Man Of The Family

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.”