The Family Man

by Irene Hannon

  “Way to go, champ!”

  Too intent to respond to his father’s compliment, Dylan maneuvered the remote-controlled boat around the last obstacle in Sugar Tree Lake, then aimed it in their direction. As it glided toward shore, his posture relaxed and he tilted his head back, grinning at Bryan. “This is cool, Dad.”

  “I had a boat kind of like that when I was your age. But it took me a lot longer to figure out how to control it. By the time I did, the hull bore quite a few battle scars from close encounters with rocks.”

  Dylan’s grin widened. “Ms. Patterson says I have good hand-eye carnation.”

  Chuckling, Bryan reached over and tousled Dylan’s hair. “I think you mean coordination. And she’s right. You’re already a whiz with the mouse on the computer. I can’t keep up with you.”

  “Maybe your fingers don’t work as good because you’re older,” Dylan offered in a matter-of-fact tone.

  “Now there’s an uplifting thought.” A wry smile lifted the corners of Bryan’s mouth. “But I think I still have a few good years left. Do you want to try this again?”

  “Sure. But let’s find a new spot.” Dylan scanned the lake as Bryan leaned down to lift the miniature cruiser from the water. “Hey, look! It’s Ms. Hamilton!”

  At Dylan’s enthusiastic news bulletin, Bryan almost went headfirst into the lake. Tottering, he snagged the boat, then regained his balance. As he stood, he followed the direction of Dylan’s finger. Across the lake, a woman in running shoes, hot-pink shorts and a tank top was jogging. And she was heading their way. Her hair was pulled back with some kind of pink scrunchy thing, and her attention was focused on the walkway in front of her, meaning she was unaware of their presence. It was Amy, all right. He’d recognize those long legs anywhere, as well as her blond hair and lithe form. But what was she doing here now? Since his father had said they’d run into her after the evening service, he’d figured it would be safe to bring Dylan in the early afternoon.

  He’d figured wrong.

  Just as he was debating the merits of trying to make a fast escape, Dylan nixed that possibility.

  “Hey, Ms. Hamilton! Hi!”

  As his son’s excited voice rang across the water, Amy looked up. When she saw them, her step faltered, as if she, too, was thinking about turning around and running the other way. In the end, though, she regained her rhythm, though she slowed her pace. Almost as if she was putting the encounter off as long as possible.

  When she drew close, she dropped back to a walk. Her face was flushed, but whether from the run or the surprise of the impromptu encounter, Bryan couldn’t tell. All he knew was that she looked…different today. It could be her attire, he reasoned. At work, she wore classy, tailored clothing and maintained a brisk, businesslike, professional attitude. In her casual running clothes, she seemed softer, somehow. And vulnerable. Not to mention appealing.

  “Hi, Dylan. Bryan.” Amy spared Bryan a quick glance, noting the boat in his hands, before returning her attention to the little boy. “How’s the sailing?”

  “Great! Dad says I’m doing real good. You want to see my ship?”

  “Sure.”

  Turning, Dylan reached for the boat and proceeded to point out all the details. Amy’s enthusiastic reaction seemed to please him. “Dad gave it to me last night. You want to sail it?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know how.”

  “It’s easy. I can show you.” He set the boat in the water and picked up the remote control. For a second he seemed confused by the various dials. “I’ve only done this once,” he told Amy. “You show her, okay, Dad?” He thrust the remote at Bryan.

  Short of appearing rude, Bryan didn’t see that he had a choice. But a quick look at Amy’s face confirmed that she felt just as awkward about this as he did. After an abbreviated explanation, he passed the remote to her as fast as he could, trying to ignore the brush of her slender fingers against his as she grasped the control panel.

  For a couple of minutes, under Dylan’s animated direction, she sent the boat in various directions. As she negotiated a wide turn, Dylan looked up at her. “We’re going to get some ice cream. Do you want some, too?”

  “Not today. I’m having dinner in a little while, and I don’t want to ruin my appetite.”

  “We’re eating later. Grandpa’s cooking spaghetti. What are you having?”

