In response to that recognition, Amy steeled her spine and became resolute, lifting her camera with newfound determination to move past emotional folly. The next group stepped forward. Throughout the remainder of the greeting session, she melted to the sidelines, tucked away by design from direct interactions.
I’m not being a coward, she told herself. I’m not letting this whole unsettling reunion thing set me off balance. I’m simply being unobtrusive, like any good photographer.
Still, one truth remained in place, no matter what her rebuttals. The camera remained her guard. It opened up a wonderful opportunity to focus on Tyler and re-familiarize herself with him, yet at the same time, kept her safely distant and protected. The best of both worlds.
****
Woodland Church featured two-tier seating, and an altar that was raised a step. There, tour crews had set up overhead lights, sound equipment, and instruments. The concert kicked off without a hitch.
Amy continued to chronicle Tyler’s visit, moving fluidly through the venue to capture a variety of shots: crowd responses, multi-colored lights playing across surfaces of the stage, the faces of the audience, Tyler and his band.
Whenever she paused to take in the scene and view the world around her in the context of a potential photograph, a twitch of loss and unpleasant emotion speared her heart—especially when Tyler interacted with his back-up singers.
And then he introduced his duet partner, Rebecca Graham—brought her center stage and kissed her cheek. They shared on on-stage sass and connection that was eloquent. It Amy froze in place.
Rebecca’s sparkling, genuine smile, her easy grace and charm on stage—particularly with Tyler—sent a bead of regret across Amy’s skin. She could have had that with Tyler. Camaraderie. Companionship. Instead, she’d let him go.
Tyler and Rebecca drew up stools and placed them side-by-side. The spotlight tunneled in and focused on the two of them alone while the rest of the houselights went dim.
Amy fell into the scene, her camera forgotten.
Microphone in hand and at the ready, Rebecca perched gracefully on her stool, her lace skirt of peach and her sparkling tank top accentuated by a gauzy over-shirt of stark white. Fiery red hair shimmered in wavy curls that fell to her shoulders. She slid it aside while she waited. That’s when Amy fell victim to a nasty shock. An unpleasant stab agitated her already prickly nervous system. The taut sense of disquiet she fought? It wasn’t just regret. It stemmed from jealousy. Plain and simple. This was a gorgeous woman who spent long hours at Tyler’s side, and that bugged Amy.
As if that reaction made any degree of sense.
Meanwhile, Rebecca waited, as appealing as an angel, watching Tyler as his fingers strummed an acoustic guitar in a melody that began to take shape.
“I want to tell you the story of Amazing Grace,” he said quietly, in a hushed, moving tone that held the entire crowed enthralled. “Now, I’m not talking about the traditional, time-honored hymn we all love.” Music rolled through the church, slow and haunting. “Rather, this is the story of a woman. A woman named Grace. What makes her amazing? Her journey of faith. Amazing Grace travels the badlands spoken of so eloquently in Psalm 23, but through love, and the grace of God, she emerges on the other side. She’s amazing because she never gives up on her faith, on her God. Therein she finds her hope. Her redemption. Her grace.”
The song began in earnest—a stirring duet that emphasized just how skilled, and syncopated, Tyler and Rebecca were as performers.
Or perhaps even more.
Trembling, trying to maintain focus, and distance, Amy lifted her camera, but she just couldn’t click the shutter. She nipped at the inside of her cheek and lowered the lens. Tears stung her eyes as the words of the song—of heartache, surrender to pain, a renewal of faith, hope and love—took root in her heart and left her moved yet so desperately at a loss in her own life.
The audience was captivated, strung together on pearls of music and harmony. Words and notes drew them in. Moments later, Amazing Grace concluded—pitch perfect and on a blended note that echoed through the facility for long moments afterward. Following an awed silence, applause erupted; the crowd moved to its feet in unison.
Tyler joined hands with Rebecca and lifted them high, turning toward her to give her a moment in the spotlight. He kissed the back of her hand and they shared a telling look before separating. When moisture spattered against the top of her camera, Amy came abruptly alert and steeled her emotions. She brushed away her tears, giving herself a hard internal shake.
