Irene Hannon - All Our Tomorrows

Despite his initial reaction, however, David’s tone was conversational when he responded. “It is. I’d been doing a lot of soul-searching for the past few years, and I began to feel a need to do something with my life that had more purpose than just making a lot of money.”

A melancholy smile whispered at the corners of her mouth. “Michael used to say almost exactly the same thing.”

Her comment startled him. No one had ever compared him to his brother before. It made him feel good, and odd at the same time. “I guess that’s true,” he acknowledged. “But my impetus was different. It grew out of long conversations with God.”

“You’re right. Michael was driven by a deep sense of ethics versus faith, and by a desire to help improve the human race.”

“I guess our goal was the same, then. Just not the motivation.”

“Well…I wish you luck with the job. It sounds like good work. I’ll be expecting Rachel’s call.”

“Great. We appreciate anything you can do. Take care.”

The line went dead, and Caroline put the phone back in its holder. She still wasn’t sure why she’d asked about his new job. It had moved them out of a safe topic and into touchy personal territory. Maybe it had just been her professional curiosity kicking in. Since asking questions was part of her job, it made sense that she would delve a little deeper with David. Didn’t it?

The answer came to her in a flash. No. If she’d wanted to avoid personal discussion, if she’d wanted to get off the phone as fast as possible, she’d have ended the conversation instead of detouring to a more personal line of questioning.

Okay, so much for her first theory. She tried another one on for size. Maybe contact with David made her feel, in some way, connected with Michael. As if, through David, Michael was still somehow part of her life in a tangible way. She and David were the only ones who had really known, and loved, the man she’d planned to marry. Her mother was a great sounding board, and she’d listened with infinite patience when Caroline had reached the stage of grief where she could talk about her fiancé, and share some of her memories. But her mother had no firsthand knowledge of him beyond that brief Christmas visit to both families.

David, on the other hand, had years’ worth of memories of Michael. Ones that Caroline didn’t have. His bond to the prize-winning photojournalist was as strong as hers, in a different way. Maybe, on some subconscious level, she wanted to tap into them. To supplement her own memories of the man she’d loved, who had talked of his past only on rare occasions. And maybe she also wanted to shore up her memories. In recent months it had grown harder for her to picture Michael’s face without the aid of a photograph. She’d already begun to forget the unique sound of his voice. Along with the feel of his touch. She didn’t want to let go of Michael, but he was slipping away, bit by bit. And that frightened her. Perhaps her reaching out to David today had been driven by fear, and by a desire to connect with the one man who had the best chance of keeping Michael alive for her.

Yes, no doubt that was it.

Satisfied, Caroline reached for her red pen and pulled the copy back toward her. Only then did she realize that her jerky squiggle bore a striking resemblance to half of a heart. How appropriate, she reflected with a pang. Half a heart was exactly what she felt like she had. The rest had died along with the man she loved.

And there was nothing David Sloan could do to fix that.

“Here’s some information on Uplink. And I asked Mitch about it, too.” Tess Jackson laid the material on Caroline’s desk, taking the seat the managing editor waved her into.

“Did he know anything?”

“Not a lot. It’s targeted more toward inner-city schools. But he made a few calls, and in general heard glowing reports from his colleagues. He thought it would be a very worthwhile feature. I do, too, from a journalistic perspective.”

After a quick scan of the material, Caroline leaned back in her chair and steepled her fingers. She respected Mitch Jackson, a former cop whose innovative work as a hands-on high school principal had drawn state-wide notice. His personal interventions had steered dozens of wayward students back to the right path. She also respected his wife’s assessment of the story potential. That was why Tess had been promoted in two short years to assistant editor.

“Okay. What kind of angle do you propose?”

“Human interest. I think we should include some history of Uplink, but focus on a couple of the students who’ve been through the program and talk about what a difference it made in their lives. We’d want to include interviews with the businesses that were involved, the students and the executive director, as well as the chairman of the board.”

“Sounds good. Who should we assign?”

“As a matter of fact, I’d like to take this one. I think I have a good feel for the subject, given Mitch’s work at the high school. Unless you want to do it. After that story you did on gangs last year, you’ve got an understanding of the problems out there, and the need for intervention. Besides, it should be a meaty piece, and you like to tackle those.”

Caroline had already thought this through. And had come to the conclusion that whatever her motives in yesterday’s conversation with David, it wasn’t wise to prolong contact with him. In addition to the painful memories that were rekindled, there were too many unresolved questions that she didn’t want to dredge up. Like, why had David insisted on putting his mother in an extended-care facility so soon after their visit, breaking a promise both brothers had made to her years before? She’d overheard the two men discussing it one evening, in subdued tones near the Christmas tree, and while she hadn’t been able to make out the words—nor had she tried to—the frustration in both voices had been unmistakable.

In the end, she’d sided with Michael. Martha Sloan might have been a bit vague, but Caroline hadn’t seen any evidence of advanced Alzheimer’s during their visit. Certainly not enough to warrant institutionalization. David had agreed to hold off, but then had called Michael a month later to tell him that he was going to move her into a nursing facility anyway. Michael had asked him to wait until they could discuss it in person, when he and Caroline returned later in the year for their wedding, but David had refused. The brothers hadn’t talked again until the night before Michael died, when David had called to tell him that their mother had suffered a mild heart attack.

It was odd, really. Back then, David hadn’t struck her as uncaring or cavalier. Or as a man who broke his promises. He still didn’t. She found it hard to think of him as someone who would disregard the wishes of a person he loved. Yet the facts all pointed to that. And it wasn’t something she respected. Nor wanted to discuss. But if they continued to have contact, it would no doubt come up, since it had been such a point of contention between the brothers. As a result, it was best if she let someone else handle the story.

“No. You do it, Tess. I’ll refer Rachel Harris to you when she calls.”

“You’re sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“Okay. I’ll dive in as soon as we hear from Rachel. Any special timing on this?”

From what David had said, the group wanted to raise its profile as soon as possible. Of course, that couldn’t be a factor in her decision. She had to do what was best for the paper and for the readers. Still, there was a piece about home schooling scheduled for two editions down the road that was pretty timeless. She checked the run list.

“If we bump the home-school piece a week, we could use this March twenty-seventh. Do you think you can have it ready by then?”