The Family Man

by Irene Hannon

  “What?” The shock on her face was echoed in her voice.

  “You heard me. He’s going off to find his roots.” Sarcasm dripped off the last word.

  “How do you know?”

  “Mom called to tell me. He spoke with her last night before taking off for parts unknown.”

  Struggling to remain calm, Amy tried for a reasonable tone of voice. “He’s upset, Tim. He’s angry, and he feels betrayed. How would you like to be told that your father isn’t your father? That the man who’s groomed you to be his successor, who you’ve loved with all your heart, isn’t even a blood relative?”

  For a second, Tim’s anger dissipated. “Okay, I’ll admit it’s a tough break. But of all times to leave… Dad hasn’t even been out of isolation for that long. It’s still touch-and-go with the transplant, and he’s already worried about Hamilton Media. He doesn’t need any more stress.”

  Amy thought about how pale her father looked each night when she stopped at the hospital to visit, his anxiety about the family business apparent as he plied her with questions. He was under more than enough pressure already. “I agree. So let’s not tell him.”

  With a frustrated sigh, Tim raked his fingers through his hair. “That’s what Mom said.”

  “She’s right.”

  “Then who am I supposed to go to if I have a problem with the newspaper? Jeremy’s gone, and I can’t ask Dad without raising suspicion.” All at once, his shoulders slumped and his voice grew disheartened, reminding Amy of the little boy he had once been, always striving to compete with his older brother yet never able to live up to his own lofty standards. “I don’t want to mess things up and disappoint Dad.”

  Because they were so much alike, Amy knew how much that admission had cost Tim. Both high achievers, both driven, both perfectionists, both always striving to please their father, neither had ever handled setbacks or failure well. And neither liked to expose any vulnerability, to show any sign of weakness. Through her faith, Amy had discovered that it was okay to admit that she didn’t have all the answers. And she’d found a way to temper her sometimes unrealistic expectations, to cut herself—and others—some slack. Tim hadn’t learned that lesson yet. She prayed that someday he would. In the meantime, he needed a pep talk.

  “Things will work out, Tim,” she reassured him in a firm, quiet voice. “You’re smart and you’re conscientious. You’ll make this work. And you know you have the support of the whole family. We’ll help however we can. If we stick together, we’ll get through this. The Hamiltons are made of strong stuff.”

  For a few seconds, he stared at her. Then he expelled a slow breath and straightened his shoulders. “Right. Okay. We won’t tell Dad. And I worked on the Dispatch when I was in college. I just need to get up to speed.” His usual confidence was returning with amazing speed. The matter settled, he swung around and headed for Amy’s door. He was almost out when her voice stopped him.

  “One more thing.” He turned mid-stride to look at her, one eyebrow raised. “Ease up a little on the staff, okay? They’re starting to duck when you pass by.”

  “I haven’t been that bad.”

  Rolling her eyes, she shook her head. “Trust me. You’ve been that bad. Poor Dawn was almost in tears the other day. You’ll be looking for another administrative assistant if you don’t change your ways.”

  At least that seemed to get his attention. A flicker of panic flashed across his face. “I can’t afford to lose her right now.”

  “And I can’t afford to lose anyone. A word to the wise. Try being nice. You remember that word, don’t you? Nice. It goes a long way.”

  “I have a business to run. I can’t afford to waste time on niceties right now. We’ll give everyone a bonus at Christmas to thank them for their patience through all this turmoil.”

  “You can’t afford not to be nice. And dollars don’t build loyalty or longevity or commitment in employees.”

  “They can’t hurt.” His pager began to vibrate, and he reached for it, then gave the message a rapid scan. “Gotta run. See you later.”

  As Amy watched him hurry away, she shook her head again. One of these days, she hoped someone would find a way to tame Typhoon Tim. But it sure wasn’t going to be her. Sisters just didn’t have that kind of power—even when they really did know best!