That’s when a gentle nudge came from behind. Then an arm slid around her waist. “You OK, Amy?” Pastor Ken asked.
She took a deep breath, but the effort ended on a none-too-graceful hiccup. She cleared her throat to cover that display of weakness. “I’m OK.”
“Kiara noticed your reaction. She wanted me to lend some support if you need it.”
Amy’s shoulders relaxed a bit beneath the strength of his hold. She hung her head and fingered her camera. Ken and Kiara were two of the most gentle-hearted, caring people she had ever known. They had taken her in for a time and helped her land on her feet. Thank God.
“I’ll be fine…the song just hit me.”
“And Tyler’s hitting you, too?” There was a trace of knowing in his tone. “I remember the connection you two shared back when.”
“In different times, yes. He was always a great friend.” Amy lifted her chin and found just enough steady resolve to reply with a bit of her former spirit and pluck. “He’s doing great, isn’t he? I’m really proud of him.”
“You know what? You should tell him that. I’m sure he’d appreciate it.”
Amy shrugged casually, but realized she had walked right into that one.
“Do it tomorrow at dinner. We’d love to have you and Pyper join us for a small get-together Kiara and I are hosting to welcome him home. Can you make it?”
Amy’s gaze lobbed from the stage, to Ken, to Kiara, back to Tyler, then Rebecca.
Torture. Dinner with Tyler and the crew would only serve to magnify the chasm between her life and his. The changes. Further attempts at a connection would only end up breaking her heart, and increase awareness of everything her life lacked—and all it could have been under different, and better-chosen, circumstances.
“I’ll think about it.” Amy gave him a wan smile and lifted her camera once again. She started taking pictures, and Ken moved slowly away, but she could tell she remained on his radar screen. And Kiara’s.
That was a blessing, and a burden. She hated the idea of others continually having to mentor her, care for her, and feel compelled to intervene. But by the same token? Thank God they were there, and in her corner. And Pyper’s as well.
****
When the concert ended, a few authorized guests and Woodland VIP’s gathered in a cordoned off area for a backstage visit at the activity center. Then and there Amy decided it was time to give Tyler a proper greeting. After all, her emotional issues were hers alone. At a minimum she owed their past a gesture of support.
The noise level was intimidating as a celebration of the show kicked off, but it didn’t take long for Amy to find Tyler; the crowd ebbed and flowed around him like a tide. He stood comfortably amidst it all, his arm looped around his mom’s waist, his father nearby as well. The image made Amy smile. Mr. and Mrs. Brock radiated familial pride, and judging by the way she kept her sparkling eyes and happy smile trained upon her son, Mrs. Brock—LuAnne, Amy recalled—was delighted to have Tyler back home again, if only for a couple of days. According to Ken, he’d be staying with them tonight and tomorrow. Back home again.
If only it were that easy.
Amy took a deep breath. It was time to move forward, and act like the friend she had always been. She made progress toward approaching Tyler, watching as he shook hands with members of his crew and received enthusiastic hugs of support. Then in came Rebecca. He saw her immediately and grinned while she made a dash for hi
s ready embrace. She gave a happy shout as he lifted her up, and spun her in a full circle.
“You were great,” she enthused, her voice touched by the cadence of the south. “Honestly, what a show!”
“Inspired, wasn’t it, Becs? It feels so good to be home!”
Rebecca pecked both his cheeks and smiled into his eyes. Amy’s heart sank. His dynamic backup singer then greeted others around them and dissolved into the crowd of tour staffers. Amy winced, battling off turmoil, self-doubt, and inadequacy.
It was a battle she lost.
In that instant, her mature, straightforward intentions vaporized. Hiking up her purse and camera strap, Amy kept a tight hold on them both as she turned to leave. She took a few steps toward the exit. She’d beg off tomorrow’s dinner, and bid this entire, world-rocking episode farewell. In the morning, everything would be back to normal. In the morning, she could—“Seriously?”
Amy froze at the sound of the smooth and deep voice that carried with it just a touch of the South. She closed her eyes, and she trembled. Bad.
