Butterfly Summer. Arlene James

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ a warm hug. “It’s going to be all right, Mom. One way or another, it’s going to be all right.”

      “It has to be,” she said fervently, her eyes closed tight. “I’m trying so hard to trust God to heal him.” She pulled back far enough to give Heather a reassuring smile. “We have to keep holding on. Now is not the time to relinquish our faith.”

      “We’ll keep praying,” Heather promised, “and we’ll keep trusting God, no matter what happens. Now, let me take you home.”

      Nora stepped away then. “No, no. I want to stay close by.” She gestured toward the sofa. “I’ll lie down here for a while. Besides, you need to get back to work, and my car’s in the parking lot.”

      Heather knew that her mother was right. The office couldn’t seem to get along without her for more than an hour or two. Still, after such devastating news, it was difficult to leave her parents here on their own. It just seemed to be one thing after another lately.

      “If you’re sure.”

      “Absolutely,” Nora said, stiffening her spine. “I’ll see you at home later.” She kissed Heather’s cheek. “I’m so glad that you and Melissa are there. I couldn’t bear coming home to that big old house all alone.”

      Heather smiled. She knew that few twenty-seven-year-olds still lived at home with Mom and Dad, but there was plenty of room and the time had never felt right to leave. She’d almost done it after college when her boyfriend of two years had proposed marriage, but that would have meant not just leaving her parents’ home but moving away from Davis Landing and Tennessee for Florida, where he’d had a job waiting in the aerospace industry. She’d known that wasn’t right for her.

      Now, six years later, she seemed stuck, but as much as she prayed about it, she couldn’t convince herself that it was time to strike out on her own. This, obviously, was the life that God meant for her. If the very worst happened and her father died, her mother would need her more than ever. No, now was not the time to be thinking about moving out.

      Nora smiled indulgently. “You go on, darling. Don’t worry about me. Or anything else.”

      “That goes for you, too,” Heather said, moving away. “Get some rest.”

      “I’ll try. Tell Vera Mae not to hold dinner for me, will you?”

      Heather stopped. “Mom.”

      “Please don’t say it. I’ll eat here, with your father, and be home later. Besides, the pastor is coming this evening, and I don’t want to miss him.”

      Heather sighed. She understood Nora’s need to spend as many waking moments at Wallace’s side as possible, but these past weeks had taken a toll on her, too. She had started to look brittle and fragile. Still, convincing Nora Hamilton not to give her utmost to her family was easier said than done. In the end, Heather left her mother just as Nora wished.

      She knew that staying busy would help keep her own mind off her father’s health. Nevertheless, once she was alone in her car in the hospital parking lot, with the air conditioner humming against the mid-June heat, Heather took the time to formulate a cogent and purposeful prayer, one that included family unity during this difficult time.

      Her family truly loved one another, but Wallace’s illness had upset everyone and exacerbated their differences, especially those between Jeremy and Tim. It didn’t help that this crisis had come just after Curtis Resnick’s embezzlement had been uncovered.

      Heather agreed with Jeremy’s decision not to prosecute Curtis and to demand restitution instead. Tim, however, did not. Amy claimed not to care so long as the money was recouped. Chris had taken no position, and only spelled out the likely consequences of prosecuting Resnick when asked to do so by Jeremy. Thankfully, Wallace had left the decision to his eldest son, who seemed determined to be generous as well as fair. After all, he and Curtis had been very good friends at one time.

      Whatever opinion any of them held, however, no one wanted to be dealing with the aftermath of embezzlement while Wallace was fighting for his life. It was added stress that none of them needed just now. Yet, they’d get through it.

      They were Hamiltons, and Hamiltons might bend, but they didn’t break. If Heather hadn’t learned anything else from her father, she’d learned that much. It was one more reason why going on without him was almost unthinkable at this point.

      “Oh, Lord,” she prayed aloud, “I don’t know what Your purpose is in all this, but I do know that You have one. I just hope that when all is said and done, it includes healing my father and bringing our family closer together. I won’t ask for things to be the way they were before. We’ll never be the same after this, but we can be better. Isn’t that what You always want for us, Lord, to be more like You? Use this, then, toward that end.”

      She went on with her prayer, fervently seeking God’s will and claiming His mercy. Afterward, as always, she felt better, strong enough to face whatever awaited her at the office.

      As features editor of the magazine, she was always dealing with some crisis, stepping in to settle differences and adjust priorities, choosing projects, making sure all the i’s were dotted and the t’s crossed—whatever it took to get each feature and column brought in under deadline. She just never dreamed that today of all days she would become the feature.

      Chapter Two

      Heather walked into the stately three-story brown brick building on the corner of Main Street and Mill Road in the very center of the city and smiled at the elderly pair sitting behind the reception counter in the small lobby.

      The Gordons had been with Hamilton Media since the days when the Davis Landing Dispatch had been a weekly, rather than a daily, newspaper. Since then they had each “retired” from one position to another, finally winding up as self-proclaimed “gatekeepers.”

      Stooped and gray, they resembled nothing so much as someone’s great-grandparents, which they were. They were also sweetly formidable, and as such had earned the nickname “The Gargoyles.” It was virtually impossible for an outsider to get past either one of them and into the building without an appointment, let alone into the offices of the newspaper on the ground floor, those of the magazine on the second or those of the corporate center on the third.

      Without missing a beat, Mr. Gordon hopped up from his stool and swiftly crossed the polished marble floor to the elevator, punching the up button, so that the door stood open and waiting when Heather strode into it, her flowered skirt belling out as she turned on the toes of her sensible pumps. Mrs. Gordon, meanwhile, was already on the phone, alerting whoever had inquired about her return that Heather was once again in the building.

      As the old-fashioned elevator, sumptuously appointed in dark paneling and gleaming brass, rose laboriously toward the second floor, Heather took a moment to straighten the square oversize collar that all but obliterated the fitted bodice of her dress, which was short-sleeved in deference to the weather.

      As the door slid open once more, Heather greeted the secretary to the head of advertising, who shoved a clipboard and pen at her as she stepped out of the elevator.

      “The lifestyle column has to be cut,” she stated unceremoniously, “and they’re holding print until you okay it.”

      “What’s the problem?”

      “A larger than normal advertisement.”

СКАЧАТЬ