by Irene Hannon
Closing her eyes, Abby said a silent prayer for Spencer Campbell—and for his son. She’d been through her share of medical emergencies, knew all about the stomach-clenching fear that accompanied them. And Mark had experienced more than his quota, too.
The sudden ring of her phone startled her, and she grabbed for it.
“Abby? Sam Martin. Do you have a minute?”
“Yes.” With an effort, she switched gears.
“I was able to pull your mother’s file yesterday, and it’s clear from Dr. Adams’s notes that she wasn’t the most diligent person when it came to taking care of herself. He recorded numerous hypoglycemic episodes that seem to be a function of neglect. According to his notes, she had one such incident the day before she died. I suspect she didn’t regulate her blood-sugar as conscientiously as she should have prior to going to bed that night. As far as I can see, there’s nothing to indicate she had any other conditions that would have exacerbated her diabetes.”
“That’s good news. Thank you for calling, doctor.”
“My pleasure. Take care.”
As Abby rang off, she let out a long, slow sigh of relief. That was one less hurdle to deal with in their relationship. Whether it solved Mark’s issue with her health, however, remained to be seen. Bottom line, she still didn’t come with any guarantees.
For now, though, she suspected their relationship was the last thing on his mind. Until Spencer Campbell’s health was stable, Mark’s father would be his top priority.
In the meantime, she would pray. For Spencer, of course. But also for guidance—and courage. For her and Mark. Once this crisis was resolved, they would have decisions to make. Ones that could change their lives forever. For better…or for worse.
And the potential for worse was precisely why they were both afraid.
Chapter Fifteen
Mark hated hospitals.
As he stepped off the elevator near the intensive care unit, the ubiquitous antiseptic smell seemed to permeate his brain, awakening old—and traumatic—memories. His mother hadn’t been in the hospital long—mere hours. But he’d made enough trips during Bobby’s illness for that scent to etch itself indelibly in his mind.
Inhaling it again now brought back all the pain and grief and fear he’d known more than twenty years ago. As did the sound of carts being wheeled down the hall and the relentless muted beeping from monitors within the shadowy rooms lining the long corridor.
His gut clenched, and Mark stopped to lean against the wall, closing his eyes as he took a slow, deep breath. Blindsided by the barrage of harrowing reminders from the past and the sudden rush of raw feeling, he felt ill equipped to deal with either. It took every bit of self-discipline he could muster to subdue the almost overpowering impulse to turn around, get back in the elevator and run away from this place.
That’s what he’d done when Bobby died, he recalled. But even then, while he’d been able to physically distance himself from the reality, he hadn’t been able to run from the emotional horror. Nor could he now. He had to face this.
“Mark? Are you okay?”
A steadying hand came down on his shoulder, and he opened his eyes to find Rick regarding him with concern. His brother’s unshaven face was lined with weariness and worry, his eyes were bloodshot, his clothes rumpled.
Making a Herculean effort to stem the tide of painful emotions that threatened to swamp him, Mark straightened up. “I think I should ask you that question. You look like something the cat dragged in.”
“To use another old cliché, that’s like the pot calling the kettle black.”
Mark didn’t doubt that he looked as bad as Rick did after his midnight race through the dark Missouri countryside and his red-eye flight to Chicago. Reaching up, he rubbed the coarse stubble on his jaw. “I guess we’re quite a pair. How long have you been here?”
“Since Dad was brought to the emergency room. About ten o’clock last night.”
“How is he?”
“Stable. We’ll know more when they finish the battery of tests they’re running.”
“Can I see him?”
“Sure. They’re getting ready to take him down for another scan, but you can catch him if you duck in real quick.” He inclined his head toward a doorway. “I’ll wait here.”
As Mark entered the ICU, stepping over cords and skirting the flashing monitors, he checked out the room. None of the faces in the beds were familiar, but a few technicians and nurses were clustered in one curtained area. They parted as he headed in their direction, giving him his first look at his father.
