Heart to Heart Read online

  Guilt reared itself, jagged and annoying. She really hadn’t given her stepmother’s feelings much thought. “No. I don’t think I could deal with the waterworks right now.” Truth was, she didn’t think she could deal with Andrea.

  Geoffrey took one last drag, then flicked his cigarette into the street with a fancy flourish.

  “Is David around?” Leigh asked.

  “Oh, I don’t think you want to go near David, today. It’s just a matter of time before he explodes.”

  Leigh was instantly annoyed. Poor David. It had always been all about David. She ought to be thankful her father had found in him the son he’d never had. She couldn’t fill those shoes. And as much as she’d tried, she’d never been Daddy’s little girl either. She hadn’t been anybody’s little girl in a very long time. Not since her mother died.

  “Don’t worry about David. I’ll deal.”

  • • •

  After a frustrating drive through town, David sat at his desk, his body heavy with grief. In what seemed like a waking nightmare he watched the staff’s afternoon rituals through the glass wall that separated management from personnel.

  On his computer screen, and on the page his words would stand as a testament of his love and respect for Ben. The obituary.

  As with most significant Americans, the Associated Press had prepared Ben Cameron’s obituary long before his death. The AP Biographical Service knew it would mark Cameron’s passing thusly: “Benjamin Cameron, regarded by many as the foremost American man of letters of his era, was an intellectual for all seasons. Author, journalist, critic, and teacher, he was sometimes referred to as the American throwback to Samuel Johnson … . ” David stared at those carefully crafted words sure that whoever had written them had never met the great man. And so he wrote:

  Ben Cameron was to me much more than the sum of his accomplishments. With news of his sudden death at the age of 62 on Thursday, all of my memories have come crashing back — the day he offered me my first job when I was just a boy, the way he shook my hand that day, his contagious booming laugh, and the sense of humor he carried with him always.

  In a world that has forgotten the grace to be found in literary pursuits, Ben was an inspiration. He gave many young journalists a chance at making their dreams come true. He loved the written word and taught me to love and cherish it as well. He was, above and beyond everything else, a writer. For thirty years Cameron wrote about and commented on the world and the people around him.

  During the years I spent by his side, as a student, friend, and colleague, Ben was at once teacher, father figure, and role model.

  David stopped, his throat tight. He looked up and swallowed. There they all were, going though the motions. He had considered postponing this edition and giving everyone the day off to grieve. But Ben had always said the news didn’t stop for anybody, no matter how important. So David had decided the paper would go to print at eleven P.M. like it did every day. And yet it didn’t feel like every other day. Today, a great man had passed, and David had to somehow do him justice with twenty inches of print.

  He got up, knocking files off his paper-cluttered desk. He was sure no one had dared go into Ben’s office since they’d heard the news. He knew he’d have to be the first to cross that threshold. Deep down he hoped spending a few moments alone in his mentor’s office might somehow alleviate his sense of loss and send him some much-needed inspiration.

  He ignored the stares of his coworkers and marched on, careful to appear caught up in his thoughts. From the corner of his eyes he saw the rest of his team walking around rudderless, trying to look busy. They all waited for his words of wisdom. That was his job now, to console and comfort them. Instead, he’d spent the morning driving around. He couldn’t face them. Not yet. Their stares bored into him as he tried to cross the room unnoticed.

  He reached Ben’s office. The door let out a gentle creak when he pushed it open. The waterfront room was strangely quiet and warm. The comforting smells of old leather and pipe tobacco still clung to the air. He’d smoked in there afterhours long after smoking in the workplace had been banned. How long would the odors linger? Around him Ben’s books, documents, and photos stood still, as if waiting for the man to return. David ambled on, humbled by Ben’s legacy. He sat in his dear friend’s high back leather chair and closed his eyes for a moment.

