talk. Yet all at once he regretted shutting his brother out of his life.
“Mark?”
Straightening, Mark withdrew his hands from his pockets and rubbed his palms on his slacks. His younger sibling’s incredulous expression morphed into pleasure. “Mark! Come on back!”
They met halfway. Rick ignored Mark’s outstretched hand and clasped him in a bear hug, which Mark awkwardly returned.
“Allison! Look who’s here!” Rick called as he released Mark.
Tall and willowy—at least when she wasn’t pregnant—Allison stood only two or three inches shorter than Rick’s six-foot frame. As usual, she wore her dark hair in a loose chignon—a style left over from her ballet days. Though she didn’t dance much anymore, she still took occasional modeling jobs when her schedule permitted. But being a mom always came first—and it showed in Elizabeth. The little girl, now clinging to Rick’s leg, was the picture of contentment as she cast a curious eye at Mark, followed by an adoring look at her father.
Rick might not have a whole lot in a material sense, but Mark began to realize what he’d meant during their last phone conversation, when he’d said that nothing was better than coming home and sharing a meal with a wife and child who love you.
“Hello, Mark. What a nice surprise.” Allison’s smile of welcome was as sincere as Rick’s.
Even so, Mark felt the need to apologize for his impulsive visit. “I should have called first. It’s not polite to drop in on people.”
“We’re not people,” Rick countered. “We’re family. Elizabeth, honey, say hello to your Uncle Mark.” He eased the little girl out from behind his leg, but rested his hands on her shoulders with a light, reassuring touch.
She had her mother’s dark hair and Rick’s blue eyes. It was an arresting combination.
“Hello.” Her voice was soft and shy as she issued the kind of reserved greeting bestowed on strangers. And that’s what he was to her, Mark realized. She’d seen him at an occasional family gathering, and he’d visited this house a handful of times through the years. But not enough for this little girl to think of him as anything other than a stranger. That, too, saddened him.
Dropping down to her level, he summoned up his most charming smile. “Hello, Elizabeth. I haven’t seen you since you were this big.” He held his hand eighteen inches above the ground. “But now you’re all grown up. Does your dad let you drive his car yet?”
That elicited a giggle, which brought a warm glow to his heart.
“I’m not big enough for that,” she told him. “I’m only in preschool.”
“Really? I thought you were much older.”
He was rewarded with a beaming smile. “Are you going to eat dinner with us? We’re having barbecue.”
“You’ll stay, won’t you?” Rick interjected. “It’s just burgers, but we can throw a couple more on the grill.”
With one more smile at Elizabeth, Mark rose. “I can’t. I was on my way to the airport when I decided to make this impromptu detour. The cab will be back in forty-five minutes.”
“Well, we’re glad you stopped by. How about some iced tea?” Allison asked.
“Sure. That would be fine. How have you been?”
“Fat.” She grinned at him, resting her hand on her tummy. “We’re doing fine, but I think this one’s going to be a soccer player. He or she is kicking up a storm in there.”
“At least it’s not much longer, is it?” Mark eyed her girth.
“Too long. Another ten weeks.”
Rick draped an arm around his wife’s shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “She’s a trouper. I’d have wimped out by now.”
“That’s a fact,” she teased, affection softening her eyes. “Rick, why don’t you get your brother’s drink while Elizabeth and I go put the salad together?”
A few minutes later the two brothers found themselves alone on the patio.
“I didn’t mean to chase off the family,” Mark said.
Nodding to a chair at the glass-topped table, Rick took the one beside it. “You didn’t. I think Allison wanted to give us a few minutes alone. It’s not often we have a chance to talk in person.”
“I’m the guilty party there.” Mark took a swig of his iced tea, then set it on the table.
“You lead a busy life.”
“So do you. But at least you make an effort to stay in touch.”
Settling back in his chair, Rick scrutinized Mark. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“I’m not sure. You just seem…different today, somehow.”
Mark felt different. But he didn’t understand why. Or how to put it into words.
“How’s work?” Rick prodded when Mark didn’t respond.
“Okay. Dad sent me down to a little town in Missouri to check out a paper he’s thinking of acquiring. I’m headed back there later.”
“He mentioned something about that when we had breakfast on Thursday. You don’t usually do field work, do you?”
“No. And that’s not all. He wants me to stay twelve weeks.”
“Is that unusual?”
“It is, considering I could wrap up the financial audit in three or four weeks, tops. But he wants me to do an operational audit, too.”
“That’s a little different for you. What gives?”
“You’ve got me. Dad says this is a special case.”