Shock was too mild a word to describe his reaction. Spencer Campbell had always seemed strong and in control and…inviolable. He’d been the one constant in Mark’s life during the turbulent period when everything else had fallen apart. Though Mark had never shared his grief over Bobby’s death with his father, nor sought consolation from him when his mother died, he’d nevertheless counted on him to be there. His father’s reliable, steady presence had helped him survive that devastating period.
But his father didn’t look invincible now. His pallor was frightening and his face was gaunt, the familiar age lines transformed into deep grooves. None of his usual vigor was evident. Rick had said the stroke appeared to be mild, that there didn’t seem to be cause for undue alarm. Mark wasn’t sure he believed that.
Spencer’s eyelids flickered open as Mark drew close, and when his clear gaze met his son’s a smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “You look like you should be lying here instead of me. You must have been traveling all night. I told Rick not to bother you.”
His voice was weak, his speech a bit slurred, but his mind seemed sound, Mark noted with relief, trying to swallow past the lump in his throat as he reached for his father’s hand. It had been years since he’d touched the older man—a fact that didn’t escape his father’s notice, judging by the flicker of surprise in his eyes.
“He would have been in big trouble if he hadn’t.”
“Sir, we need to take Mr. Campbell down for his scan.”
As the nurse spoke behind him, Mark squeezed his father’s hand. “They’re going to do some more tests, Dad. Rick and I will be here when you get back.”
“Why don’t you two go home and get some rest? You know how hospitals are. This could take hours.”
“We’re not leaving.”
“Hmph. You always did do things your own way. And that reminds me…I read that proposal you sent. Nice piece of work. We need to talk about it.”
“Later.”
“Count on it.”
Mark stepped aside as they wheeled Spencer out. Rick was waiting when he exited the ICU.
“He said we should go home and get some rest,” Mark relayed.
“Yeah, I know. He’s been telling me that every ten minutes. Fat chance.”
“Then he started to talk business.”
Rick chuckled. “I’d say that’s a good sign.” Stifling a yawn, he consulted his watch. “I could use some food. Might help keep me awake. Besides, it’s way past my breakfast time.”
“I saw a cafeteria off the lobby.”
“At this point, even hospital food sounds good. Let’s go.”
Ten minutes later, seated at a table tucked into a quiet corner, the two men dived into scrambled eggs and toast. Not until they’d taken the edge off their hunger did they resume their conversation.
“Is Allison okay?” Mark took a swig of his coffee, wishing he had some of the high-octane stuff from the Gazette.
“Yeah. I told her to stay home. She’s about ready to pop, and stress is the last thing she needs. Besides, I didn’t want Elizabeth hanging around here. This is no place for kids.”
“Amen to that.” The hours he’d spent in Bobby’s sterile hospital room remained a vivid, unpleasant memory. “So tell me what happened with Dad.”
“Not much to tell. The hospital called to let me know he was here. He sent for the ambulance himself. Until he was sure it was serious,
he hadn’t wanted to bother me, given Allison’s condition. I plan to read him the riot act about that when he’s back on his feet. Families are supposed to be there for each other—in bad times as well as good.”
Tipping a little cream into his coffee, Mark watched the pale swirls seep into the dark liquid. “I haven’t been very good on that score myself.”
A few seconds passed while Rick took a measured sip of his coffee. “I figure there are reasons for that.”
“Excuses, maybe.”
“I like the word reasons better.” Rick set his coffee down and regarded Mark without rancor. “Whatever the reasons you’ve distanced yourself from the family, I suspect they’re powerful.”
Struck by his brother’s insight—and humbled by his nonjudgmental attitude—Mark was tempted to share those reasons with Rick. Yet he was afraid to open his heart. To make himself vulnerable. To take a risk.
