“Attention Deficit…” The muffled sound of the conference call going on behind her faded. Her surroundings shimmered to a hazy white. “I don’t understand….”
“We think Becky may be dealing with ADD, on top of the other issues you mentioned earlier.”
On top of the other issues…. The words clamored through Amy’s head. Issues that were her fault. On top of Becky losing her family and being separated from the life and home that were all she’d ever known. On top of her needing Amy the most, just when it was impossible for her to be there for her little girl. On top of all that, Becky might have—
“ADD?” she whispered. She didn’t know exactly what that meant, but she knew enough to be scared. She covered her mouth with a shaking hand. Tears threatened, blurring everything around her. “But I had no idea…. How…?”
“It’s going to be okay, Amy,” Josh said. “We’re going to figure this out.”
His reassurance was like a lifeline, and she found his use of the word we wasn’t as offensive as it should have been, given the way he’d been subtly pointing his finger at her moments before.
“Ms. Loar.” Phillip Hutchinson was standing beside Amy. She had no idea how long he’d been there. “Mr. Westing has another question about the payout schedule. I need you to walk him through it.”
The man was all but tapping his foot for her to hop-to.
“I…” Amy fought for words, fought against the sensation that her world was slipping out from under her.
“Amy, can you make the SST meeting?” Josh’s voice sounded in her ear, cornering her, pressing for an answer with as much tenacity as her boss.
Her daughter or her career? Amy’s plans to manage both had never seemed more unattainable.
“I’ll be there on Friday,” she croaked into the phone, ending the call before Josh could say another word.
She turned to Mr. Hutchinson and squared her shoulders.
“I need to take a few days off.”
“You can’t be serious.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “I’ve got a nervous director in there, and you’re meeting with their entire senior management at three tomorrow. You’re not going anywhere.”
“I have a family emergency. I’m leaving in the morning, as soon as I can wrap things up here. I’ll be gone until Monday.” She was already working out the details in her head. She’d spend tomorrow afternoon with Becky and Gwen, meet with Josh and his staff on Friday, get things back on an even keel over the weekend, then return to Atlanta by Sunday evening to catch up before the new week started. “I can conference in on tomorrow’s meeting. The rest I’ll find a way to do from Sweetbrook on my laptop and PalmPilot.”
“Sweetbrook? Where’s Sweetbrook?”
“In South Carolina. It’s where I grew up.”
And it was the one place, despite all her plans to leave it behind, where she’d last felt safe.
She brushed past him and stepped into his office, pushing aside thoughts of everything but the corporate director who needed to be placated before she could do anything else. Lucky for Amy, reassuring nervous clients was turning out to be one of her greatest talents.
If only her and her daughter’s problems were as easy to resolve.
“CAN I GET YOU ANYTHING, Mr. White?” Mrs. Lyons asked Josh the next morning.
Josh lifted his head from his overflowing desk, trying not to be annoyed.
He and Daniel had to make it home on time this afternoon to whip the house into shape for their Family Services caseworker. This was their fourth home visit since Josh had been awarded temporary custody after his sister, Melanie’s, death, and they needed to demonstrate they were making progress bonding as a family. Josh couldn’t be running late because of paperwork, which meant he didn’t have time to humor one overly attentive school secretary.
In the past, Edna Lyons had always been efficient. But she’d become downright doting since Melanie died and Josh had taken responsibility for Daniel. She’d progressed from straightening and organizing everything in sight to hovering, which she was doing right now.
She reached to restack the personnel folders he’d thumbed through earlier, as he considered applications for the vacant math-specialist position. He slid them out of her reach.
“Stop coddling me, Edna.” He sat back and smiled as she huffed. “I’m fine.”
“You’re behind, is what you are. Have been for months. Both here and in that mansion your family calls a home.” She scooped his wrinkled suit jacket off the chair he’d dropped it onto, smoothed the material and hung it on the coat rack. “You just don’t know how to ask for help.”
If only there was any real help for Josh’s situation. He’d sold his own home after the divorce and moved back to the house he’d grown up in. His father, drifting through the final stages of Alzheimer’s, hadn’t even known his wife and son by that point. Josh’s mother, frailer at sixty-five than most, thanks to the devastating toll Alzheimer’s took on caregivers, had been at her emotional and physical wit’s end. Josh had finally talked her into moving with his dad to an assisted living center about an hour away, in Demming, so the professionals there could help her handle the progression of his father’s disease.
Melanie had come back to town with Daniel somewhere in the midst of it all, the drama that always swirled around her adding to the strain of their mother’s anxiety and Josh’s messed up life after his divorce. And now they were all gone, all but Daniel. Josh visited his parents as often as he could, and he spoke with his mom each week. But all he’d tell her was that things were fine in Sweetbrook. He refused to burden her with either his or her grandson’s problems. The woman had enough on her hands.
The lack of a family support system wouldn’t have been a problem in the past. Growing up with emotionally absent parents had taught him independence from the cradle. After his divorce, he’d turned to his work and the kids at school to keep him busy. But now he also had Daniel to consider, and the boy’s need for love and attention escalated more each day.
“Everything’s going to be okay,” he made himself say out loud as he got back to work. He hadn’t asked for this kind of responsibility, but it was his nonetheless. Turning his back on his sister’s child was out of the question.
“Oh, it’ll be okay,” Mrs. Lyons agreed in a not-so-agreeable voice. “Once you find a nice young lady to help you make a home for that nephew of yours.”
“I don’t need a nice young lady. What I need—” He initialed the page before him and flipped to the next, grunting at the memory of the string of helpful local women who’d tried to step in where his ex had left off “—is to get these pay sheets approved in time for you and everyone else to receive your checks on Friday.”
“I heard Mary-Ellen Baxter’s Tiffany is in your Sunday school class. Mary-Ellen—”
“Edna, have you by any chance started your own dating service?” He was only half teasing, and a bit too much of his irritation slipped into his voice.
“What?” She was a study in female indignation. At least she was no longer hovering. “I was only—”
“You were trying to fix me up with your best friend’s single daughter.” He dropped his pen, folded his hands and forced himself to smile at the good-intentioned woman who had caught him sneaking out of class in third grade without a hall pass—thus landing him his only stint in detention. “And while I appreciate you looking out for me—”
“I was looking out for