Man Of The Family

CHAPTER FOUR

AS SOON AS Griffin shut the front door, her cell phone rang with a melody from Porgy and Bess. Why hadn’t she changed it? Nate was no longer the man she would love until she died.

Sunny ignored his call...again.

Nate had made his choice. Now she was making hers. A clean break seemed the wisest course, at least until they had to deal with selling the apartment.

She wandered into the kitchen. A quick look out the windows showed a dark line of clouds heading this way, but the weather was the farthest thing from her mind. She sank on to a chair at the kitchen table and replayed her conversation with Griffin. Had she come on too strong?

She really had to stop acting like a lawyer on billable hours.

Her father was nowhere in sight, but her mother was at the sink, clattering dishes on the drain board and muttering to herself.

“Mom, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” This being her standard answer when something was, Sunny didn’t even blink. Her mother would pry every last bit of information from someone else, but getting her to open up was always a hard, if not impossible, task.

“You might as well tell me,” she said.

Her mother banged a pot into the open dishwasher.

“You didn’t want to talk about Nate when you got home,” she reminded Sunny. “Now I should rattle on about something that doesn’t need talking about?”

“Get it off your chest, Mom.” She paused. “Why were you and Dad fighting?”

To her surprise her mother didn’t try to pretend otherwise.

With a shaken sigh she looked out the windows at the gathering storm, then turned from the sink, drying her hands on a towel before she joined Sunny at the table. “I think we should move. Your father doesn’t.”

Speechless, Sunny stared at her.

“Sell the house?” she finally echoed. “But why? I grew up here. It’s the only home I remember.” The place she needed now, even when that meant sleeping on the old sofa bed. “You love this house,” she said. So do I.

Her mother looked down at her perfectly manicured hands.

“Mom, you’re a homebody. You enjoy spending time here and fine-tuning this room or that. Only Dad’s den has been off-limits.”

Her mother gazed around the homey kitchen with tears in her eyes.

“We bought this house when you were seven, and we’ve been here a quarter century.”

“Yes, and it’s still my home, too.” Soon it would be the only one she’d have.

Thunder rumbled outside, making her mother flinch. “You know about the hurricane that took off our roof. Coming from the airport you must have seen the destruction all over town.”

“It was pouring then. I could barely see through the windshield.” Even if she could, she would have tried to avoid taking in the old neighborhoods.

“That was enough for me,” her mother said. “But some of our friends, you remember the Richardsons, lost everything. And I heard Laura’s mother needs to replace her entire roof.”

At the mention of her friend’s name, Sunny stiffened.

“They all lived closer to the beach than we do,” Sunny’s mom said, “but I think we should put the house on the market while it still has value.” She glanced at the ceiling. Above was the partially ruined second floor and Sunny’s old room with water marks running down the walls, but...

“As if you’ve never weathered a storm before.” Sunny couldn’t quite take the idea in. “Where would you go if you did sell? I mean, not that I think you should...”

Her mother’s face had clouded up.

“You’re on his side?”

“Mom, I know we have our differences—” one of them Sunny’s long-ago move to New York “—but I’m on both your sides.”

A twinge of guilt raced through her. Or was she simply making sure she had a place to hide? To lick her wounds?

Her mother scoffed. “You’re a prosecutor. You always take a side.” She sniffed again. “The Richardsons have gone north to live near their son and grandchildren.” Which served to remind Sunny of another bone of contention. Her mother never missed an opportunity to remind her of the grandbabies she still yearned for. “They’re not coming back,” she said as if the Richardsons had died. “I miss them, but I think they’re safer there.”

“Hurricanes can hit New England, too,” Sunny pointed out. A clap of thunder brought her upright in her chair. “In the time I’ve lived in New York, we’ve had ice storms, floods, a few blizzards, even a mild earthquake. I wouldn’t say it’s that much safer.”

But her parents’ argument still nagged at her. “My childhood—and Chris’s—was practically idyllic.” Sunny took a deep breath before she could continue. “Good schools, a big yard to play in, lots of birthday parties, long days at the beach, friends, and always the certainty that our family, unlike so many others, would stay intact.” If her mother’s need to keep things on an even keel had sometimes troubled her, Sunny had always felt loved. She’d had her dad’s more laid-back nature for a buffer.

