Kendall tried to concentrate on the spreadsheet on his laptop screen, but his mind kept wandering to—as usual—Amy. Had a day passed in the past twelve years that he hadn’t thought about her?
He pushed to his feet and paced the construction office, trying to work off nervous energy. His mind and heart raced and he hadn’t slept well in days.
A two-year calendar crawled around the office walls. On it, Marcus had circled the federal deadline with a red marker. But Kendall was focused on another date, three days from now—the date that Amy was planning to leave Sweetness and take his son with her. The ribbon-cutting ceremony for the bridge was Saturday afternoon. She and Tony were leaving Sunday morning.
Time was running out.
He glanced at the black chalkboard next to the door that read “Sweetness Population, 536.” He wanted so much to officially bump that number by two, for Amy and Tony to be here and become part of the community. Maybe she could learn to love him again and they would have a chance to be a family.
Kendall leaned over to grip the sides of the desk. He was accustomed to being able to mediate situations, but not only did this one seem beyond his capabilities, everything he did made things worse. Losing Amy again alone was bad enough, but losing Tony, too—he didn’t think he could stand it, even if the boy had made it clear he didn’t want to be around him. Kendall tightened his hold on the desk until the wood bit into his hands, feeling very close to losing control.
A sharp rap on the door made him straighten. “Come in,” he called, trying to rein in his emotions.
The door opened and Dr. Cross stood there. “A word, Mr. Armstrong?”
Kendall closed his eyes briefly, but he felt like hitting something—maybe this was a fortuitous visit. “If you’re spoiling for another fight, Doc, then you came to the right place.”
The man stabbed at his glasses, which Kendall now noticed had been taped at the bridge. “I don’t want to fight you again, Mr. Armstrong. I came to ask your advice.”
Kendall squinted. “Is that a shiner?”
The man looked miserable and lifted a hand to his black eye. “Yes. Rachel has many talents, including an impressive right hook.”
Kendall sighed, then gestured. “Come on in.”
The doctor entered the trailer, closing the door behind him. “Thank you.”
“What can I do for you, Doc?”
“I was hoping you could tell me how I might woo Ms. Hutchins.”
“Woo?”
“Yes. What did you do to attract her interest?”
Kendall lifted his hands. “I don’t know…I…was nice to her, I guess.”
“I’ve tried to be nice to her, but as you can see,” he said, removing his glasses to reveal the swollen eye, “she doesn’t respond positively to my niceness. And now that grotesquely deformed Dr. Devine seems to have captured her attention.”
Kendall surveyed the short, slender man, feeling a wave of sympathy for him. “Yes, I’ve met Dr. Devine.”
Cross snorted. “He’s not a real doctor, you know—not a physician. He’s an academic.”
“Yeah, well, I suspect the title doesn’t have as much to do with it as…” He trailed off, perusing the man’s thin frame and pale countenance.
The man jammed his glasses back on his face. “What?”
Kendall pursed his mouth. “Maybe he’s handy.”
“Pardon me?”
“Women love a handy man, you know, a guy who can fix things.”
“I’m handy. I fix people.”
“Uh, right. Well, I mean things around the house. You know, things that let you use tools and flex your mus—” He stopped, again surveying the man, who probably couldn’t lift Kendall’s tool belt. Then he had an idea and snapped his fingers.
“I happen to know Rachel has a hole in her bedroom wall that needs to be patched. I’ll bet if you offered to fix it for her, she’d take you up on it. Then she could see how handy you are.”
“Her bedroom?” The doctor’s eyes lit up, then his shoulders fell. “But I don’t know how to do that.”
“I’ll teach you,” Kendall said. He went over to a supply closet and rummaged for a container of spackle and a putty knife. Then he scanned the office walls for a good place to demonstrate, settling on the closet exterior wall. Picturing his own face as the target, he took aim, then rammed his fist into the drywall with a grunt, leaving a dent.
“Well done, Mr. Armstrong. How is your hand?”
“You don’t know how good that felt,” Kendall muttered, flexing his fingers. “Okay, so to patch the hole, all you do is dip the putty knife into the spackle, dab it into the hole, then smooth it over in one swipe.” He demonstrated, then stood back. “See?”
“It’s a bit like wound filler,” Dr. Cross noted, then smiled. “During residency, I did a rotation with a medical examiner.”
“Er…okay.” The office phone rang. Kendall wondered fleetingly if it was the results of the D.O.E. report they were still waiting for. “Excuse me.” He picked up the receiver. “Kendall Armstrong.”
“Mr. Armstrong, my name is Michael Thoms, calling on behalf of the Greater Michigan Water Commission. I’d like to speak with someone about the engineer on the Evermore Bridge project, Ms. Amy Bradshaw.”
Kendall frowned. “What kind of information do you need?”
“General feedback on Ms. Bradshaw’s performance. She’s being considered for the managing position on a sizable municipal project. We’re just performing due diligence with former employers.”
Kendall’s mind churned. The man was asking for an endorsement that would ensure he would be separated from Amy and Tony.
