“Let someone else look at the plans.”
“It’s not that easy. I’m the president of the company. With that title comes certain responsibilities,” he tried to explain, but his mother only shook her head.
“We’ve had this conversation before, Tyler. There’s no point going over it again. It won’t accomplish anything.”
“Mom, you know I spend every free minute I have with her. What more can I do?”
“Spend more free minutes with her,” she answered. “She’s growing up and you’re missing the important milestones in her life. I understood your need to bury yourself in your work after Susan died, but I thought that after the plane crash you’d come to your senses and realize how precious life is. I was wrong. Nothing’s changed. Work is still the number-one priority in your life.”
At the mention of his late wife’s name, Tyler’s insides twisted into a knot. He had thought time would ease the pain of losing her, yet nearly five years had passed and each time he heard her name, he relived the fiery automobile accident that had taken her life.
“All right, Mom. You’ve made your point,” he said with more anger than he intended. Seeing the hurt look on her face, he immediately apologized. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”
“What’s wrong, Tyler? You’ve been so edgy these past few weeks.”
“Nothing’s wrong,” he lied. “I’m fine. I’ve had a lot on my mind lately.”
“You look tired. You should have taken some time off after the crash,” she said in a motherly tone. “Instead of rushing back to work, you should have been home resting. Everyone needs time to recover from trauma.”
“Not me. I needed to work,” Tyler corrected her, trying not to think about the experience. Two weeks ago he’d been in a small commuter plane on his way to assess the damage the fire had done to his electronics plant when the pilot had tried unsuccessfully to make an emergency landing.
In one horrifying instant, the plane crashed into the bank of the river. Bodies were flung into the icy waters. Eight of the ten people aboard drowned. By some strange quirk of fate, Tyler and one other passenger survived. Just as had happened the day of the car accident, Tyler had been allowed to walk away.
A shudder unsettled every nerve in his body. He had to force the image from his mind. The last five years had taught him that if he wanted to be of any use to his daughter, he needed to keep the past in the past. Reliving events wouldn’t change a thing.
Just then, Brittany rushed into the room waving a red folder. “I got something for you, Daddy,” she announced. “It’s my work from school.”
“Then you better show it to me now.” Tyler smiled as the little girl climbed onto his lap. With his arms wrapped around her, he watched as she opened the folder. First she pulled out a black cat made from construction paper, then a page with several words printed a couple of dozen times. Finally came a drawing done in crayon—three stick people and a rectangular house.
“This is Gram, that’s me and that’s you. See? I colored you a beard ’cause it was before you had your cushun.” She glanced at Tyler’s now-whiskerless face.
“It’s concussion, Brittany,” her grandmother automatically corrected her.
“Con-cush-un,” she repeated. She placed her hand on Tyler’s jaw. “I like you without your beard. It’s smooth.”
She tipped her head to stare at his only visible injury—an inch-long scar on the underside of his jaw. A piece of metal had sliced open his skin and come dangerously close to severing an artery in his neck.
“Does it hurt?” she asked.
“Not anymore,” he answered honestly.
“Are you going to grow another beard?”
Before he could answer, his mother said, “I hope not. You’re such a handsome man, Tyler. It’s a shame to hide your good looks behind all that hair.”
Tyler ignored her comment. He knew that his keeping a full beard had always been a source of irritation for his mother. During his years in college, he had been both long-haired and bearded—about as scruffy as he could be.
Then he met Susan and everything changed. She not only cut his hair for him, but she shaved his face. She insisted that if he was going to fit into the establishment, he needed to look the part. And in those days, he would have done anything for Susan.
“Look at this, Daddy.” Brittany stuck a red-and-pink finger painting close to his face.
“Very nice. I like the bright colors.”
“Do you know what it is?”
“Why don’t you tell me?”
“It’s a cherry pie.”
“Ah. That’s why you used so much red.”
“Red’s my favorite color.” She shoved the painting back into the folder, then pulled out some newspaper clippings encased in plastic. “This is what I brought for show-and-tell.”
Tyler frowned. In his daughter’s hands was an article about the airplane crash. The headline read Local Man Is Hero.
Brittany held it in her outstretched hands, waiting for him to take it. He didn’t want to look at it. He turned to his mother. “You let her take this to school?”
“She saw your picture in the paper and wanted to bring it for show-and-tell,” Millie said with an apologetic lift of her eyebrows.
Brittany smiled proudly. “My teacher said that you’re a hero, Daddy. She said you were very brave.”
He shifted uneasily on the sofa. “I’m not a hero and the newspapers shouldn’t have said I was.”
Brittany’s face fell. “But my teacher said—”
“And your teacher is right,” Millie interjected. “Your father’s just being modest. He most certainly is a hero. Now why don’t you go change out of that costume. Gram still has to iron on the pumpkin’s face.”
“All right, Gram.” Brittany shoved the newspaper article back into the folder and looked at Tyler. “Are you mad at me for bringing the newspaper to school?”
He gave her a squeeze. “No, I’m not mad. It was very nice of you to want to bring me for show-and-tell.” He gave her an extra hug. “I love you, Brittany.”
“I love you, too, Daddy,” she responded, but the words were subdued.
As soon as she was gone, his mother said, “Every little girl wants her father to be a hero.”
Tyler rubbed the tight muscles in his neck. “Fine. I can be her hero while we’re here in this house, but she doesn’t need to know everything that happened in Hibbing, and I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t encourage her to talk about it.”
“She’s a child. She has questions.”
He frowned. “Why did you give her the newspaper?”
“I didn’t give it to her. Tyler, your picture was on the front page. She saw it when we were in the grocery store. It’s rather difficult to pretend you weren’t in that crash when it’s been in the papers and on television.”
“I don’t know why the media have to hound me. I’m sick and tired of them intruding in my life,” he said, loosening his tie. He walked over to the sideboard and poured himself a Scotch on the rocks.
“There’s nothing wrong