Now her mother seized on the word Sunny wished she hadn’t said.

“Speaking of friends, you should call Laura while you’re here. She still lives in town, you know. I haven’t spoken to her mother in ages but—”

Sunny’s aching back hurt even worse. She was so rigid, her neck was burning. “I doubt we’d have much in common, Mom. We haven’t for a long time.”

“But you were such good friends. What’s the harm? Call her, Sunny.”

“I don’t think so,” she said at last. This was one of the not-so-easy parts about coming back. She gave her mom a smile that didn’t quite work. “Once the roof is fixed, you’ll forget about selling the house. And Dad will find some new interest to pursue.” The whole family called him their Project Man. “Besides, if you left here, you’d be leaving Chris and Bronwyn behind. Not to mention those grandbabies they’ll give you.”

She half smiled. “I’m being silly, aren’t I?”

And with that, the subject was closed. For now. Sunny could already see her mother filing their talk away in some far corner of her mind where all the bad things stayed. Another minute, and she’d be bustling about again, planning what to have for dinner or starting to bake brownies.

“By the way, why was Griffin here this morning? He didn’t even come into the kitchen.” She paused. “I didn’t realize you knew each other except from Chris’s wedding.”

Sunny almost groaned. “There was an incident the other day at Bron’s school.” She explained about the stolen watch and pulled it out of her pocket. “He returned this—but I think Amanda should have done that instead and apologized.”

Her mother frowned, the worry lines between her brows deeper than Sunny remembered. “Such a nice girl,” she said. “I can’t believe she’d steal from you.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure she did.”

Her mother sighed. “I know Griffin is trying his best, but Amanda really needs her mother.”

Sunny couldn’t help asking. “Where is she?”

“No one knows. Apparently—and I hate to gossip—once she hit the Boston city line, there was no further trace of her. I know he’s tried to track Rachel but without any luck.” She added, “And as for Amanda—that poor dear.”

That hadn’t been Sunny’s impression, but she resisted the urge to say so. To her, Amanda was like one of the storm clouds outside. “I think she needs more than her mother.” She sighed. “Griffin didn’t welcome my input, though.”

“I’ll talk to Amanda,” her mother said, and Sunny could all but see her making a mental note. “There must be something we can do.”

Sunny was about to answer when the first drops of rain began to fall, and her cell phone rang again. She checked the display. And almost groaned.

“I need to take this,” she murmured.

Her mom’s eyebrows rose. “Nate?” she mouthed, hope in her eyes.

It wasn’t Nate. Instead, Judge Ramsay was looking for her, and a contempt citation in New York wasn’t something Sunny could ignore.

* * *

HE WAS GOING to run away.

One of these days he’d hop in this soccer-mom van and just take off. He’d forget the daily grind at the Palm Breeze Court, complaining tenants like Mrs. Moriarty and the Grump. He’d race along the Florida highways heading for who knew where.

He’d be gone—just like Rachel.

But he couldn’t ignore the voice in his head. You’re the man of the family now.

His small son was in the backseat, staring at the rain-spattered windows. Thanks to the torrential downpour, Griffin could barely see through the windshield.

All at once his left rear tire blew. Josh whimpered at the loud bang, threatening a full-scale panic attack. Griffin flipped on his right signal, then eased the car on to the shoulder. With traffic flying past, he hit the emergency blinker switch.

“It’s okay, buddy,” he told Josh, breathing a little fast himself. He’d never seen rain like this. Florida really knew how to put on the show. In the rearview mirror Griffin could see Josh’s pale face, eyes squinched shut.

“Are we gonna die?”

Griffin’s stomach sank. “No way,” he said. “You wait here. I’ve got to fix that tire.”

Josh began to cry.

“You’ll be fine. Sit tight.”

He opened the door and stepped out into the rain. After his dad had died, Uncle Theo had made sure he knew how to change tires and do a lot of other fix-it jobs. Griffin scrambled in the trunk for the jack, then cranked up the van’s rear end. As he worked in the downpour, he could still hear Josh weeping inside the car.