  The staff meeting had gone well. Amy had let Heather introduce Bryan, and as the group had tossed around story ideas for upcoming issues, he’d jumped right in, impressing her with his suggestions. He’d always had good instincts, and it was clear that time hadn’t changed that. If anything, they’d been honed through the years, seasoned with experience and polished with practice. She’d particularly liked his idea about a story on separation anxiety…in parents. It was a unique twist on a familiar topic, and with his only child starting kindergarten in two days, he could write with authority on the subject.

  As the meeting wound down, Amy stood. “I think that wraps things up, unless there are any other issues we need to discuss?” When no one spoke, she reached for her notepad. “Okay. The pizza should be here any minute, so don’t wander too far. Although I don’t think I’ve ever had to twist anyone’s arm to take advantage of a free meal.”

  Her comment elicited some chuckles, and as everyone gathered up their papers and rose, Amy turned to Heather. “Would you check with Herman? The pizza should have been delivered by now.”

  “No problem.”

  This was the part of the meeting Amy had been dreading. After regular sessions, the staff just dispersed. But Amy had started a practice of welcoming new employees with a casual lunch after their first staff meeting. If she skipped the custom this time, it would raise questions—which she didn’t need or want. Better to act as if this was any other welcome party. Meaning she had to stick around, mingle, chat with the new employee. The thing to do was talk business, she counseled herself. Stay away from personal topics.

  Steeling herself, she walked over to the tub of soft drinks on a side table and chose a diet soda. Out of the corner of her eye, she noted that Bryan was talking with a couple of other writers in the far corner. Good. As long as they kept him occupied, she could lay low. And once the pizza arrived, she’d grab a piece, say a few words to Bryan and disappear.

  “Pizza’s here!” Heather called from the doorway, juggling several large flat boxes. As she spread them out on the conference table, the staff converged like hungry buzzards. All except Bryan, Amy realized. He was still standing off to the side, one shoulder propped against the wall, his hands in the pockets of his khaki slacks. As if sensing her perusal, he angled his head her direction and looked at her. Short of being rude, she saw little option but to join him. Better to get it over with, anyway.

  As she walked toward him, he straightened up. With her heels adding three inches to her five-foot, five-inch height, Amy was only two or three inches shorter than Bryan. As a result, she didn’t have to look up very far to get a good view into his deep green eyes. Though cool and dispassionate now, Amy recalled with a pang how they had once radiated warmth and devotion. The contrast produced an almost physical ache in her heart, one she didn’t intend to dwell on. It was obvious that Bryan had gotten over her long ago. And she had no one to blame for that except herself.

  Looking back, she knew that her cavalier assumption that he would wait around until she was ready to make a commitment had been arrogant and insensitive. She’d known how much family meant to him, how much he wanted to establish a home of his own. But she’d selfishly disregarded his needs, his hopes and dreams. Maybe if they’d talked, they could have found a compromise. Instead, Amy had expected him to dance to her music. Even when he’d stopped calling, she’d just assumed he was giving her the space she’d asked for. His profession of love had been so ardent, so sincere, that it had never occurred to her that he was giving his heart to someone else.

  By the time she’d realized what she’d lost, it had been too late. He’d been committed to another, and pride had kep
t her from contacting him. End of story. Or so she’d thought—until his résumé had crossed her desk. Now he was back, stirring up the embers of the flame that had once burned in her heart for him. And she had no idea how to deal with it.

  She stopped beside him and tried for a smile, hoping that her inner turmoil wasn’t reflected on her face. “So…did you find the meeting helpful?” Her tone was a little too bright, and the speculative look on his face told her that he’d noticed.

  “It was a good chance to get a feel for everyone’s working style. I’m glad you came over. I wanted to thank you for offering me the job.”

  “It was Heather’s decision.”

  “But not without your stamp of approval, I’m sure.”

  Since she couldn’t refute that, she remained silent.

  Glancing over her shoulder, he lowered his voice. “I hope this isn’t too awkward for you.”

  Jolted by his direct approach, Amy stared at him. But she supposed she shouldn’t be surprised. Bryan never had been one to dance around issues. Put the problem on the table, deal with it and move on. That had always been his philosophy. And still was, it seemed.