“You were seriously gonna leave without sayin’ hello to me?”
She couldn’t pull in a proper breath. Her heart skittered wildly. Red-hot heat crawled up the skin of her neck and ignited her cheeks, melting and burning in one fell swoop.
Bravely she turned around, her lips pressed tight, though she fought through it all to offer a tentative smile. “Hey, Tyler.”
It was the best she could manage. His eyes were unspeakably gentle and tender. His attitude of warmth so typical of the Tyler she had known, once upon a life. Amy welcomed that fact, and at the same time, she was swept away by just looking at him.
“Hey, Amy,” he greeted softly. His smile bloomed when he took her hands. A beat later, he drew her in for a long, tight hug that left her aching. He felt so hard, and strong. So wonderful. A lump formed fast in her throat—a bit of mourning, she supposed, for all she missed.
“I, ah, didn’t want to interfere or anything.” As soon as the words crossed her lips, she realized how lame they sounded.
Tyler kissed her cheek, and Amy went a bit dizzy. A bit weak at the knees. “You couldn’t interfere if you wanted to.” He leaned back and drew a fingertip against her chin; he looked deep into her eyes. “I’ve missed you.”
Hearts Key
3
The last thing on earth Tyler wanted to do was step away from Amy, and this much-longed-for moment of reunion. Despite the tumult of activity taking place around them, he experienced the certainty of a connecting rod between them. It was as if they were isolated as a single unit despite the blur and rush of the activity center.
Just as he was ready to speak to her again, the double doors of the facility pushed open once more. A pair of little tornados, dressed in the guise of angelic-looking young girls, burst onto the scene with enough combined power to break the spell. One of them, a pixie with an ocean of long, curly blonde hair, bee-lined to Amy and grabbed her legs.
“Mommy! Mommy, I’m so excited! Annie says I get to have dinner with her tomorrow at her house, and we had fun with Miss Monica and all the other kids! We played house and we played games, and we colored pictures while you concert-ed!”
The words came out rapid-fire, bubbling with excitement. On a fast track, his mind processed the words: Mommy—that would be Amy. Annie—that would be Ken and Kiara’s daughter, the one Pastor Ken had described as a pistol. Dinner—tomorrow night at Ken and Kiara’s.
But his thoughts bounced back repeatedly to just one word in that laundry list of information. Mommy. Amy was a mother.
Did you think she had gone into seclusion, Brock? Come on. She always possessed tremendous allure and magnetism. Remember that all-star athlete from high school she went to homecoming with right after the mission trip to Pennsy? What was his name? Samuels something. He was the ‘King of the School,’ and even he fell all over himself to be with Amy Maxwell. In fact, they were all but engaged when you saw the writing on the wall and chucked everything in Michigan to head south, to the only dream you had left to pursue: Music.
That brought him back around again. Maxwell. If she was married, why did she still go by the last name of Maxwell? Amy had always been independent, and a strong-minded person in their youth, but she hardly fit the type who’d refuse a man’s name in marriage.
New realities, new questions, crashed in while Amy whisked her daughter upward with a happy exclamation then pulled her in tight, holding her in her arms as snug as a caterpillar in a cocoon. Her eyes, however, were a reflection of hesitance. “Pyper, this is Tyler Brock. He’s a friend of mine, and the one who sang for everyone tonight. Can you say hello?”
Pyper was a mini-Amy. The child was shy, but possessed a sparkling personality that instantly touched his soul. Pyper leaned back against Amy, however, keeping distant from him; still, she was polite, and so sweet looking. She thrust out her little hand with formality. “Hello, Mr. Tyler.”
Tyler took hold of her hand, careful not to impose himself beyond a simple grasp and squeeze. He looked into the child’s sea-colored eyes and smiled widely. “Pyper, it’s an honor. I’m so glad to meet you.”
She didn’t respond. Instead, her brows pulled together, and she remained glued to Amy, searching him thoroughly.
Tyler was undeterred. “Did I hear something about pictures you made?”
Pyper nodded, and her hair shimmered and bounced.
“I’d sure love to see them.”
