by Irene Hannon
On impulse, Bryan reached across the table and laid his hand over his father’s. “You were a success, Dad.”
James smiled. “There’s more than a wee bit of your mother in you, I’m thinking.”
“I’m lucky if there is.”
“That you would be. Now, tell me how the new job is going.”
Shrugging, Bryan took a sip of his coffee. “Okay, I guess. I don’t plan to stay there forever, just until something else comes along. In the meantime, though, I’ll start looking for a house. I don’t want to overextend our welcome.”
“As if you could. Truth be told, it’s nice to have some company. I’m enjoying the chance to get better acquainted with my grandson. Those once-or twice-a-year visits just whetted my appetite. He’s a fine boy. You’ve done a good job with him, son.”
“It’s been a challenge.”
“That it has, I’m sure.”
“Hey, Grandpa, when are we leaving?” Dylan barreled into the kitchen, skidding to a stop beside the table. It was clear he’d tried to tame his unruly hair with a wet comb, though with limited success.
“My, now, don’t you look fine, all dressed up in your Sunday best,” James said.
“It is Sunday, Grandpa.”
“So it is. And judging by that clock on the wall, we’d better get a move on or we’ll miss the first song. Pastor Abernathy is a great believer in the virtue of promptness. He’ll have that organ pumped up right at six o’clock.” Rising, he reached for the car keys on the kitchen counter. When he spoke again, his tone was casual. “All these years of shift work, I never have been able to get to the morning services. So I haven’t kept up with the Hamiltons. I hear they’ve had their share of trouble lately, though. How’s Amy holding up? She was such a sweet girl, and I know she loves her father. This must be hard on her.”
His father had always had a soft spot for Bryan’s first girlfriend. When Bryan had invited her home on a number of occasions for family celebrations, she’d dazzled everyone with her charm and poise. His family had been sorry when they’d broken up. By then, Bryan had been away at school and hadn’t offered much of an explanation, except that they’d grown apart. And once he got engaged, they’d never discussed Amy Hamilton again. He supposed his father had only brought her up now because she was Bryan’s boss.
“I haven’t talked to her about it. We don’t see that much of each other.”
“Who’s Amy?” Dylan wiggled onto the edge of a chair and propped his chin in his hand.
“Amy Hamilton. From my office.” Bryan consulted his watch. He didn’t want to talk about Amy. “Aren’t you going to be late?” he prompted.
“You mean Ms. Hamilton? The angel-hair lady?”
Intrigued, James cocked his head. “Angel-hair lady?”
“She has golden hair, like the angels,” Dylan explained.
“Do you know her?”
“She came with the guy who took pictures of me and Dad. Only she didn’t come here, just to the school.”
“Did she now.” It wasn’t a question. But there were plenty of questions in James’s eyes when he looked at Bryan. “Your dad didn’t say anything about that.”
Bryan’s neck grew warm. “It was just a photo shoot. It probably took all of fifteen minutes. I don’t think we said more than a dozen words to each other.” He didn’t mention the breakfast that followed. Or the impromptu, closed-door meeting they’d had in her office.
“Hmm. Well, young man, the Lord is waiting for us.” James turned his attention to Dylan. “Let’s head for the hills, as John Wayne used to say.”
A puzzled expression flitted across Dylan’s face. “Who’s John Wayne?”
Shaking his head, James angled a look at Bryan. “If the younger generation doesn’t even know who John Wayne is, then I’m overdue for retirement.” James looked back at Dylan. “He starred in a lot of cowboy movies years ago.”
“Oh.” Dylan slid off the chair and turned to Bryan. “Do you want to come, Dad?”
It was hard to ignore the hopeful expression on his son’s face, but he did his best, giving his standard response to this standard question. “Maybe next time.” He kept hoping Dylan would get discouraged and stop asking, but so far he’d persisted.
“It would be nice if you came with Grandpa and me. It’s a really pretty church, with stained-glass windows and a big steeple. And there’s a big lawn in front that runs right down to the river.”
“I remember, Dylan. I used to go there.”