  “Not really,” she responded, carefully lifting one shoulder in an indifferent shrug. “Our history is…ancient. A lot of things have happened since then. And we’ve both moved on with our lives.”

  “True.” His gaze flickered to her ringless left hand, which had a death grip on the notebook she was clutching to her chest. “I hear you’ve never gotten married.”

  His unexpected comment threw her for a second, but she made a quick recovery. “No time. Work has been pretty all-consuming.”

  A sardonic smile touched the corners of his mouth. “You always did have more important things to do.”

  That hurt. Especially since he was right. Back in college, when she’d planned to take the publishing world by storm, the only thing on her radar screen had been her career. But her priorities were different now, even if Bryan had no way of knowing that. Or of knowing that her workaholic style was an escape from loneliness.

  Some of her hurt must have been reflected on her face, because Bryan’s expression shifted, as if he was sorry he’d made that comment. But before he could speak, Ethan Danes loped over to them, his camera equipment slung over his shoulder as he juggled two pieces of pizza and a can of soda. Tall and rangy, his sparkling eyes crackling with energy, it was no wonder he’d been the Hamilton Media heartthrob until he’d lost his heart to Heather six months after his arrival at Nashville Living.

  “Have you thought about how you want to illustrate that piece on separation anxiety? Because if you haven’t, I’ve got some ideas.” He took a huge bite of pizza and shifted his cameras into a more comfortable position.

  Amy welcomed the distraction. She didn’t want to venture into personal territory with Bryan. It would be safer to confine their conversations to business. “By all means, tell us,” she encouraged.

  “It’s a column, right? First person?” At Bryan’s nod, he continued. “Okay, how about we take some pictures of you getting your son ready for his first day of school? Maybe giving him breakfast, packing his knapsack, dropping him off? Readers like that personal touch. It puts a face on the issue.”

  Faint furrows appeared on Bryan’s brow. “I’m not sure I want Dylan in the spotlight.”

  “He’ll probably get a kick out of it. Unless you think the whole experience of going to school is stressful enough already.”

  “No. He’s been in day care for years. Kindergarten won’t be much of a problem for either of us. He’s a little nervous about dealing with new people and a new school, but I dealt with the separation anxiety issue a long time ago.”

  The traumatic memory hadn’t faded, however. As if it was yesterday, he recalled how it had just about ripped his heart out to drop his infant son at day care the first few weeks, after all they’d been through together. Born eight weeks early, tipping the scale a whisper above three pounds, Dylan had spent weeks in the neonatal intensive-care unit, much of the time on a ventilator. And it hadn’t been smooth sailing. Twice there had been setbacks, and Bryan had raced to the hospital in the middle of the night. As he’d stood in helpless vigil beside Dylan’s crib during those crises, his heart pounding, his vision blurred with tears, Dylan would look up at him with those huge, solemn brown eyes. Then his son would reach out his tiny hand and grasp Bryan’s finger with a surprisingly strong grip, as if to say, I’m going to make it, Dad. Don’t worry. And he had. But that had been the loneliest, most emotionally wrenching time in Bryan’s life. Not only had he lost the wife he’d loved, but he’d awakened every day to the fear that he would also lose the son she’d died trying to save. So leaving him at day care had been the toughest thing Bryan had ever done.

  “Look, I can come up with something else. No big deal.”

  At the sound of Ethan’s voice, Bryan pulled himself back from the past. Amy’s pensive expression told him that his face had revealed too much. Most of the time, he had his emotions under control. But for some reason he’d slipped up today.

  “No. It’s not a bad idea.” He tried for a casual tone. “And you’re right. Dylan would probably enjoy it. Besides, it might get his mind off the fact that he’s going to be starting a new school and meeting a lot of new people.”

  “What do you think, Amy?”

  Still struggling to get a handle on the pain that had gripped Bryan’s eyes a few seconds before, it took her a moment to switch gears and respond to Ethan’s question. “Um…yeah, I think it’s a good idea.”

  “Do you want to art direct the shoot?”