The latest storm. He hadn’t forgotten his run-in with Sunny, but he needed to. What did she know about trying to get a balky thirteen-year-old girl off to school five days a week without starting another world war? In some other life he might have heeded those tough words about Amanda’s behavior, but right now trying to keep his family, or what was left of it, together was all that counted. If he wasn’t stepping on eggshells around his daughter, he was soothing Josh’s fears.

Griffin tightened the lug nuts on the spare tire, his mouth set. Once, Rachel would have smiled at him in a situation like this, kissed him and teased Josh from his mood, but if she could always do two things at once, he had enough trouble with one.

The traffic whizzed by, rocking the van. No one was slowing down, even under these conditions. He supposed that was because it seemed to rain like crazy every afternoon.

Maybe they were used to it, but he wasn’t. Neither was his son.

“Daddy?” Josh’s voice came through the side window. “I’m really scared.”

“I know you’re scared, Josh. But everything’s under control.” He finished the last nut, wiped his dirty hands on his pants, then got back in the van. “Want me to put on a video?”

“No.”

This was news. The best thing about the van was the twin screens that lowered from the ceiling. “How about Scooby-Doo?”

“No,” Josh said again.

Griffin couldn’t believe his ears. The old series was Josh’s current favorite. That, and the stuffed blue creature from Lilo & Stitch, which he was strangling at the moment in his car seat. He’d gotten it at Disney World with Rachel’s parents the spring before she left home, the week Griffin had been unable to get away from his anchorman duties at the Boston station.

“Take it easy, buddy. Stitch won’t let anything happen,” he said. Neither will I. But Josh didn’t respond. Probably didn’t believe him.

Cars continued to flash past their precarious place on the narrow shoulder. For an instant, he imagined the van being struck by another vehicle. Which was likely the same thing Josh was doing.

Not long ago Griffin had owned a sleek, new BMW. He’d been on his way to a network slot in an even bigger market.

A passing car blew its horn, nearly shattering his eardrum, and Josh cried out.

Water splatted against the windows like a wet rubber sheet. Mud sprayed the van. Griffin tried to find a safe opportunity to pull into his lane.

In the rearview mirror he saw tear streaks on Josh’s face. His son’s breath came in sharp hitches. Griffin imagined saying Come up front with me, holding his son tight with Stitch still in his grip. He could almost hear what Josh would say. I’m not allowed to get out of my seat. It’s against the law. Josh was prone to the most literal interpretations, and he was right. Griffin sure didn’t want to end up on the Jacksonville news tonight.

He had to fight the temptation to scoop his son on to his lap anyway, the need to feel Josh’s arms tight around his neck.

This was Griffin’s life now. Josh and Amanda. He didn’t need a lecture from Sunny Donovan. He knew all about priorities and responsibilities, the right ones now. He tried to meet them, and sometimes did a halfway good job.

He was a long way from Armani suits and Italian loafers. These days he preferred jeans and old shirts. Even though Amanda’s new friend persisted in calling him a celebrity, he didn’t have to worry about making the day’s broadcast at the studio in Boston.

And sitting in for anchorman Griffin Lattimer, who has the day off...

As a boy Griffin had loved to watch his father read the news on TV. But following in his dad’s footsteps hadn’t worked out. When Rachel left, Griffin had been forced to make some tough choices.

The rain continued to slash against the van. From the driver’s seat, Griffin couldn’t kiss Josh’s silky dark hair or inhale his little boy’s scent. Baby shampoo, red licorice, the tempera paint globs from kindergarten that blotted his Mickey Mouse T-shirt. Griffin’s throat closed.

Run away? Who am I fooling?

If he ever left home, he’d miss Josh and Amanda until it killed him. This small, vulnerable child who needed him to be strong was all that mattered. There was no way out. Griffin was right where he belonged.

“Stitch and I have got you,” he murmured to Josh.

And together, they all three rode out the storm.

* * *

BY THE TIME Sunny pulled into the middle-school parking lot, the rain had stopped.

She didn’t have long to wait before Bronwyn came out of the building. She was carrying a stack of books and juggling a big messenger bag. A wayward lock of copper hair hung over one eye.