  “I don’t know. I’m going to my Mom and Dad’s house with my brothers and sister, and Mom didn’t tell me the menu.” Changing the subject, she pointed across the lake, where a duck was casting a suspicious eye on the approaching boat. “Look, Dylan. He’s trying to figure out who the intruder is.”

  So the monthly Hamilton family Sunday dinner was still a tradition, Bryan reflected, casting an idle glance toward the duck. Some things never changed. In a sense, that was a—

  “Dad. Dad!”

  The insistent voice of his son penetrated his consciousness at last, and he looked down. “What is it, champ?”

  “Jeff’s here.” He pointed to a youngster near the gazebo. “He’s in my class. Can I show him my boat?”

  “Sure. But stay where I can see you.”

  “Okay.”

  Dylan took off at a run, and only then did Bryan realize his mistake. Now he was alone with Amy. And his memories of this place. Their place. Did she even recall how special it had once been to them? he wondered.

  It had all started after he’d helped her salvage her yearbook files. They’d begun to talk more, even sharing an occasional lunch in the cafeteria. When the yearbook had finally been published, she’d presented him with the first copy and invited him to the Bakeshoppe to celebrate after school. After ordering hot-fudge sundaes to go, she’d suggested they walk over to the park and enjoy their treat by the lake. He hadn’t argued. He would have followed Amy to the ends of the earth.

  They had been so busy laughing and chatting that neither had noticed the dark clouds scuttling across the sky. Their first clue that the weather had changed was the fat drop of water that plopped on the bench between them, leaving a dark splotch on the wood.

  Only then had Bryan looked up and realized they were in for a sudden spring downpour. Grabbing her hand, he’d pulled her to her feet and tugged her toward the gazebo. “Let’s make a run for it.”

  But she hadn’t budged. Surprised, he’d turned back to her. As the clouds opened, she’d tilted her laughing face toward the sky.

  “I love the rain, don’t you?” she’d said, her expression joyous. “It washes everything clean and makes the world fresh and new again.”

  Despite the intensifying rain, Bryan had been riveted to the spot. Almost the exact spot in which they were now standing, he realized. Back then, all the longing that he’d kept bottled up inside for three long years had surged to the surface. When she’d looked at him, the rain clinging to her eyelashes, the laughter had faded from her face. He’d known then that he was going to kiss her, and her expression had told him she knew it, too. He had lifted his hand to her face, and for a brief second she’d seemed taken aback. Then surprise had softened to warmth—and welcome. She’d swayed toward him—and the rest was history.

  Now Bryan searched her face, wondering if she remembered the sweet intensity of that first kiss. And then he had the most absurd thought…what would happen if he did the same thing right now? Touched her face, leaned toward her for a kiss? Would she respond or recoil?

  As Bryan looked at her, Amy found his expression hard to read—and she was too off balance to even try. Being in this place, with this man, was wreaking havoc on her emotional equilibrium. Sugar Tree Park had held a special place in her heart ever since she and Bryan had shared their first kiss here, in the midst of a rainstorm. For weeks before that, from the time he’d helped her salvage the yearbook, Bryan Healey had captivated her. It hadn’t taken her long to recognize something special in the quiet young man: a tender heart, and a depth that was lacking in most of the guys she’d dated. Unlike them, he seemed able to look beyond h
er blond hair, cheerleader image and red sports car, and to appreciate her intellect, her aspirations, and all of the qualities that made her who she was as a person, not as the daughter of the town’s most prominent and wealthy citizen. That had touched her heart and endeared him to her in a way nothing else could have, paving the way for the romance that followed.

  Of course, that was a long time ago. Bryan had moved on, fallen in love with someone else, married. She meant nothing to him anymore. Yet, as she looked at him now, something seemed to flicker to life in his eyes. Something that she couldn’t quite identify. But it reminded her of that day long ago, when his eyes had darkened as he’d signaled his intent to kiss her.

  A sudden, unexpected yearning swept over her, so intense that for a second she could hardly breathe. Yet even as her heart began to bang against her rib cage, Amy berated herself for her overactive imagination. Whatever she thought she’d seen in Bryan’s eyes had surely just been wishful thinking on her part. Hadn’t it?