“How come you don’t anymore?”
At a loss, Bryan gave his father a beseeching glance. The older man’s eyes held their own silent entreaty, but he didn’t repeat Dylan’s question. Instead, he reached for his grandson’s hand and led him to the door. “Your dad’s still trying to figure out the answer to that question himself. Now, I’ll tell you what. After church, why don’t we take a run over to Sugar Tree Park? Sure, and it’s a lovely place on a summer evening, as I recall, and we can get ourselves an ice-cream cone at one of the stands by the lake. They have the best chocolate chip….”
As the door closed and his father’s voice faded, Bryan took a deep breath. Telling his son that he was angry at God wasn’t an option. That would only raise more questions that were even more difficult to answer. Maybe he ought to just go along with them in the future. It wouldn’t kill him to sit in the church for an hour a week. Besides, he could use the quiet time. He didn’t even have to listen if he chose not to. And his presence would get him off the hook with Dylan. Not to mention his father. Maybe that alone was a good enough reason to go.
“Look, Grandpa! It’s the angel-hair lady!”
James followed the direction of Dylan’s finger. He hadn’t seen Amy Hamilton in a long time. As far as he knew, she had little cause to venture across the river to Hickory Mills. And his trips to the Davis Landing side of the Cumberland were rare. He’d never felt comfortable in the “uppity” section of town. The idea of stopping for ice cream at the park with Dylan had been a spur-of-the-moment suggestion to distract his grandson. But James wasn’t sorry they’d come. He’d almost forgotten how lovely and peaceful the park was. The setting sun was turning the wayward drops of water from the spout in the middle of the lake to glistening diamonds. From their comfortable seat on a wooden bench, the spire of water was framed by a charming Victorian-styled gazebo on the other side of the lake, and the lush perennial beds surrounding the structure added a festive splash of color.
But he let his appreciative gaze wander over the scene for only a brief second before it swung back to the woman with the golden hair. It was Amy, all right. No question about it. She seemed to be lost in thought as she followed the path around the lake. He doubted whether she would even have noticed them in the fading light if Dylan hadn’t greeted her as she drew close.
“Hi, Ms. Hamilton.”
Startled, Amy jerked her head in the direction of the childish voice. She’d been so focused on sorting through her jumbled feelings about the situation with Bryan that she’d finally abandoned trying to catch up on some work in her condo. She’d hoped a brisk walk in the fresh air would clear her mind, but so far her foray into the September heat had only brought a flush to her face, one that deepened when she recognized Dylan. It took her a bit longer to realize that the older man beside him was James Healey. The last time she’d seen Bryan’s father, six or seven years before, his hair had still been vibrant with color, his face smooth and unlined. It was clear that the death of his wife had taken a toll on him. But his smile was just as cordial as she remembered when he stood.
“Dylan spotted you first. It’s good to see you, Amy.”
She closed the distance between them and extended her hand. He took it between both of his, in a warm, caring clasp as she spoke. “Hello, Mr. Healey. Hi, Dylan.”
“We’re all adults now. Just call me James. Would you like to join us?”
When she hesitated, Dylan chimed in. “There’s plenty of room.” He scooted to the far side
of the bench, leaving a wide gap in the middle. “You can have some of my ice cream,” he added, as a further enticement.
“Now there’s an offer that’s hard to refuse.” She grinned and planted her hands on her hips. “But I’m selfish enough to want one all my own. Save that spot for me, okay?”
Before they could respond, she jogged off, returning a couple of minutes later with a large cone.
“Two scoops, I see,” James teased.
“I’ll pay for it tomorrow. It’ll be diet yogurt for lunch.”
“Doesn’t look to me like you have to worry. You haven’t changed a bit since high school.”
“I hope that’s not true.” She gave him a look of mock horror, though she was more than half serious.
Catching her meaning, he gave a sage nod. “A very good point, indeed. I’m sure everyone changes inside as they age. At least I hope so. But on the outside, you look the same. You could still pass for a teenager. I’d have recognized you anywhere, even after all these years.”