Torn, Mark wrapped his hands around his cup. The cardboard flexed beneath his fingers, and all at once he was struck by the symbolism. The disposable cup reminded him of the way he’d lived for too many years. Use today, then throw it away. Don’t expect permanence. Don’t get attached to anything. Or anyone.
Over the past few weeks, Mark had begun to find that philosophy as flat and unappealing as the weak, tasteless brew from the hospital cafeteria. He’d resolved to try and turn things around. To make his life count for something. To tear down the wall around his heart.
He’d taken some tentative steps in that direction, but as his father’s medical emergency had reminded him, he had no guarantee of unlimited time to rebuild the neglected relationships in his life. Perhaps this was his chance to start that repair work. And trust that God would give him the courage and strength to deal with whatever risks the task entailed.
“You’re right,” Mark conceded. “I did have reasons. But even I didn’t understand them until the past few weeks.” He dug deep for the courage to continue. “And the biggest one was fear.”
Raising one brow, Rick assessed his brother. “You’ve never struck me as the kind of guy who’s afraid of anything. You’ve always marched to the beat of your own drummer, did what you wanted, lived with gusto. Allison and I often talk about your glamorous life, all the fabulous trips and parties. I must admit that we experience momentary twinges of envy.”
“Don’t,” Mark said flatly. “I’d trade it all in a heartbeat for what you have.”
Shocked, Rick stared at him. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah.” The comment had surprised Mark, too. Yet it was true, he realized, even if he hadn’t put the thought into words until now. In the past few weeks he’d undergone a fundamental change. For the better. Rick and Allison had a strong, loving relationship and a wonderful daughter. They might not be able to match his lifestyle in a material sense, but what they had was far more valuable: a full, rich life in all the ways that counted. In contrast, Mark’s existence seemed empty and bleak.
Tilting his head, Rick studied Mark. When he spoke, his tone was cautious. “You mentioned fear. I’m not sure I understand what you’re afraid of.”
“Letting people get close.” Mark took a sip of the tepid coffee as he summoned up the courage to bare his soul. “Do you remember Bobby Mitchell?”
“Not too well. He was your age, and you guys didn’t hang out with us kids. But I know you two were good friends.”
“The best. Like brothers almost, from the time we were toddlers. When he died, part of me died, too. And when Mom died eight months later, I couldn’t handle it. The thought of facing any more loss was too…terrifying.”
His voice grew hoarse, and he stopped to clear his throat. “Anyway, after that I shut down. I decided that if I didn’t let people get close, I couldn’t get hurt. I felt the same way about God, since He’d let Bobby and Mom die. I was determined not to count on anyone or anything—including tomorrow. And that’s how I’ve lived my life for more than twenty years.”
“Wow.” Several beats of silence ticked by while Rick digested Mark’s revelation. “I had no idea you were hauling around all that heavy baggage. I think I can understand why you did what you did, but that’s a lonely way to live.”
“I know that now. And I’d like to change things. I want to reestablish my relationship with Dad. And with you. If it’s not too late.”
Rick’s gaze never wavered. “It’s not too late. And I know Dad feels the same way. Maybe that’s one positive that will come out of this stroke. You’ll be working more closely with him than ever while he recovers, so you’ll have a great opportunity to reconnect. In fact, you might be taking over the helm of Campbell Publishing sooner than you anticipated, given Dad’s condition.”
Mark frowned and stared down at his coffee.
“For some reason, I’m getting the impression that you’re not too thrilled about that,” Rick ventured.
“I’m not.”
“How come?”
“To be honest, the thought of running Campbell Publishing doesn’t excite me.”
“You’re kidding!” Incredulous, Rick leaned forward. “You’ll have the chance to shape the company for the future. To carry on the family tradition and add to Campbell Publishing’s record of honesty and truth in journalism.”
“You sound like Abby.” The flicker of a smile tugged at Mark’s lips.
Puzzled, Rick shook his head. “Refresh my memory.”