  The silence between them lengthened to the point of being uncomfortable. Someone needed to say something. Shifting her weight from one foot to the other, Amy brushed a few stray strands of hair back from her face and checked her watch. “Well…I need to get home or I’ll be late for dinner.”

  Several more beats of silence passed. Bryan swallowed hard before he responded, but his voice still sounded husky when he spoke. “Where are you living these days?”

  “The Enclave.”

  Her car might have surprised him; her residence didn’t. The upscale, six-story condo within walking distance of Hamilton Media was the “in” place to live among young singles. The units were reported to be pricey and pretentious, though Bryan had no firsthand knowledge of the building. Few folks from Hickory Mills had ever been inside. The top of the structure was visible to his left, a few blocks away, and he turned in that direction. “I should have guessed. At least you don’t have far to go.”

  When she didn’t reply, he turned back to her. She seemed about to say something, but then a resigned look settled over her face and she broke eye contact. “Tell Dylan I said goodbye, okay?” Turning, she set off at a jog down the path toward home—and away from him.

  There had been a time when Bryan had been very good about masking his feelings, at keeping his expression neutral and noncommittal. But for some reason, that skill seemed to desert him when he was around Amy. Just now, it had been clear she’d come to the conclusion that Bryan felt his long-held opinion of her had been validated because of her choice of residence. In fact, though, he didn’t feel that way at all. It was just that nothing had been going as he’d expected recently, and it had been a relief to find one thing about her that didn’t surprise him.

  Still, if she thought otherwise, maybe it was for the best. He needed time to regroup, to sort through his emotions and his assumptions. He couldn’t move forward until he felt more settled.

  Unfortunately, he had the disturbing feeling that waiting wasn’t going to be an option. Things were moving too fast. And he suspected the pace was only going to accelerate.

  Chapter Seven

  As Amy turned into the long driveway leading to her childhood home, she slowed the car and surveyed the stately red-brick, three-story Greek Revival house that had been in the Hamilton family for three generations. Set back on a wide lawn, its serene, classical symmetry conveyed a feeling of permanence and stability and order, and its sheltering walls beckoned, seeming to offer a promise of haven, tranquility and calm.

  Back in high school, one of her classmates had told Amy that the Hamilton house looked like a place where you could escape from the world, that within its protective walls a person could find safety and solace. It had been a romantic notion, and back then Amy had thought of her home that way, too. But time had taught her that no physical structure could offer protection from conflict or hurt or pain or emotional trauma. God was the only one who could grant that kind of refuge. A familiar verse from Psalms played in her mind: “Only in God be at rest, my soul, for from Him comes my hope.” She’d taken that to heart long ago, and it had given her great comfort during the recent trials her family had endured.

  Once she came to a stop in front of the house, Amy took an inventory of the cars lining the circular driveway. Heather and Ethan were already here, as was Heather’s twin, Chris. Tim hadn’t arrived yet, but that didn’t surprise her. Always a workaholic, the man had become even more driven since taking Jeremy’s place at the helm of Hamilton Media. He’d no doubt rush in at the last minute. But she knew he’d show up. The monthly family dinner was a tradition none of the siblings ever missed. Especially now, with Wallace finally home from the hospital. Despite his frail appearance, seeing him back at the head of the table would help make life seem more normal—something they all needed right now.

  The front door, with its ornate leaded-glass window, was unlocked, as it always was for these Sunday afternoon dinners. Amy pushed through into the central hall, but the voices drifting from the back of the house told her that the family had gathered on the terraced patio. She headed in that direction, stopping for a brief second at the rear door to take in the scene. To most people, it would appear to be a typical lazy-afternoon family gathering. Her father sat on a chaise lounge, his silver hair glinting in the late-afternoon sun. He smiled as he exchanged a word with his wife of thirty-five years, Nora. Petite, with large hazel eyes, she could pass for half her age if it wasn’t for the silver flecks in her shoulder-length golden hair. Heather sat close by, Ethan behind her with his hands on her shoulders. Chris stood a bit apart, watching the scene as he sipped a glass of minted iced tea.

