Sarah spent the afternoon sorting through the photos Connor had given her. It took her mind off the fact he still hadn’t called her to let her know how Robert was doing.
With every photo she cropped and arranged on a page, she witnessed a tiny slice of Connor’s life. Up until Natalie’s death, they’d been a happy family. Natalie had tended her home with the same dedication she tended her family. There were as many photos of her in the garden or working on a remodeling project as there were of her snuggling Connor or standing in the protective circle of her husband’s arms.
Her heart aching, Sarah compared a series of photos of the family taken at Christmas. Natalie must have been a stickler for tradition because each year the three of them struck an identical pose next to the Christmas tree. Connor changed from a smiling, fat-cheeked baby cradled in Natalie’s arms into a mischievous-eyed toddler with an unruly cowlick. Then to a gangly boy with a wide, gap-toothed smile.
Finally, she came to one and drew a sharp breath. A baggy sweater couldn’t conceal Natalie’s drastic weight loss, a bandana printed with snowflakes covered her head. Her winsome smile hadn’t dimmed. But Robert’s and Connor’s had.
Sarah, who’d spent most of her life studying photos, could see the raw grief in their eyes. The unspoken knowledge that this would be the last time the three of them would pose by the Christmas tree.
Until now, she hadn’t known how Natalie had died. Cancer. The same thing her mother had battled. Sarah drew a shaky breath as she remembered the last six months of her mother’s life. Anne’s physical strength had slowly drained away but her joy hadn’t. Watching her mother cling to God—my stubborn faith, Anne had called it—had deepened hers. When her mother was gone, Sarah knew God was the only one big enough to fill the empty spaces in her life.
I know people grieve differently, Lord, but Robert was wrong to put away all the memories of Natalie. Connor needed them. They moved on but they didn’t move forward. They never let Your love clean out the wound and heal it. Don’t let them spend the rest of their lives like this. Remind them that Natalie’s legacy wasn’t her garden or her house. It was her love for them. And her faith in You.
Sarah looked up and focused on the photo of her and her mother that hung on the wall in her living room. It hadn’t been taken in a special place—no towering mountains or liquid gold sunset in the background. What should have been a day filled with sorrow—the day Anne’s doctor told her she had to stop traveling and start treatment—had turned into Sarah’s favorite memory.
They’d stopped at a wayside to rest and an elderly man, who had no idea who Anne was, offered to take a picture of them. Sarah watched in wonder as Anne, who never let anyone touch her beloved camera, had laughed and handed it to him.
When the film came back, they’d laughed even more. An RV’s rusty fender had somehow nosed into the shot. Their feet were blurry. But he’d captured their laughter. Mouths wide open. Eyes squinted against the sun. Cheek to cheek. Hands clasped.
Sarah had been tempted to put the picture away when she moved into the apartment but decided the sting of pain she felt every time she saw it was worth reliving that day. The day Anne Elliott realized that protecting her camera wasn’t as important as protecting the feelings of the gentle old man who’d offered to take their picture.
She knew she’d done the right thing by hanging the picture in a place she’d see it every day. The pain had subsided, leaving behind only the sweetness of the memory.
Sarah picked up another photo of Connor’s family, filled with a new determination to finish the album by Christmas. Not only for Robert…but for Connor.
“Where do you think you’re going? Doctor Parish told you to rest.” Which was probably the reason he’d found his dad sneaking down the hall. His dad excelled at being contrary.
“Quit fussing over me. You’re as bad as Cissy.”
“Why didn’t you just yell if you needed something? I would have brought it to you.”
“I don’t need anything.” Robert glared at him. “I was—” His jaw clamped shut.
“You were what? Trying to prove you don’t have to follow your doctor’s orders?” Trying to drive me crazy?
“For your information, since you’ve decided to sign on as my keeper, I was going to the music room,” Robert snarled. “If I have to sit around all weekend, I might as well have something to look at.”
“Right. The blinking penguin ornament should entertain you for hours.” Connor knew his dad should be in his room. Dr. Parish had ordered Robert to bed rest for the remainder of the weekend while he scheduled tests at the local hospital on Monday. The doctor probably figured it was the only way to get Robert to stay home from work.
When Connor had rushed over to the newspaper, he found his dad, as pale and crumpled as a paper cup, in the chair behind his desk. Robert had started to have chest pains while putting in some extra hours on the upcoming Christmas issue. Cissy, who’d gone to the office to retrieve the gloves she’d left in her desk drawer, had found him.
Dr. Parish had made an office call and sentenced him to house arrest.
He has no idea what it’s like to be on deadline, Robert had blustered on the way home. He can schedule his patients but you can’t schedule a newspaper. Life happens…stories happen.
So do heart attacks, Connor had wanted to say. But he didn’t. The fear in Robert’s eyes told him the episode had shaken him up…but apparently not enough to keep him in bed.
“Come on. We’ll watch the blinking penguin together.” He linked his arm through Robert’s and matched his slow, shuffling steps as they walked down the hall. Toward the music room.