  When he opened them, a gangly fifteen-year-old Leigh stared at him from an old family portrait, unsmiling, between Ben and his second wife Andrea. He still couldn’t understand why she’d been so sullen. Her father was Ben Cameron, the Ben Cameron for Pete’s sake. And quite possibly the most generous soul he’d ever met. He shook his head. She’d left Watford, her father, and everything he stood for, as soon as she’d been old enough. Ben never spoke of it, but David knew he’d been heartbroken.

  He examined the photo again. She’d be a good fifteen years older now. Seeing her after all those years promised to be interesting, at best.

  The anger he’d been holding in all day swelled in his chest. He turned and walked out, taking himself straight to The Sun’s darkroom at the back of the building. He had to get away from all those inquiring eyes.

  “Geoff,” David said, poking his head into the darkroom. “I know you’re in here.”

  They didn’t use the chemical lab anymore; The Sun’s photographers had switched to digital cameras almost a decade ago. It allowed them to shoot hundreds of photos, download them to their laptops, and e-mail the best ones straight to the newsroom. Still, David knew Geoffrey, the paper’s photo editor, liked to hide in that part of the building when he was upset about something.

  He spotted the back of a paisley shirt no straight man could pull off and Geoffrey’s mop of longish curly blond hair peeking from behind the neg cabinet. “There you are. Can you pull up a few good generic shots for the Sunday parenting column? And I need you to go over and shoot the … .”

  Geoffrey looked up at David, his eyes puffy and red. “I can’t.”

  “C’mon man, get a hold of yourself,” David said, his tone softening a little.

  “Don’t tell me you’re not upset. You were the closest thing he had to a son.”

  “I don’t have time to be upset. Somebody’s got to run the paper now that Ben’s gone.”

  • • •

  Leigh strode into the newsroom. Eyes lifted, and the room seemed to freeze. But this time was different. They weren’t staring because of her stature and striking features. They stared because today, after a ten-year absence, the prodigal daughter had finally returned home. She stopped and looked around the open-concept central area they called the Bull Pen. Offices still surrounded the perimeter of the room, and save for a fresh coat of paint and new computers, everything was exactly the way she remembered it. Right down to the musty smell of old newspapers.

  “Leigh, I’m so sorry.”

  Leigh found herself staring at James Dann, The Sun’s grizzled long-standing crime reporter. He had taken a hold of her hand. She looked at him in a daze, mumbling her thanks. As if on cue, the other staffers followed. There was Susan Bergman and Jen Godfrey, then Billy and Carl whose last names she couldn’t remember. Before long, all the old faces pressed around her. They looked and sounded the same, only in a softer, crumpled sort of way. In a daze, awash in a sea of voices, Leigh shook hands and whispered words of thanks.

  “He was a great man,” one voice said.

  “He’ll be sorely missed,” another added.

  “He’s in a better place,” said another.

  “She looks just like her mother,” someone whispered.

  “Did you know her mother?”

  “That’s enough,” Leigh said, wanting it all to stop. Then realizing she’d said that out loud, she added, “I’m sorry. Could you give me a moment?”

  James ushered everyone away. “Of course, Leigh,
make yourself at home,” he said, handing her a glass of water. She took a sip and handed it back. The door to her father’s office was ajar.

  It had always been her favorite room at the paper because of its magnificent view of the water. Leigh tiptoed in, half expecting Ben Cameron to be sitting behind his desk. The afternoon sun streamed in through the Palladian window, lending everything a golden glow.

  “Your father passed away this morning,” Old Bruce’s voice still echoed in her head. He had said something about “arrangements” and “affairs” as well, but none of it had really registered. Bruce McDonald, her father’s oldest friend, had looked after his legal affairs for years.

  Leigh inched her way over to the window, where Ben Cameron had made so many decisions while looking out onto the harbor. “Hi, Dad,” she murmured to the empty space. Around her the room remained silent.

  She’d always thought they’d eventually patch things up. That she’d be his little girl again. “Hi, Dad,” she repeated, louder this time, the memory of the early morning phone call still sticking to the pit of her stomach. The room around her got blurry and spun on itself. Leigh reached for the window frame and leaned her throbbing forehead against the cool pane of the center sash.