Because she couldn’t respond in kind, she kept her reply innocuous. “It has been a long time.”
“Too long. I was sorry to hear about your father. How is he doing?”
Her smile dimmed. “He’s home now. Signs indicate that the transplant has been successful. But it’s too soon to tell for sure. We’re just taking it a day at a time. And trusting in God to give us the strength to see this through. I wish I had Mom’s faith and fortitude. She’s been a rock. Even with everything else that’s happened, she just carries on.”
“I did hear about Jeremy, and the changes at Hamilton Media.”
“Hasn’t everyone, thanks to the Observer.” There was a bitter edge to her voice. “As if we needed that, on top of Dad’s illness.”
“Is your dad sick, Ms. Hamilton?”
She’d almost forgotten that Dylan was beside her. With an apologetic smile, she turned to him. “He was. But he’s getting better now.”
“I’d be sad if my dad got sick.” He stopped eating his ice-cream cone and gave her a worried look.
Berating herself for discussing a subject that a child could find upsetting—especially a child who had lost his mother—Amy attempted to reassure him. “Well, I don’t think that’s going to happen. I’ve known your dad a long time. We went to school together. And he never got sick.”
“You went to school with my dad?”
“Mmm-hmm. Right here in this town.”
“Wow! Dad never told me that.”
Why would he? What would be the point? She was almost sorry now that she’d spilled the news. It might elicit questions that would be awkward for Bryan to answer.
“Well, it was a long time ago. Maybe he forgot. How’s that ice cream?”
Instead of responding at once, Dylan took a big bite, leaving a white ring flecked with black around his mouth. “Great! Grandpa says this is the best ice cream in Tennessee.”
“I think he’s right.”
As they talked, Amy made short work of her own treat, leaning over as it began to drip. After she popped the last bite of cone into her mouth, she wiped her hands on a paper napkin and stood. “Well, I’ve got to be off. I’ll have to do a couple of extra laps around the lake to get rid of all those calories. But it was worth it.”
James rose and extended his hand again. “It was good to see you, Amy. I’ll keep your family in my prayers.”
Blinking away a sudden stinging behind her eyes, Amy managed a smile. “Thank you. Bye, Dylan.”
“Goodbye, Ms. Hamilton. I’ll tell Dad we saw you.”
Unsure how to respond, Amy merely lifted a hand and headed back down the path. She had no doubt that Dylan would follow through on his promise. And if he didn’t, James would. But however he learned of her encounter with his family, Amy knew with absolute certainty that Bryan wouldn’t be thrilled by the news.
“Staying late?”
Intent on her work, Amy finished typing the sentence before she looked up at Heather, who stood in her office doorway. “It’s crunch time for the church newsletter. I haven’t had a minute to work on it until this week, and it’s scheduled to go to the printer in two days. Pastor Abernathy gave me one final addition after services last Sunday, or I’d have forgotten about it altogether.”
“That’s not like you. You never forget anything.”
“Well, there’s a first time for everything, I suppose.”
Only since Bryan had reappeared, Heather reflected. But she kept that thought to herself. “I just wanted to let you know that we’ve got a layout done for Bryan’s column. Ethan’s photos turned out great. I’ll run it by you tomorrow.”
“Okay, thanks.”
“Don’t stay too late.”
“Yeah, right.”
As Heather departed, Amy refocused on the newsletter. She still wasn’t quite sure how Pastor Abernathy had convinced her to take it on after the former editor relocated to a different part of the state the year before. With his open manner, bright red hair, freckles and friendly face, the man could charm the cream from a cat. He’d been a great asset to Northside Community Church when their previous pastor retired four years before, breathing new life into the congregation. Within six months, he’d thrown the church’s support behind a new sports program for at-risk youth, then started a meals-on-wheels program. Amy participated in that as well, delivering dinners one night a week in the outlying area.
In truth, though, she didn’t mind. Her volunteer efforts for the church filled up the space in her life not occupied by work. And it was small repayment to the Lord for helping her find her way back to her faith.