Silence strode in. In his periphery, he saw Amy’s gaze lift to his in surprise. Meanwhile, a second bout of shyness came over Pyper. She snugged a bit closer to Amy’s neck, looking at him with hesitance. Then, she leaned back and blinked at Amy. “Can Annie come, too?”
In unison, Tyler and Amy glanced toward Ken and Kiara’s daughter. As expected, she stood next to her parents, chatting with Kiara while Ken conversed with members of Tyler’s family.
“OK, you can go see if she wants to join us.”
Pyper crawled from Amy’s embrace and scrabbled for the ground. “Annie! Annie, c’mere!”
They were alone once more. People seemed to sense, and respect, his focus on Amy; therefore, he was given a bit of a berth. His heart pounded hard and fast. “Wow. Your daughter is absolutely phenomenal.”
“Thanks. She warms up, but…well…”
“It takes time?”
Amy nodded. "Especially around men. I don’t want you to take it personally or anything.”
Especially around men? That comment begged even more questions, so did Amy’s guarded, timid posture. But this was not the time or place. Instead, wanting only for her to be comfortable with him, Tyler deflected. “I’m the reformed shy-guy, as you know better than anyone else. So, I can relate.”
Amy’s gaze lifted to his, and Tyler saw what he wanted—a heavy downgrade in her discomfort. She even smiled. “A lack of shyness isn’t the only change.”
“Oh?”
She nodded. “The accent, for example.”
She had always known how to catch him by surprise. She glanced at him with the sassy light in her eyes that he remembered best, the one that even now caused a pulse rush. He took in her playful expression and heat blanketed his system. “A bit of one, yeah. I suppose five years in Nashville is bound to rub off on a person. As for losing my shyness, well, life didn’t give me much of a choice in that regard.”
The girls bounded up, hand in hand. Now that she had strength-enforcing support, Pyper pointed toward the hallway outside. “Come on, Mr. Tyler. We wanna show you now!”
He found himself led away from the activity center. It still amazed him. Amy. A mother. He tried to check for a wedding ring, but couldn’t get a good look at the third finger of her left hand.
Pyper and Annie entered a brightly lit classroom where a petite, blonde-haired lady reassembled the space; she turned to greet them with a smile. “Hey, Pyp! Hey, Annie! What’s going…” The woman’s gaze rested on Tyler and she stopped short, her mouth hanging
open. Her eyes went wide. “…on…?”
Tyler stifled a laugh. He was becoming used to fan recognition as his career progressed, but still, the reactions left him humbled.
Amy chuckled, and the sound tickled Tyler’s ears. “Monica Edwards, meet Tyler Brock.” Amy faced Monica again. “Pyper mentioned something about drawings the kids made while you conducted the nursery tonight. We wanted to catch a glimpse of their handiwork.”
“Oh, yeah. Mm-hmm—” Monica didn’t even blink. Instead she stared at Tyler, and the word dazed crossed his mind as a descriptive.
Annie stepped up, wielding a pair of pictures. “This is my house, and this is my church. See how I did the bell tower? Plus, mommy planted lots of pretty flowers for spring at our house. See?”
After Tyler checked them over and doled out appropriate praise, Pyper came to the fore and spoke, presenting her own creations. “This is church, too. It’s like Annie’s ’cause we go to church together and everything ’cause we’re bestest friends. And this is mountains. I heard about them in school from Miss Monica. I love mountains.”
Mountains. Tyler focused on that aspect of the drawing he studied and admired, realizing he might be able to use it to build a comfort zone for Amy’s daughter. “Know what, Pyper? I live near mountains. You can see them from my house. Ever hear of the Smoky Mountains?”
Now that she was his sole focus, Pyper’s shyness returned with a vengeance. She ducked her head. When she reclaimed her pictures, she kept her gaze on the floor while she fiddled with the papers. She scuffed the tip of her sandal against the tile at her feet.
Tyler focused on Monica Edwards, giving her a smile. She had regrouped following his arrival and struck him as the warm and engaging type. Besides, he wanted to give Pyper some breathing room. “You’re a teacher?”
Hearts Key Page 3
