Christmas Homecoming

There had only been three Hamilton children then—Jeremy, Tim and tiny baby Amy. The twins and Melissa hadn’t even been born. But they’d all learned at very early ages about the Hamilton legacy, about how Jeremy’s namesake Jeremiah had started the Davis Landing Dispatch in the 1920s and had carried it through both the Depression and the Second World War. It was just assumed that every Hamilton child would be a part of this legacy.

At such a young age, however, Jeremy hadn’t been sure just what a legacy was, but he’d been very sure that his father didn’t want to take him to the office that day. He could still remember the whispered words between his parents, his father seeming stubborn and defiant, his mother, as always, gentle and persuasive. Finally, Wallace had given in, perhaps because his father had one soft spot and that was his wife.

Jeremy closed his eyes now, remembering the smells that had hit him when he’d entered the revolving doors to the lobby with his father. The aged, musty scents of antiques and old leather had mingled with the more modern smells of copier ink, new carpet and steel and plastic cubicles.

Then he’d heard the sounds: The ringing of many different telephones, the click-click of typewriters, and the easy, chaotic banter of reporters and editors had all assaulted Jeremy at once. It was an adrenaline rush that he’d never forgotten.

From the time he’d entered the building, the stain of printer’s ink had settled over Jeremy like a mantle. He’d figured out what the word legacy must mean. It meant power. He’d seen that as his father hurried to the old, rickety elevator and headed to his plush office on the third floor. He’d felt that when Wallace barked orders and had people scurrying to do his bidding, from his prim secretary bringing him fresh coffee and the Wall Street Journal, to the nervous staffers who knocked on his door bringing him many questions. Everything here flowed through Wallace Hamilton. Jeremy had been in awe of that.

And he’d also clung to his father’s every word, since Wallace rarely had time to spend with his oldest son. But on this day, only for today, Wallace had given Jeremy his undivided attention, simply by letting Jeremy watch him work. Wallace hadn’t explained or lectured or hinted at what was required of Jeremy. But Jeremy had immediately understood. And, still in awe, he’d sat quietly, trying very hard not to bother his busy, powerful father. Jeremy watched and listened and learned, all the while being taken care of by his father’s willing staff. If Jeremy wanted something, it immediately materialized. If he whimpered or whined, he was instantly hushed and handled.

But that day, as Jeremy had sat at his father’s feet playing with an old ink stamp, he’d been hooked. As he’d grown older and found any excuse to come to work with Wallace more and more, he became caught up in wanting to spend all of his time here in this powerful, exciting place. Jeremy became a part of Hamilton Media by showing up whenever he could to help out, to learn, to absorb every nuance of this place and the work that happened here. His father had noticed, had grudgingly approved, and…Jeremy had simply slipped into place as second in command.

He loved the way the Dispatch brought news to people, and the way Nashville Living magazine informed and enlightened people. He loved the way the reporters worked day and night, getting their facts, gathering their information. He loved the way a deadline hit, all chaotic and full of stress, to be followed by a long, collective sigh of relief that filtered all the way down from his father’s office to the lobby at day’s end.

Now he missed the fast-paced confusion of a work day, and the satisfied feeling of getting the job done.

Now, he didn’t know his place in the overall scheme of day-to-day life here at Hamilton Media. So he just stood, remembering, afraid to step back, afraid to move forward.

He stood and imagined Tim up there in the third-floor office that had once been Jeremy’s. Tim, so driven, so intense, was in love. Tim in love. Jeremy shook his head at that particular paradox. So many things had happened in a few short months. He thought about Amy and how focused she could be on any task, and how hard she must be working now that she was in charge of Nashville Living, even with her high-school sweetheart Bryan back in her life. He smiled at thoughts of sweet, shy Heather finding the man of her dreams, and her twin, police officer Chris, falling in love with an independent female reporter for the Dispatch. He worried about Melissa, hoped she was settled now that she had Richard as her husband-to-be. He’d missed out on so much with all his siblings. He’d come back for that reason. He loved his family, in spite of everything. He needed his family, in spite of everything.

He lifted his head, the memories receding as the bright morning sun hurt his eyes. He knew he’d been standing here a full five minutes. He needed to go inside, visit with the Gordons. They’d be there to greet him, as they greeted everyone who entered this building. They’d be surprised, but polite and professional, as they’d been since the day Jeremy had met both of them.

Back then, Herman had been in charge of circulation and Louise had overseen the classifieds. What a formidable team. Much later, Jeremy and his brothers and sisters had dubbed them “the Gargoyles” because no matter their positions—and they’d both had many—the Gordons were loyal to Hamilton Media. They watched over this building and its occupants with iron-clad awareness. Long ago, they’d spoiled Jeremy with lollipops and chocolate. He imagined even now Louise would give him a wink and a lollipop, her way of solving all the world’s problems.