Two hours later, Amy flexed the muscles in her back as she printed out the finished newsletter. Done for another month, except for the proofreading. She’d tackle that tomorrow, when she was fresher. Right now, her stomach was growling, reminding her that lunch was a distant memory.
As she swiveled toward her printer to retrieve the pages, she heard the glass door that led from the elevator lobby into Nashville Living offices open, then whoosh shut. Odd. Few staffers ever stayed until—she checked her watch—almost eight o’clock.
She continued to listen, then froze when she heard a file drawer click shut. Apparently someone had just come in, not gone out. After all the trouble caused by Curtis Resnick, one of their accountants who had been fired six months before for embezzlement, Amy’s antennae went up every time she saw or heard anything that seemed halfway suspicious. And a file drawer being closed this late in the evening, long after working hours, was more than a little suspicious.
Taking care to be as quiet as possible, Amy tiptoed to her door and peeked out. The place appeared to be deserted, the dim night-lights casting eerie shadows on the maze of cubicles that occupied the center of the second floor. Could she have imagined the noise? If so, she didn’t want to embarrass herself by alerting security. Maybe she should take a quick look around first.
The newsletter printout still clutched in her hand, she moved cautiously through the offices, looking for signs of anything out of order. Nothing seemed abnormal, though, and as she completed her circuit she began to relax. Chalk it up to an overactive imagination, she chided herself. Next thing, she’d be hearing—
“I didn’t know anyone else was here.”
As the voice spoke behind her, Amy gasped and spun around, the papers in her hand flying in all directions. She stumbled back, losing her balance as the thin heel of her pump came down on an electrical safety strip. She would have fallen if a hand hadn’t shot out to steady her. A hand that belonged to Bryan Healey.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Relief surged through her, and her muscles relaxed. But she couldn’t stop the tremors that ran through her body like an aftershock. Nor could she seem to locate her voice.
“Amy?” Bryan stepped closer, reaching over to grasp her other arm as he scrutinized her face in the dim light. She looked shaken, and he could feel her trembling. “Are you okay?” His voice was
now laced with concern.
With an effort, she gave a jerky nod. When she spoke, her voice was choppy. “We had some…problems…with an employee…a few months ago. I still get spooked by…by noises at night, when I’m here alone.”
Bryan figured she was here alone at night a lot, since she’d always placed such a high priority on her career. Long hours would be part of her routine. But being accosted in the darkened offices wouldn’t be. Contrition flooded his face. “I’m sorry. Look, do you want to sit down for a minute?”
Shaking her head, she reached up to brush her hair back from her face, and he let his hands drop to his sides. Even in the dim light, he could see that her fingers were still unsteady.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“I had to leave early to attend a program this afternoon at Dylan’s school. I came back to make up the time after I went home for dinner.”
“That’s not necessary, Bryan. We understand when people have family commitments.”
Shrugging, he bent down and began gathering up the papers she’d dropped. “I don’t want to short-change my job.”
She joined him on the floor, reaching for a sheet that had wedged itself under a printer stand. “I’m not worried about that.”
When he didn’t respond, she gave him a quick glance. He was staring at the cover page for the newsletter, and there was a puzzled look on his face.
Amy rose, and he followed, handing over the sheets of paper he’d gathered as she answered his unasked question. “It’s the church newsletter.”
“I figured that. Why do you have it?”
“I’m the editor.”
He gave her a blank look. “What?”
“I’m the editor.”
Bryan tried to digest that information. Though Amy’s church attendance had been regular in high school— Wallace wouldn’t have allowed otherwise—he knew she’d fallen away from her faith in college, treating it as excess baggage. He’d seen how she lived, when he’d made that unannounced visit during her freshman year. She’d taken him to a wild frat party, where excessive drinking seemed to be the main activity. Despite her urging, he’d declined to participate. But that hadn’t stopped her. She’d called him a stick-in-the-mud, then proceeded to down several drinks. When she became tipsy, Bryan had taken her back to her apartment, only to discover that she shared it with two other girls, including one who’d had a live-in boyfriend.