“I should add, of course, that your comments will be confidential. Ms. Bradshaw won’t know what was said about her or her performance.”
“Mr. Thoms, I’m afraid I’m in the middle of something right now. Can I get back to you?” After a few moments more conversation, Kendall took down the man’s contact information, then replaced the receiver.
“Bad news, Mr. Armstrong?”
He looked up at Dr. Cross. “I’m sorry?”
“I don’t mean to intrude, but Dr. Salinger mentioned you’re waiting for a government report that could be a setback for our fair town. I hope that wasn’t the call.”
“No, it wasn’t,” Kendall said, coming around the desk.
“Are you okay, Mr. Armstrong? You look distressed.”
“I’m fine.” Maybe if he kept saying he was fine, he would be. “Where were we? Oh, right.” He rammed his fist into the wall again, relishing the flash of pain.
“Well done again, Mr. Armstrong. Shall I try to patch the hole this time?”
“Go for it.”
“Ah, the things men will do to win a woman’s love,” Dr. Cross said, tackling the hole with gusto.
Kendall nursed his hand, which still didn’t hurt as much as his heart. “You said it, Doc.”
A few minutes later, armed with a bucket of spackle, a putty knife and newfound confidence as a handy man, Dr. Cross left smiling. “Thank you, Mr. Armstrong, for the advice.”
Kendall waved and closed the door, thinking he could use some advice himself. Porter was too busy making sure Dr. Devine kept his distance from Nikki, and Marcus…well, he thought the world of his brother, but Marcus had never been in love, and didn’t understand matters of the heart.
But he knew someone who did.
He reached for the phone to make a long overdue call. After a few rings, an angelic voice came on the line.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Mom, it’s Kendall.”
“Oh, hello, dear. How’s my favorite boy?”
He smiled into the phone. He happened to know that Emily Armstrong called all three of her sons her favorite. “I’m fine.”
“Are you?” she asked, her voice shaded with concern. “You haven’t sounded like yourself lately…and I can’t remember the last time you called. Your brothers have been making excuses for you, but I know something’s amiss.”
He gave a rueful laugh. Mothers held the weight of the world on their shoulders. “You’re right, Mom, as always.” He sighed. “I really messed up.”
“I’m listening.”
“Do you remember Amy Bradshaw?”
“Of course I remember Amy. She was a lovely girl, and you were so smitten with her.”
“Yes, I was,” he admitted. “She’s a structural engineer now, and she’s back in Sweetness rebuilding the Evermore Bridge.”
“That’s wonderful for the town, and for Amy. It sounds as if she’s done well for herself.”
“She has.”
“Is she single?”
“She is…and she has a child.” He wet his lips. “My child.”
He knew what was going through his mother’s mind. Of her three sons, she least expected Kendall, the even-keeled, levelheaded one, to father a child out of wedlock. “You didn’t know?”
“No.”
“How old is the child? Is it a boy or a girl? Is it healthy?”
He smiled. “I have a son. He’s twelve years old, and yes, he’s healthy, if a little moody.”
“Sweetheart, even you, my best child, were moody at that age. What’s his name?”
“Anthony Alton. He goes by Tony.”
She was quiet for a while, then said, “That was kind of Amy to name him after your father. Is the boy like you?”
“Maybe too much. I’m not his favorite person right now.”
“And how is the situation between you and Amy?”
Kendall massaged the bridge of his nose. “I’m not Amy’s favorite person, either. I know now why I never heard from her again. She hasn’t forgiven me for not taking her away from here. She hated this town.”
“She had a rough go of it, poor girl. So there are no feelings left between the two of you?”
“I wouldn’t say that,” he said carefully. “I’ve asked her to stay so we can try to work things out, but she doesn’t want to live here, and I can’t leave because of the commitment I made to Marcus and Porter.” He sighed. “Meanwhile, I’m in the position of doing something that would force her to stay here for a while, and I don’t know what to do.” He told her about the job offer waiting for Amy in Broadway, and how much he desperately wanted to spend more time with Tony.
“So you want my opinion on whether the end justifies the means.”
“I suppose.”
“Kendall, darling, do you love her?”
Leave it to his mother to get straight to the point. “Yes.”
“Are you sure? Because if you really love someone, you put their needs before your own. Just like Amy did for that baby when she left Sweetness. Her life would’ve been simpler if she’d stayed, but she obviously felt strongly about not raising her child there, about getting out and making something of herself to build a life for the two of them.”
Kendall swallowed hard. He’d assumed that Tony’s life would’ve been better if he’d been involved from the start. Amy’s, too. But what if that wasn’t true? What if they truly were better off without him?
“Are you there, dear?”
“Yeah, just thinking, Mom.”
“Thinking is good. You’re more like your father than your brothers. Alton was a thinking man, too. Everything will be fine, dear, even if it isn’t fine. Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Things and people couldn’t always be neat and well-ordered the way he liked them. Yeah, he got it.
“Good. Now, when do I get to meet my grandson?”