Jeremy only wished it were that simple.

Taking a deep breath, he tried to calm himself. A silent prayer worked its way through the turmoil inside his brain. Once, prayer had come naturally to Jeremy; now it felt foreign and stilted. And yet, it was there.

I need help here, Lord. I need to find my way back, not just into this building, but back into the family I love. I need to forgive, Lord. I don’t know how to ask, but I hope You hear me. I need my life back.

Maybe that life needs to be different now, came the gentle voice.

Jeremy glanced around, sure he looked ridiculous standing there, his mouth open in a gasp.

“You’ll get more work done if you go inside the building.”

He looked up to see Dawn Leroux coming toward him, her arms full of files and papers.

“You think so?” he said, managing a weak smile for the pretty blonde. Dawn had been a guiding light in the midst of all his angst and confusion. His brother was blessed to have her in his life.

She looked very feminine in her crisp white blouse and baby-blue flared skirt. Very different from his brother’s usual girlfriends. But then, Jeremy reminded himself, his brother had changed.

Dawn stopped as she reached the door, her expression full of challenge. “What are you waiting for?”

“I’m not sure,” he replied, glad for an understanding, objective friend. “But while I’m trying to figure that out, I ought to tell you that I’ve been on the job at the church already. The daycare room has one coat of paint—sloppy and spotty—but paint, nonetheless.”

“So I heard,” she said, her smile as gentle as her eyes. “My friend Gabi gives you very high marks.”

“How do you know Gabi?”

He hated the excitement in his voice. He didn’t want to be excited. He didn’t want anyone to see him excited.

“We’ve been friends for years,” Dawn replied, shifting her load, her tone matter-of-fact and low-key. “We’ve gotten even closer since we both volunteer for a lot of the same programs at church.”

He’d never noticed either of them at church, Jeremy thought now. He’d been too caught up in his work, in his life, in his position, to put much thought into who sat behind him in church. Now, he was very curious. So much had changed. He needed to keep pace with all of it.

And he needed to know more about Gabi.

“Give me that,” he said, reaching to take Dawn’s files. In spite of his curiosity, he changed the subject to save grace. “I see my brother has you doing after-hours work.”

“I don’t mind,” she replied, her eyes lighting up. “It’s part of my job, and besides, I kinda know how the boss operates.” Then she grinned. “Tell me more about you and Gabi.”

“Nothing to tell,” Jeremy said, warning bells going off in his head. Could this woman read minds? “She seems like a nice lady.” Explain her to me, he silently begged.

Dawn complied. “The best. She’s been through a rough time lately.”

“She told me she’s a widow. That must be horrible. I mean, she’s still so young.”

Dawn’s eyes lost some of their light. “It’s been hard on her and the girls, but Gabi has a strong faith. Of course, the holidays are always the worst, but she’ll get through Christmas. She always tries to make it special for the girls.”

Jeremy took in that information, then nodded. He wouldn’t press Dawn to give him any more details. That didn’t seem right. “I can see that—I mean, she seems like a great mom.” Then he glanced toward the doors of the building, dread blocking out everything else. “Which is why she doesn’t need someone like me in her life.”

Now why in the world had he even said that? Too late, he saw the spark of interest in Dawn’s eyes. And the spark of hope.

“You might be wrong there,” Dawn retorted, pushing at the door. “You might be exactly what she needs in her life right now.”

With that, she left Jeremy standing there holding the files. But she turned once inside. “You coming in?”

He nodded at her through the revolving doors, still stunned by her remarks. “I guess I am.”

“So, have you made up your mind?”

Jeremy stood looking out the window of his brother Tim’s office, watching the river just beyond the bluffs. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Tim swiveling his chair to face him, his eyebrows raised.

“No, not yet,” he said, turning back to the view.

Jeremy had toured the whole building, visiting with employees and family members alike, talking to each of them about how things were going. The place had kept on running without him, and he still wasn’t so sure that’s the way it should stay—without him. At least, he’d spent the better part of this morning trying to figure out if he even wanted to come back here.

But here he was, in the office at the top of the building. The office he used to occupy. And his brother was probably wondering the same thing. Did Jeremy really belong here? That was the question of the day.

For the last half hour, they’d tried to have a conversation. But as usual, Tim had been interrupted at least three times with one crisis after another. Tim thrived on crises and seemed to be handling all the balls he had to juggle with precision and decisiveness. Including what to do about his older brother’s return.

“Jeremy, are you listening to me?”

Jeremy cringed, thinking he’d once been that man. The one who came just after Wallace Hamilton himself—second in command. The one who asked the questions and got immediate answers. Now, he only commanded curious stares from the lobby to the newsroom and beyond.

Right now, his brother was staring at him, eager and impatient for an answer. “This shouldn’t be that hard.”