“The editor of the Gazette, where I’ve spent the past few weeks. She feels the same way you do about journalism and family tradition.”
“And you don’t.” It was a statement now, not a question.
“I respect the family tradition. And I’d love to see it carried on. But I don’t have the passion for journalism that Dad and Abby have. Or that you seem to have.” A perplexed expression flitted across Mark’s face. “You know, that’s one thing I’ve never understood. Why didn’t you join the firm when Dad asked you to after you finished college?”
His brother shifted, then focused on his empty coffee cup. “I hate to admit it, but to a large degree it was an ego thing. When I graduated, you’d just come on board. I could already see that Dad wanted to groom you to take over the lead spot. I don’t know…I guess I wanted to make my own mark. And I knew I couldn’t do that at Campbell Publishing. I’d always be in your shadow.”
He looked back up. “But I’m not complaining, Mark. I like what I do. It’s been a good and satisfying career. And I’m okay with the way things turned out.”
“But I’m not.” Frustrated, Mark raked his fingers through his hair.
“Have you told that to Dad?”
“No. I only came to that conclusion myself over the past few weeks. When I stumbled onto a job that did excite me.”
“Want to tell me about it?”
“Sure. Why not?” Mark took one last sip of coffee and set the cup aside. “While I was in Oak Hill, I got involved in coaching a boys’ basketball team. When one of the promising players started slipping, I found out that his family was in the midst of a financial crisis. As I learned more I realized that there was a need to provide quick assistance to families facing unexpected and temporary crises.”
His face grew more animated as he continued. “It kept eating at me, and then an idea stated to develop. For a charitable foundation that would serve the areas where Campbell Publishing distributes newspapers. The way I conceived it, boards of clergy would administer the program in our different geographic areas, all working through a central office here at headquarters. I researched other foundations, and put together a proposal for Dad to consider.”
“I think that’s a great idea!”
“Thanks.” Mark flashed his brother a grin, encouraged by his enthusiasm. “Dad seems to think so, too. That’s what he brought up as they were taking him away for his test a little while ago. He said he’d read the proposal, and he seemed receptive to the concept. I could really sink my teeth into a project like that, one that makes a tangible difference in people’s lives
and lets me use my finance background in a more humanitarian way. I’d love to direct the program.”
Then Mark’s grin faded. “But as you said, Dad’s always counted on me taking over. I can’t see any way around that without disappointing him—and I’ve done that too often already in my life. Unless…” Suddenly his expression grew thoughtful.
“Unless what?”
“What about you? Would you consider it?”
“You mean…you’re not talking about the CEO spot, are you?” Shock rippled across Rick’s face.
“Why not? You’re Dad’s son, too. You’re smart. You work hard. You have the right values. It’s a perfect fit.”
A flash of interest sparked in Rick’s eyes before he managed to subdue it. “Except for two things. Dad might have other ideas. And I don’t know the business.”
“You could learn. We could work together until you felt comfortable. I don’t think Dad’s ready to turn over the helm yet, anyway, unless he’s forced to for health reasons. But he seemed pretty alert to me a little while ago. There should be time for you to learn. And I doubt Dad would have any problem with the arrangement. You two have always gotten along.”
“Let’s not jump to any conclusions.” Rick’s voice was calm, but Mark picked up his undercurrent of excitement.
“Would you consider it?”
“I’d have to talk to Allison, of course. It would be a big change. But if she was okay with the idea…yeah, I’d give it some serious thought.” Checking his watch, he wiped his mouth on a paper napkin and rose. “But this discussion may be premature. Why don’t we table it until we get through Dad’s crisis? I’m not sure any of us is thinking too clearly now. Ready to go back upstairs?”
“Sure.” Mark stood, and as Rick started to turn away he placed a hand on his younger brother’s arm. “And by the way…thanks.”
“For what?”
“For making the effort to stay in touch all these years. For not resenting me because I was the ‘heir apparent.’ For being a great brother.”