  “He loved this room,” whispered a gruff voice behind her.

  Leigh spun around. Her glance traveled up a pair of worn blue jeans and a white T-shirt to a shock of coarse black hair. Her visitor’s jet-black locks reminded her of another man’s — well he’d been barely more than a boy really. A wild, skinny, dark-haired teenager.

  Then it dawned on her. “Hello, David.”

  “Leigh. Glad you could make it — ” David paused, his eyes dark pools of turmoil, his big, tanned hands at his side.

  What was that supposed to mean?

  David stepped closer, silent.

  She struggled to keep her cool and held his burning gaze. The tough Native American kid with long hair was long gone, and now he was all man. His full black locks were cut short, and he had the appearance of one who commanded instant respect.

  “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Her heart pounded in her throat. “Me, too.”

  He leaned one hand behind her on the wall. “I’m surprised you made it here so quickly. Or at all.”

  She paused, shocked. “I came as soon as I heard, of course.” Raw hurt knotted her throat.

  “Of course. And all he had to do was die to bring you back.”

  Clenching her teeth, she bit back a retort. The silence between them stretched like a taut elastic.

  A muscle twitched in his right temple. “I’m sorry. That was out of line.”

  Leigh nodded, taking in the dark circles under his eyes. “I guess we’re all on edge, today.”

  Then, visibly struggling to regain composure, David slipped out of the room.

  Leigh remained alone in her father’s office a long quiet moment. As the weight of the day’s events sank in, she crumbled into his big leather chair.

  Chapter Two

  Leigh pulled up behind a Mercedes Sports Coupe. Andrea’s latest car, no doubt. Zeus had been whining since they’d taken the final turn up Oak Hill Drive. If she didn’t let him out soon, he’d dig his way through the passenger door.

  “Did I forget to tell you you’re a German shepherd, not a fox terrier?” The dog licked her hand, oblivious to her displeasure and reproachful tone. “All right. Go.” She unlatched the door and he bounded out after a rabbit, disappearing into the brush. Great.

  She hopped out of her car and scanned the gardens. Andrea would have a fit if she realized the dog was loose on the property. Most animals terrified her, especially large canines. Leigh couldn’t understand how anyone could be afraid of Zeus. He was the biggest sucker around and would roll over and play dead if he thought there was any chance he might get a morsel of food for it.

  She called out, keeping her voice low. “Zeus. Come here, boy.” Nothing. Fine. What Andrea didn’t know couldn’t hurt her. She’d find the dog, later.

  “Baby girl.” Andrea’s unmistakable Southey accent greeted her as she walked up the block drive to the Georgian’s graceful portico. “Honey, I’m so sorry.”

  Andrea hadn’t changed a bit in the ten years since she’d last seen her. She was still a little too blonde, a little too tanned, and she always wore at least one bubble gum pink accessory no matter the outfit. She considered it her signature. Today, it was a pair of dangly pink earrings that weren’t doing her black pantsuit any favors.

  Leigh stepped into her stepmother’s outstretched arms. “Me too, Andrea. Me too.”

  “Wow, you sure aren’t the gawky little beanpole you used to be,” Andrea said, squeezing her waist. “I’ll bet you’re driving all the men in New York crazy with those curves.”

  Leigh replied through stiff lips. “Not as many as you’d think.” Andrea really hadn’t changed. She had a way of phrasing a compliment that always made Leigh feel self-conscious. She couldn’t help but think it was intentional. After all, Leigh was her only other competition for Ben’s affection.

  As Andrea released Leigh from her embrace, her eyes filled with tears. She pulled out a tissue and blew her nose loudly. She dabbed her eyes, and Leigh marveled at how she could bring those long manicured gel nails so close to her pupils without causing any damage. “Look at me, I’m a mess. Let’s go inside and get you a drink to welcome you home.”

  Leigh followed her, heals clicking against the concrete. This place hadn’t been her home in a very long time.