“In what way?”
“I asked the same thing. He just said I had to trust him.”
“Huh.” Rick considered Mark’s answer while he took another sip of iced tea. “That doesn’t sound like Dad. He always gives a straight answer—even when you don’t want one.” A grin flashed across Rick’s face. “Hey, remember when I was eight and you told me there was no Santa Claus? I went right to Dad, hoping he’d set you straight, and instead he gave me the hard truth. I didn’t talk to you for a week.”
Mark hadn’t thought of that incident for years. “Yeah, well, Dad did. He read me the riot act. Said I should have let you hold on to your illusion as long as you could. That it wasn’t right to take it away before you were ready to let it go. And to help me remember that lesson, he grounded me for two weeks.” That event must have slipped from his memory because it had happened soon after Bobby Mitchell died. That whole time in his life
was a black hole.
“Anyway, I’m surprised he isn’t being up front with you about this.” Rick puzzled over it for a few seconds. “Anything odd at this paper you’re checking out? Maybe he didn’t want to prejudice you one way or the other.”
“No. It’s a pretty straightforward operation. Typical case of a mom-and-pop weekly that can’t stay afloat with today’s cost pressures. It’s a good paper, and seems to be well run. The editor’s sharp—although she’s not very happy about the whole situation.”
“That’s to be expected. People don’t like change.”
“There’s more to it than that. The paper was started by her great-grandfather and it’s been in her family for four generations.”
“Ouch.” A flash of sympathy ricocheted across Rick’s face. “That would be tough. She probably feels like she’s letting the family legacy slip through her fingers.”
“Yeah. But if we don’t take it over, someone else will. Or it’ll go under.”
“That bad, huh?”
“I’m just starting my review, but I’d say that conclusion is a pretty safe bet.”
The patio door slid open and Allison stuck her head out. “Are you sure we can’t convince you to stay for dinner, Mark?”
“No. I don’t want to miss my plane.”
“Next time, then?”
“Sure. Thanks.”
“Well, have a safe trip. I’m going to give Elizabeth her bath. Say goodbye to Uncle Mark, Elizabeth.”
The little girl gave him a shy smile. “’Bye.”
“Goodbye, Elizabeth.”
The door closed and Mark took a final swig of his tea as he looked around Rick’s backyard. For some reason, he was reluctant to leave. The lush green grass was shaded with large oak trees, and well-kept gardens in vivid bloom provided a pleasing border. Colorful playground equipment occupied one corner, and an appetizing aroma from the grill made his stomach rumble. He wished he had a spare hour to share a burger with Rick and his family. Or, better yet, had his own family to go home to.
That surprising thought caught him off guard, and when Rick spoke it took him a moment to switch gears.
“I’m glad you stopped by, Mark.”
Drawing in a deep breath, he cleared his throat. “Me, too.”
“Listen…are you sure everything’s okay?” Rick leaned forward and laid a hand on his shoulder, his expression concerned.
“Yeah.” With an effort, Mark managed a smile. “I guess I’m not anxious to return to the sticks.”
“Is it that bad?”
In truth, it wasn’t. Now that Marge had reduced the clutter in his room and he’d established a routine, the assignment wasn’t all that unpleasant. Still, something in Oak Hill had thrown him off balance. Why else would he have walked out of a perfectly good party last night, one he would have relished a few weeks ago? Why had he skipped out on the brunch this morning and gone for a solitary walk instead? Why had he paid a spur-of-the-moment visit to his brother? Why did thoughts of Abby Warner keep flitting through his mind?
Abby Warner.
She was the key to all this, Mark realized. From the instant they’d met she’d made him feel as if he didn’t measure up. At first he hadn’t cared. Then, as he’d learned a little more about her standards—the ones he was being measured against—her opinion of him had begun to matter.
And along the way he’d been forced to acknowledge a painful truth. She couldn’t have made him feel inadequate unless he was inadequate. The simple fact was that as he’d begun to see himself through her eyes, he hadn’t particularly liked the view.
“Earth to Mark. Earth to Mark.”
It was a childhood tease and it caught Mark’s attention. “Sorry. My mind wandered for a minute.”
“I’ll say. Where did it go?”
“Oak Hill. I was thinking about the editor at the Gazette.”
“From the look on your face, I’m not sure they were good thoughts.”
“Abby’s…different. I’ve never met anyone quite like her. Let’s just say that she keeps me on my toes.”
Tilting his head, Rick regarded his brother with an enigmatic expression. “Is that a bad thing?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, you have eleven more weeks to find out, by my calculation.”