  She often did that. Ethan was great, but she had a good feel for composition, too, and for important pieces she often went along to provide a second opinion. While the introduction of a new columnist qualified the story as important, she knew Ethan could handle it. At the same time, she was curious to meet the little boy, after the expression she’d just seen on Bryan’s face. Still, if she wanted to remain aloof from Bryan, meeting his son wouldn’t be her smartest move. She needed to think this through. “I’ll check my schedule and let you know. Meanwhile, you two can work out the details. Good to have you on board, Bryan.”

  Her welcome was perfunctory. As was Bryan’s response.

  “Glad to be here.”

  As she turned away and headed toward the door, Heather’s voice stopped her on the threshold.

  “Amy! Don’t you want some pizza?”

  Without breaking stride, Amy tossed a response over her shoulder. “I’m not that hungry. And I have another meeting to go to.”

  Okay, so the meeting wasn’t for two hours, she acknowledged as she strode away. The part about not being hungry was true, though. Her appetite had vanished after her encounter with Bryan. Still, she’d expected the first conversation to be strained. Maybe even traumatic. But it would get easier.

  Wouldn’t it?

  “Adorable” was the only word she could think of to describe Dylan Healey. From her position near the school entrance, Amy watched Bryan and Dylan get out of their car, then wait for Ethan to find a parking spot and join them. As she walked toward them, she studied the little boy. His tousled auburn hair was the same hue as his dad’s, and he looked healthy and robust. Although his backpack, decorated with superhero cartoon figures, was all little boy, his horn-rimmed glasses gave him a studious and grown-up air. When she drew close he turned toward her, and she noted that he had Bryan’s green eyes, as well as an endearing sprinkling of freckles across his nose.

  The little boy tugged on Bryan’s sleeve. “Hey, Dad, is that the lady you said was going to meet us here?”

  Raising his head, Bryan looked in her direction. “Yeah.” As she closed the remaining distance between them, Bryan dropped a protective hand to his son’s shoulder. “Dylan, this is Ms. Hamilton. She’s in charge of the magazine where I work. Amy, this is my son, Dylan.”

  It had been years since Amy had had much contact with children, and she felt a bit
awkward as Dylan stared up at her, his expression solemn, as if he was trying to figure out whether he liked her or not. Adults did the same thing when they met new people, of course, but children were much more blatant in their assessment. For some reason, Amy wanted to pass muster with this little boy. Relying on her instincts, she dropped down to his level and smiled.

  “Hello, Dylan.”

  “Hi.”

  “Are you excited about school?”

  “I guess. Dad says I’ll like it. Grandpa does, too.”

  “You’ll meet lots of new friends.”

  “My dad is my best friend.”

  Touched, Amy smiled. “I bet he feels the same way.”

  “Do you have a little boy?”

  A pang of regret tugged at her heart. “No.”

  “Don’t you like kids?”

  “Of course. Someday I might have a little boy or a little girl.”

  He considered that. “Then you’d be a mommy, right?”

  She tried to swallow past the lump in her throat. If she’d accepted the gift of love Bryan had offered her years ago, she already would be. This little one could have been hers. “Yes.”

  “I used to have a mommy. She lives in heaven now.”

  His matter-of-fact response didn’t lessen the emotional impact of his words. Amy’s face softened, and she was tempted to reach out and brush one of the unruly locks of hair off his forehead. Instead, she forced her lips into a smile. “I’m sure she still loves you very much.” And then, feeling out of her depth in this kind of discussion, she changed the subject. “I like your backpack.”

  “Dad got it for me.” He directed an adoring look up Bryan. “He said we’d be doing important stuff in kindergarten, and that he wanted me to bring it home in this to show him.”

  When she ventured a glance upward, the tender, loving look on Bryan’s face as he watched his son made Amy’s breath catch in her throat, and she blinked away the sting of unexpected tears. His expression reminded her of the way he had once looked at her, with profound love and absolute devotion. If Dylan idolized his father, it was clear that the feeling was mutual. The love between father and son was so strong, so potent, that Amy felt awed in its presence.