He helped Robert settle into the loveseat.
“Aren’t you going to fluff my pillow?” Robert’s unexpected bark of laughter stunned Connor. “Or maybe you’d rather smother me with it.”
“The thought crossed my mind.” Connor admitted with a lazy grin. “But then I’d inherit this house. And a newspaper.”
Robert stared at the fireplace. “I talked to a Realtor last week. He told me he knows of a corporation that’s looking to buy smaller weeklies. He thought I could get a decent price.”
Connor dropped like a stone into the wingback chair opposite the sofa. Was this a new ploy to make him feel guilty? Because it was working.
“I hate to admit it, but Parish is right. I can’t keep up the pace anymore. It’s time.” Robert cleared his throat. “I already signed the papers. It’s going up for sale the first of the year.”
“Just like that.”
“You don’t look happy. It’s the reason you came back, isn’t it? To get me to retire?”
Sell. Retire. It’s the same thing.
No, it’s not.
The brief conversation he’d had with Cissy, when he’d complained about the staff looking to him for direction, returned and gave his conscience a hard pinch.
“And you want me to take over. To carry on the great Lawe legacy.”
Robert frowned. “Who put that crazy idea into your head? The last thing I want is for you to take over my newspaper.”
There it was. My newspaper. Robert didn’t need him. He’d never needed him. He couldn’t wait to get rid of him after graduation and he still didn’t want him around.
“I’ve got some phone calls to make.” Connor lurched out of the chair and started toward the door. Just as he reached it, he slapped his hands on the frame, dropped his head and sighed. Call him a glutton for punishment, but he had to know. “Why? Because you think I’d run it into the ground? Because I’ll never be able to meet your high standards—”
“Get back here, son.”
“I’m not ten years old.”
“Then don’t act like it.”
Connor turned and stalked back, shields in place. “You don’t have to explain, Dad. I get it.”
“You haven’t met my high standards…” Robert cut him off and Connor braced himself for the rest of the assault. “You created your own. And you surpassed them. I’ve read your articles. Every one of them. You’re ten times the writer I’ll ever be. You wouldn’t run this newspaper into the ground, Connor, you’d keep it going for the next generation. And you’d do a better job than me.
“I knew you better than you knew yourself when you were in high school. You didn’t want to stay here. You wanted to see the world. You wanted to make a difference. I read all those essays you wrote for your English class about responsibility and truth and goodwill toward men.” Robert’s expression softened. “That was your mother’s influence. What you’re doing is important. It wouldn’t be fair to ask you to give up what you love—what you’re good at—and step into my shoes. I didn’t ask you to do it when you were eighteen and I’m not about to do it now.”
“Let me get this straight.” Connor’s voice thinned. “You badgered me into leaving Jackson Lake…for me?”
“Of course.” Robert looked surprised. “Why else?”
Why else?
Twelve years, Connor thought in disbelief. For twelve years he’d totally misunderstood his dad’s intent when he’d told him to go and make something of himself. Every time he’d called and made up an excuse why he couldn’t come home, Robert hadn’t made so much as a peep of protest or regret. After a few years, Connor didn’t even bother to make excuses. He just hadn’t come back.
“If you sell…” Connor still had a hard time processing everything. “What about the house?”
Robert wouldn’t look at him. “I couldn’t give this house away. People want new houses. The kind that have those fancy tubs and walk-in closets.”
Finding out why his dad had encouraged him to leave gave Connor the courage to say what was on his mind. Finally. He’d disagreed with Sarah when she’d told him Robert kept the house because of Natalie but now he wasn’t so sure. If they were digging up the past, he might as well go at it with a shovel instead of a spoon. “It’s because of Mom, isn’t it?”
Robert’s jaw worked and for a second Connor expected a sharp answer or curt denial. But when he spoke, his voice was soft. “She loved this house.”
“But you got rid of everything else that reminded you of her.” Connor was surprised at the bitterness that leached into his voice. “The pictures. Her garden. And…” He bit back the word.
Robert searched Connor’s face and pain creased his face. “And you. I got rid of you. Is that what you were going to say?” he asked hoarsely.
“Actions speak louder than words. And you never said the words. What was I supposed to think?”
Silence weighted the air, made it difficult to breathe. The hiss of the radiator was the only sound in the room.
“I should have proofread Aunt Amelia’s advice column more often. She’s always going on and on about communication. I might have learned something,” Robert muttered. “When you love someone, you want the best for them. And I figured the best thing for you would be to leave Jackson Lake. To put the past behind you.”
“You mean Mom.”
“No child should have to go through that.”
“It might have been easier if we’d gone through it together.”
“I didn’t know how to do that. I learned a lot from your mother about living, but she never told me how I was supposed to go on without her when she was gone.” His dad’s eyes, dark with regret, focused on the Christmas tree in the corner. “I’ve tried to forget.”
“That doesn’t seem to be working for either of us. Why don’t we try remembering instead?”