A horn tooted and Mark rose. “That’s my cab. Listen, thanks again for the hospitality.”
“Anytime, Mark. And I mean that.”
“Yeah. I know. I’ll give you a call soon. We didn’t even have a chance to talk about your job.”
“Yours sounds more interesting at the moment. Especially Abby.”
With a forced grin and a wave, Mark headed for the cab. Interesting was a good word for Abby, he decided. There were others that came to mind, too. Like admirable. Attractive. Appealing. But he refused to consider them.
Interesting was definitely a whole lot safer.
Chapter Six
The e-mail from Spencer Campbell was waiting when Abby arrived at the office Monday morning. As she read it, her eyebrows rose.
I met with Mark on Saturday and it seems he’s made a good start on the financial review. However, I got the distinct impression that he’s not yet had much interaction with the staff or involvement in the day-today operation of the Gazette.
As I mentioned in our phone conversation a few weeks ago, I hope you’ll provide him with some practical field experience. This is his first on-site audit, and I’d like him to get a few ink stains on his hands, so to speak. It would also help him better understand the Gazette—and assist him in making an informed recommendation.
Mark is aware that I’m expecting more than a financial report from his visit, and I’ll remind him of that in a separate e-mail. Please don’t hesitate to contact me if any concerns arise.
A wry smile tugged at the corners of Abby’s mouth. Mark was going to love this. Especially that “ink stains on his hands” part. She doubted whether his strong, lean fingers had ever done anything more strenuous than lift a tennis racket or hold a drink.
Journalism didn’t require manual labor, of course. But it didn’t happen in a nice, comfortable penthouse office, either. Nor was it neat and tidy. Or necessarily pleasant. And Mark Campbell didn’t strike her as the type who liked to dirty his hands in unpleasantness. Or do anything that caused him discomfort.
This should be very interesting.
As Mark reread the e-mail from his father, his lips settled into a grim line.
After our breakfast Saturday, it occurred to me that while your financial progress seems good at the Gazette, your work so far has been confined to numbers. I’ve asked Abby Warner to assist you with the operational audit by providing you with a more thorough grounding in the business, per our original discussion in my office. Please give her your full cooperation.
Exactly what had his father told Abby? Mark wondered. Nothing good, he suspected. He knew his father was disappointed in him. That he’d expected his oldest son to grow up and start caring about the business and its future. To carry on the family tradition with commitment and passion—as Abby had with the Gazette.
The trouble was, he’d never felt the excitement and enthusiasm about this business that she did. Or that his father did. He’d ended up at Campbell Publishing simply because he hadn’t felt a passion for anything else.
It wasn’t that he lacked appreciation for his father’s achievements. In fact, he respected them. Took pride in them, even. He just didn’t feel a compelling desire to carry them on.
Had he told his father years ago that he wanted to follow a different path, he suspected the older man would have overlooked his disappointment and supported his son’s ambitions. But with Spencer’s retirement from the day-to-day operations only a couple of years away, now wasn’t the time to tell him he had to find someone else to carry on the tradition.
In truth, Mark supposed he owed it to his dad to give this a shot. To try and summon up some enthusiasm. To go along with whatever Abby
deemed appropriate in terms of “grounding.” Depending on what she had in mind, of course. There were limits, after all.
Unfortunately, she struck him as the type who would push those limits.
Abby didn’t keep him guessing long. When a discreet tap sounded on the conference room door about midmorning, he turned to find her on the threshold.
“Do you have a minute?” The faint blue shadows beneath her eyes seemed a tinge deeper than usual, he noted, as if she hadn’t been sleeping well.
“Sure.”
He started to rise, but she waved him back to his seat, half closed the door and joined him at the table. She got right to the point.
“I had an e-mail from your father this morning.”
“I did, too.”
When he offered nothing more, she continued. “He’s asked me to give you a behind-the-scenes look at Gazette operations.”
Again, Mark remained silent—a technique that had served him well in the business world. It unsettled people, often giving him the upper hand. Especially in situations where he was at a disadvantage—like this one.
But if Abby was flustered, she hid it well. She leveled a direct gaze at him, and when she spoke again her manner was confident and controlled.
“I’ve decided that the best way to accomplish that is to run you through our standard new-employee orientation. That involves shadowing each staff member for a couple of days. You can start with Molly.”
“Molly?”
“Of course. She practically runs the place. I suspect you’ll learn more from her than from all the rest of us combined.”
“But…she’s a receptionist!”
Abby’s eyes narrowed at his disparaging tone. “And office administrator.”
