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.”
“She’s a bright girl who isn’t living up to her potential.” Bron rummaged on the floor and came up with a wrinkled paper. “This is her essay. Four incomplete sentences, eight grammatical errors, a brown smudge from what was probably chocolate milk...and virtually zero content. She didn’t even address the assigned topic.”
Sunny scanned the sheet. “Not a lot of effort went into this. Obviously.”
“Which seems to be Mandi’s habit these days.” Bron sighed. “Just when I’ve gotten the opportunity to spend more time with her, help her adjust... I can’t seem to get through.” She looked away. “I practically bludgeoned Griffin to move to Florida. And now my once-adorable niece has turned into someone I don’t even recognize.”
“I’m sure you didn’t make Griffin move. He doesn’t seem that easy to convince.”
Bron arched a brow. “Ah. You did speak to him about her.”
“Twice.” Sunny took a deep breath and told Bron about their conversations. Then she shook her head. “At his apartment he refused to hold Amanda accountable. And this morning he actually apologized for her.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. I warned you. Griffin’s not sure how to handle her, and then there’s Josh. He’s always been shy, but since Rachel disappeared, I think he’s afraid his father will, too. He’s pretty anxious.”
Sunny’s heart melted. “He was the cutest ring bearer at your wedding,” she said. “His anxiety isn’t abnormal—from the kids I’ve seen in similar situations—but why doesn’t Griffin get counseling? For all of them?”
“He did, for a while. Then Mandi refused to go, and Josh started wetting his pants before each appointment, and, well, they stopped going.”
“A man in denial if ever I’ve seen one,” Sunny said. “Takes one to know one, I guess. I’ve been a mess since Nate told me he wanted a divorce. Now I’m avoiding him, so we don’t have to talk about selling our apartment.”
Bron touched her arm. “Griffin doesn’t have the market cornered on the hard stuff, does he?” After a moment she went on, “But he’ll have to face facts sooner or later. His kids are troubled, and no amount of pretending they aren’t will make it better.”
“Then you agree with me about Amanda.”
“I wish I didn’t have to—but taking your watch was a definite signal that she needs help.” She gazed off into the distance. “Maybe you can talk to Griffin again at the cookout. I’m not sure we’ll be there,” she added.
“When has Chris ever missed our father’s barbecued ribs?”
Bron only half smiled. “Never. But there’s always a first time.”
Belatedly, Sunny realized that Bron’s smiles had been less than genuine, and her eyes held a worry that should have registered before.
“Trouble?” she asked, tilting her head to look into Bron’s downcast gaze.
She stuffed Amanda’s wrinkled essay back into her bag. “Chris is jealous,” she said, “of the time I spend with my girlfriends. It’s upsetting things at home.”
Sunny’s spirits plummeted. “He’s probably just upset about how the fish are running