A Dream To Share

“We have a Lamaze refresher class on Saturday morning. Then we’re going to take Elizabeth to the zoo. We’ll probably go out for pizza and rent a video after that. Sunday is church and grass cutting. And we might barbecue. You’re welcome to join us. It will just be burgers and brats, though. Nothing fancy.”

Mark had only been half listening to Rick’s less-than-exciting agenda and, as usual, he’d declined the invitation. “Thanks, but there’s a gallery opening I promised to attend Sunday afternoon.”

“Your social calendar must be a sight to behold.”

“How about you? Don’t you ever want to get out and have some fun?” Mark has asked.

“I have fun every day.”

Dumbfounded, Mark had needed a couple of seconds to regroup. “You call the nine-to-five routine followed by chores at home fun?”

“I like my job. And what could be better than coming home and sharing a meal with a wife and child who love you? By the way, I saw a face from the past a couple of days ago in one of our bookstores. Mrs. Mitchell. She asked me to give you her regards.”

The sudden dull shaft of pain in Mark’s gut had caught him off guard, and his grip on the phone had tightened. The mere mention of Mrs. Mitchell had brought back a kaleidoscope of jumbled memories and emotions, the good and the bad woven together in a tangled web. He’d stopped trying to sort through them long ago, instead burying them deep in his heart. Especially the ones about Bobby Mitchell. He didn’t want them resurrected now—or ever. The past was over and done.

But if that was true, why should events that had happened more than twenty years ago still have such power to disturb him?

Finding no answer to that question, Mark had ended his conversation with Rick, then tried to put it out of his mind. But it had stayed with him throughout the day and into the evening, despite the many distractions at the party.

It was odd, really. And unsettling. Until recent months, Mark had been just as content with his life as Rick seemed to be. But conversations like the one yesterday with his brother, or watching his father’s unwavering passion and energy for Campbell Publishing, or even simple things like observing a family in the park enjoying a picnic or flying a kite, had begun to affect him. Now when he went home to his professionally decorated loft condo, he was no longer impressed by the great view or the hip minimalist furnishings or the trendy address. Instead he was aware of the emptiness. Not just in the rooms but in his life.

Something was missing. That much he knew. The problem was, he had no clue what it was.

The intercom on his desk buzzed, and Mark took a deep breath as he punched the button, trying to dispel the dark mood that had descended on him. “Yes?”

“Your dad’s office just called again,” Lena reminded him.

“Let them know I’m on my way.”

At least a meeting with his dad would get his mind off his melancholy thoughts, Mark told himself as he left his office and strode down the long hallway, his steps silent on the plush dove-gray carpeting. His father’s secretary waved him in, and without pausing he crossed the threshold into the spacious executive office of Campbell Publishing.

Spencer was on the phone when he entered but motioned him into a seat across the desk.

“I understand, Charlie. Just do the best you can and keep me informed.” Leaning forward, his father set the phone back in its cradle. “Press broke at the printer in Cincinnati. The Register may not meet its delivery deadline.”

“That’s a shame.”

Casting a shrewd eye at his son, Spencer eased back in his chair, propped his elbows on the arms and steepled his fingers. He’d mollycoddled his oldest son long enough, hoping and praying that he’d see the light. That one day he’d recognize he was wasting his life and his God-given talents and get his act together. That he’d care about something with a little more substance than what parties he was going to attend this weekend and which interior designer to hire for his condo.

For years his prayers had gone unanswered. But after his visit to Oak Hill a few days ago Spencer had been hit with an inspired idea. One he hoped would work—but one he was sure his son wasn’t going to like.

“I have an assignment for you. We’re thinking of acquiring a small regional paper in Missouri. I visited there last week. Seems like a good fit.”

“Do you want me to check out the books?”

“Among other things.”

Mark’s eyebrows rose. “Such as…?”

“I need you to do the on-site operational audit, as well. Observe the day-to-day functions of the paper. Get a feel for the place. See how it’s run, check out the management style, sit in on editorial meetings.” He held out a manila folder. “Here’s the background and contact information.”

The younger man ignored the folder. “I don’t know anything about the operational side of the business.”

“You’re thirty-four years old, Mark. It’s time you learned.”

“But it’s not my area of expertise.”

A few beats of silence ticked by. Then Spencer leaned forward, set the folder in front of Mark and crossed his arms on his desk as he pinned his oldest son with an intent look. “If you want to run this company someday, you need to understand the heart of this business as well as the numbers. That includes getting a few ink stains on your hands—figuratively speaking. I think you could learn a lot from the editor down there.”

Abby had impressed Spencer as an intelligent woman with firm principles and a deep passion for her work. Unlike Mark, who’d led a sheltered life, she struck him as a woman who knew what it was to struggle and wasn’t afraid to fight for what she believed in. If Mark needed a wake-up call, Abby Warner might be just the one to give it to him.

“Assuming the Oak Hill Gazette agrees to an investigation, why don’t you plan to leave next Monday?”

The firm set of his father’s jaw made Mark wary. “How long do you want me to stay?”

“As long as it takes. Twelve weeks minimum.”

Mark shot to his feet, his eyes flashing with anger. “You want me to spend twelve weeks in some Podunk town in the middle of nowhere?”

“At least. And it’s in rural Missouri.”

“Same difference. Besides, if it’s a small operation it shouldn’t take that long to do due diligence.”

“This is a special case.”

“In what way?”

His father’s blue eyes turned steely. “You’ll just have to trust me on this, Mark.”

Raking his hand through his hair, Mark struggled to think of some excuse—any excuse—that might save him from banishment to the farm belt. But he couldn’t come up with anything he thought his father would buy.

“Give it up, Mark,” Spencer said as if reading his mind. “I didn’t make this decision lightly. Nor is it negotiable.”

Biting back a sharp retort, Mark glared at his father. “I’m not the best person for this job.”

“You’re the perfect person.” The phone rang again, and Spencer reached for the handset. “Check in with me every few days. I want to be kept informed of your progress…Spencer Campbell here.”

Their conversation was over. No, Mark corrected. This hadn’t been a conversation. It had been an executive order. Picking up the folder, he wandered back to his office in a daze and sank into his leather desk chair. He was being sent to Hicksville, ill equipped for everything except the numbers part of his assignment.

Although he tried to remain angry, Mark didn’t succeed. Nothing had much power to evoke—or sustain—emotion in him. Besides, he’d been coasting for years. He supposed his father had a right to expect him to earn his keep. And, as heir apparent, to learn more about the business than how to crunch numbers.

Still, spending three months in the heartland of Missouri seemed pretty extreme. He’d survive, of course. As for learning anything, he suspected the only thing he’d gain would be a greater appreciation for big-city living.

Chapter Two

Dr. Sam Martin strode into his office, took his place behind the solid oak desk he’d inherited from his predecessor and opened Abby’s file. After giving it a quick scan, he looked at his patient.

“Everything appears normal, Abby. I assume you’re sticking to your diet, exercising, taking your medication?”