Blowing it away from her face, she spotted the Bronco. Bron opened the passenger door, then slid on to the seat, dumping her burden on the floor. “Whew. This is amazing—two visits from you within the week. I hate to disappoint you, but speaking to my class again won’t be possible today. You know, the spitball crowd?” She gave a cheeky smile that somehow missed the mark. “School’s out. Unless you’d like to help me grade fifty essays before tomorrow.”

“Thanks, I’ll pass.” Sunny came right to the point. “Bron, I need your take on Amanda.”

“As her aunt? Or objectively, as her teacher?”

“Whatever you can tell me.”

“She’s a bright girl who isn’t living up to her potential.” Bron rummaged on the floor and came up with a wrinkled paper. “This is her essay. Four incomplete sentences, eight grammatical errors, a brown smudge from what was probably chocolate milk...and virtually zero content. She didn’t even address the assigned topic.”

Sunny scanned the sheet. “Not a lot of effort went into this. Obviously.”

“Which seems to be Mandi’s habit these days.” Bron sighed. “Just when I’ve gotten the opportunity to spend more time with her, help her adjust... I can’t seem to get through.” She looked away. “I practically bludgeoned Griffin to move to Florida. And now my once-adorable niece has turned into someone I don’t even recognize.”

“I’m sure you didn’t make Griffin move. He doesn’t seem that easy to convince.”

Bron arched a brow. “Ah. You did speak to him about her.”

“Twice.” Sunny took a deep breath and told Bron about their conversations. Then she shook her head. “At his apartment he refused to hold Amanda accountable. And this morning he actually apologized for her.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. I warned you. Griffin’s not sure how to handle her, and then there’s Josh. He’s always been shy, but since Rachel disappeared, I think he’s afraid his father will, too. He’s pretty anxious.”

Sunny’s heart melted. “He was the cutest ring bearer at your wedding,” she said. “His anxiety isn’t abnormal—from the kids I’ve seen in similar situations—but why doesn’t Griffin get counseling? For all of them?”

“He did, for a while. Then Mandi refused to go, and Josh started wetting his pants before each appointment, and, well, they stopped going.”

“A man in denial if ever I’ve seen one,” Sunny said. “Takes one to know one, I guess. I’ve been a mess since Nate told me he wanted a divorce. Now I’m avoiding him, so we don’t have to talk about selling our apartment.”

Bron touched her arm. “Griffin doesn’t have the market cornered on the hard stuff, does he?” After a moment she went on, “But he’ll have to face facts sooner or later. His kids are troubled, and no amount of pretending they aren’t will make it better.”

“Then you agree with me about Amanda.”

“I wish I didn’t have to—but taking your watch was a definite signal that she needs help.” She gazed off into the distance. “Maybe you can talk to Griffin again at the cookout. I’m not sure we’ll be there,” she added.

“When has Chris ever missed our father’s barbecued ribs?”

Bron only half smiled. “Never. But there’s always a first time.”

Belatedly, Sunny realized that Bron’s smiles had been less than genuine, and her eyes held a worry that should have registered before.

“Trouble?” she asked, tilting her head to look into Bron’s downcast gaze.

She stuffed Amanda’s wrinkled essay back into her bag. “Chris is jealous,” she said, “of the time I spend with my girlfriends. It’s upsetting things at home.”

Sunny’s spirits plummeted. “He’s probably just upset about how the fish are running this month.”

“He always tells me everything’s great,” Bron said, “but you’re right.” She smiled weakly. “This being married stuff isn’t easy.”

Sunny arched an eyebrow. “When Nate and I were first married, we fought like tigers. You and Chris will work it out,” she said, needing to believe that.

“Why couldn’t you?”

Sunny had wondered the same thing many times in the past months.

“We were too different in the end, I guess. We drifted apart in the past few years, and Nate...fell out of love with me.”

Bron hesitated. “You think there’s someone else?”

“That’s the classic reason, but I don’t think so—not that I need to know. How’s that for denial?” She paused for a moment and reconsidered. “No, I think I’m well into the anger stage now.” She told Bron about Nate’s phone calls, the ones she never answered. “I’m not going to help him get over whatever guilt he may feel.”

“Maybe he wants you to come back,” Bron suggested.

“And maybe he doesn’t,” Sunny replied.

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