  • • •

  Scores of people gathered in the town of Watford for Benjamin Cameron’s passing. The funeral came and went in a blur of whispers and sympathetic voices. Ben’s colleagues, friends, and past students shared their grief and said their goodbyes. Leigh had known her father was loved and respected by many, but had never imagined everyone from Watford’s local NPR station to CNN would attend. She scanned the unknown faces. Hundreds crowded in and around the church, all carrying some kind of offering. Flowers, wreaths, and candles covered the front steps.

  Leigh sat or stood by Andrea’s side whispering her thanks to everyone who’d come. She came close to crying many times during the day, but in the end, managed to keep her tears to herself. Her stepmother, on the other hand, whimpered through the entire ordeal. Leigh couldn’t help but think it was just enough to remind everyone that she was the grieving widow and keep herself at the center of attention.

  A procession of townspeople she either barely remembered or didn’t know at all spoke of Ben’s generosity, of his sense of humor, and of the impact he’d had on their lives. Then David stepped up to the pulpit. His dark, well-cut suit accentuated his broad shoulders and trim waist, his dark rebellious hair tapering neatly to his collar. Not at all what she’d expected from the small-town delinquent she used to know.

  David ran his gaze across the congregation. His dark eyes caught and held hers, probing her very soul. Or had they? A chill ran up her spine. She looked away.

  “Dear friends and family.” His voice echoed through the sanctuary, deep and warm. He breathed in deeply and closed his eyes for a moment. Leigh squeezed her hands together tighter, not daring to look up. If he succumbed to his grief, she wouldn’t have the strength to hold her tears.

  “I was barely a teenager when Ben first hired me. He gave me a paper route and encouraged me to grow. As soon as I was old enough to drive he doubled my responsibilities, never once questioning my abilities. And every day, I read Ben’s editorial. His words captured my imagination and shaped my mind.”

  A weak sob escaped Andrea’s lips. Leigh put her arm around her and gave a gentle squeeze. David kept talking. The fervor in his gaze surprised Leigh and for the umpteenth time, she wished she’d known the Ben Cameron David knew. The pit of her stomach filled with heavy grief and longing.

 
“Soon, I decided wanted to be just like him. I wanted to be a writer. I made an appointment through his secretary.” Leigh followed his glance to Ben’s old, now retired secretary. “Then I spent hours writing and working on the arguments I’d use to persuade him. I didn’t get to use any of them. Instead, we talked. About my dreams, fears, and expectations.

  “The interview lasted over an hour. When it was over I thanked him and got up to leave. We shook hands, and I walked to the door. I had never felt more proud. It was the best moment of my life. I was elated. Ben wanted to read some of my work.

  “I grabbed the door handle and turned. The door wouldn’t open. I turned, gave Ben a final smile and tried again. The fates were testing me. If I could open the door, the job would be mine. If I couldn’t, well, I shuddered to think what that might mean. I pulled harder, confident the door would give in.” David paused and ran his gaze over the assembly.

  Leigh looked around her. All eyes were riveted on David. “I pulled, turned, twisted but it wouldn’t open.” He looked up and smiled. It was the most disarming grin she’d ever seen. Warm laughter resonated through the hall.

  “Ben walked over and ‘click,’ opened the door. Just like that. And that’s what our relationship was like. Ben opened doors. For me. For you. For everyone he came across. He taught me the measure of a man is not in his words but in his actions.

  “Let’s all take a moment to think of the doors Ben opened for us and of the ones we’ll open in his memory.”

  Leigh swallowed the bitter lump forming in her throat. After years of trying to open the door separating her and her father, she’d finally walked away. And that was a door that would never open again.

  • • •

  After the service, family and friends drove back to the manor in a procession of cars, minivans, and trucks. Leigh watched the line of vehicles in her rearview mirror, dreading the gathering even more than the funeral. Although meant to be a celebration of Ben’s life, she doubted the get-together would amount to much more than pockets of mourners eating scones and finger foods. She sighed.