  Yes, to an outsider the scene would look relaxed. But Amy knew otherwise. For one thing, her father never sat, except at mealtime. He was always on the go, with more energy than he sometimes knew what to do with. Since his illness, however, his vigor had declined, forcing him to adopt a slower pace. Once robust, he’d lost a fair amount of weight, and his perennial tan had faded to an unhealthy pallor.

  There were changes in her mother, too. More flecks of silver in her hair. A few new lines on her forehead. Dark shadows beneath her eyes. As she gripped her husband’s hand, the placid smile on her face couldn’t quite mask her deeper anxiety, which swirled just under the surface like the unsettled rumblings of an earthquake still contained belowground. Heather had pulled up her wrought-iron chair to within inches of her father, and she was perched on the edge of her seat, the taut lines of her body conveying her stress. As for Chris…minted iced tea had always been his “comfort” drink. He never touched it unless he was stressed-out.

  No question about it. The past few months had taken an obvious toll on her family.

  “Amy! I didn’t see you! How are you, dear?” Nora rose and moved toward her oldest daughter, enfolding her in a warm hug.

  “Good, Mom.” Amy returned the embrace, then moved beside her father and bent down to kiss his forehead. “Hi, Dad. You’re looking good.”

  “It’s nice to be home. If I never see another hospital in my life, it will be too soon.”

  After greeting Heather and Ethan, Amy turned to Chris. “Where’s Felicity?”

  “Working. Some hot story was breaking at the Dispatch. She said she’d stop by later if she could.”

  The romance between Chris and Felicity was one of the few bright spots in the current Hamilton saga. And Amy endorsed the union. Felicity would be a good addition to the family. A top-notch reporter, she was also beautiful, intelligent and strong. Felicity was a woman who understood that everyone marched to the beat of their own drummer, and encouraged them to do so. In other words, she was a perfect match for Chris.

  “Miss Nora, dinner’s ready.”

  The group assembled on the terrace turned toward Vera Mae, who stood in the doorway, her hands on her ample hips. She’d been the housekeeper and sometimes-cook at the Hamilton house for as long as Amy could remember. And she’d looked the same for as long as Amy could remember, too. She always wore a
voluminous white apron with deep pockets—where she’d often stashed pieces of candy for the children when they were small—and her long brown hair, streaked with gray, was braided, then coiled on top of her head. She had merry green eyes with a fan of lines at the corners, and a hearty, uninhibited laugh that never failed to bring a smile to Amy’s face. After all these years, the Hamiltons thought of her more like family than hired help. And, after being widowed at a young age, she’d treated them as such, fussing and worrying over them as if they were her own, even volunteering to give up her day of rest to prepare a special celebratory family dinner to welcome Wallace home from the hospital.

  Frowning, Nora checked her watch. “Tim’s not here yet. I hate to start without him.”

  “He’ll be along soon, Mom,” Amy reassured her. “I don’t think he’d want us to wait.”

  “He probably got caught up at the office,” Heather offered as she stood.

  “He’s working on Sunday?” Wallace swung his legs to the ground, taking Nora’s arm to steady himself as he rose.

  Distressed at the slip, Heather tucked her hair behind her ear and sent Amy a guilty look. Hard as their father worked, he’d always reserved Sundays for the Lord and for family. They’d all followed his example until the recent upheaval at Hamilton Media. Tim hadn’t told his father about his weekend hours, though.

  “He just wants to do a good job, Dad,” Amy stepped in. “Being thrust into the top position with no warning had to be a shock. There’s a lot to learn, and that takes some extra time. I’m sure things will settle down soon.”

  Leading the way toward the house, Wallace conceded the point. “Considering the circumstances, I guess that’s true. This illness has played havoc with everything.”

  “But you’re doing better, Dad. That’s the main thing,” Heather encouraged.

  As they settled themselves at the enormous, handmade table in the dining room, designed to accommodate the whole family as well as a good number of guests, Vera Mae began delivering brimming serving platters from the kitchen. The feast included fried chicken, from-scratch biscuits, mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans and a heaping bowl of salad.