“Mark Samuels,” Tyler’s mom answered. “You might remember him, Tyler. He graduated with you, right?”
Tyler nodded, but closed his eyes briefly, absorbing that piece of news. Not that it surprised him much. “Are they still married? She’s going by the name Maxwell, after all.”
His parents exchanged uncomfortable looks. “No,” Mom replied. “They’re divorced. He’s in South Carolina now, I think. Isn’t that what Amy told us a while back?”
“Yep.” Tyler’s dad finished up his meal by spreading a bit of strawberry jam on the remainder of his toast. “I don’t know anything about what caused the divorce, though. All I know is that Amy used to be as effervescent as a fresh serving of soda pop. Now she’s real quiet. Reserved, you know? Hesitant.”
The exact same traits Tyler had noticed last night. “She sure wasn’t that way back when I knew her. She put the confident in confidence.”
His parents chuckled at the comment, but sadness layered the sound; Tyler understood the reaction, because Amy had changed. Life had walked in on her and delivered an obvious blow. He wanted to know more. She had always been a faithful, God-loving girl. She had always found joy in helping others, and building her faith by sharing her time, talents—and even her convictions—with those around her.
“She works the spring and summer seasons at a construction company here in town.” His dad stretched back and rested his hands on his stomach. “Edwards Construction. She’s the office manager over there. Her boss, Jeremy Edwards, is a good guy. I know him from Woodland. His brother, Collin was your English teacher senior year, wasn’t he?”
Collin Edwards, Jeremy Edwards. Connections fell into place. “He sure was. A great one, too. I liked him a lot.”
Tyler’s mom nodded. “And I’ve always liked JB. He and his wife Monica really helped Amy out when she came back to Woodland. During off-peak times in construction, Amy works at the daycare center and school that Monica owns. It’s where Pyper goes. Sunny Horizons, I think it’s called.”
Tyler took in every nugget of information, storing each morsel carefully.
In a fond tone of voice, his mother continued. “I remember when you and Amy would hang out together after school, or before and after youth group meetings.” She sighed. “If only things were different. She sure could use a good man like you in her life. I think she’s afraid to reach out again. I have the feeling she was hurt, badly, but no one wants to intrude, or open up an old wound. Know what I mean?”
Tyler added that perception to the growing list of items he wanted to explore about Amy. He leaned back in the whaler chair he occupied. Discreetly he looked to the left and checked the stove clock once more. Almost ten o’clock. Would eleven o’clock ever get here?
“Need any help packing for our day on the boat?” Tyler offered his services to his mom, wanting to lend assistance, but also eager to burn off any amount of excess time that he could.
“Sure. Can you bring up the cooler from the basement and clean it out? My offering for the outing is veggies and cheese, plus some chips. There’s also some pop in the fridge that we’ll bring along. There are ice blocks in the freezer we can use to keep it all cold if you want to fish them out for me.”
“Done.”
Tyler took his dishes to the sink and rinsed them off. For a few moments, he stood at the kitchen sink and finished off his coffee. Gazing out the window, he absorbed the details of a good-sized backyard dotted by a couple of sturdy old maples. This is where he had grown up, where he felt most like himself. It was, unquestionably, home. Five years in Nashville hadn’t changed that truth.
He smiled. The sky was a perfect blue, uninterrupted by even the tiniest cloud; the temperatures inched upward by the second. It was going to be warm—almost hot—and humid.
He fulfilled his mom’s requests—which took him to ten-twenty.
Issuing a sigh, Tyler decided to take a shower. It would feel good to clean up, even though he’d just be diving into the waters of Lake Saint Clair before too long. Besides, he freely admitted to himself, he wanted to look good for Amy—and showering would eat up some more of the clock.
In his bedroom, Tyler pulled out a pair of swim trunks, a polo shirt and some toiletries from his suitcase. Preoccupied with thoughts of Amy, he was on his way to the bathroom when his phone chirped to life. He picked it up without a second thought. “Hello?”
“Well, it took me almost a half hour, but I finally got through to the Woodland website. I think they’ve reached their bandwidth. The pictures are great. The concert looks like it was amazing.”
Tyler’s pulse went into overdrive, and he swallowed hard. He had completely forgotten to check caller ID—a testimony to just how relaxed and distracted he had become since returning home. “Hey, Kellen.”
Kellen Rossiter’s low, appealing chuckle crossed the airwaves. “Good morning, Tyler.”
Tyler paid pleasantries no mind. “The concert was good. I’m headed out in a bit though. Want to spend some time with my family before I have to hit the road again. What’s up?” Unimpressed. Succinct and to the point. His words and tone presented just the image Tyler wanted to portray, even if his hands shook a bit.
“Then I won’t keep you, but I’ve been trying here, Tyler. As I think you know.”
“Yeah. By any means necessary.”
Again came a rich, smooth laugh. “Don’t expect me to apologize for that. All I want is a meeting, once you’re back in Nashville. Tour’s over in two weeks. When that happens, let’s sit down, and talk, and find out if there’s any reason for this cat and mouse game of ours to continue.”
Kellen was relentless, and savvy. The man knew Tyler’s schedule and everything. Tyler was annoyed on one level but, as Dave had correctly observed last night, he was extremely flattered as well.
“OK. Talk to Jess. She’ll set you up.” Tyler referred to his personal assistant, Jessica Farbare.
“I know she will, and I would have done that already, but I don’t want to waste my time. Or yours. Before I set anything up, I want to know the answer to one question.”
“Which is?”
A muffled sigh crossed their connection. “Are you interested in hearing what I have to say? I’m not sure how hard I can, or should, keep pushing. You’ve been doing an outstanding job of avoiding me. Frankly, I’m not used to that.”
Tyler breathed, considered, thought and thought…and thought.
Kellen made a point. He wasn’t a man people in his position typically avoided, under any circumstance. For good reason. Tyler pushed back the fear—fear for his soul, his convictions, and the entire pathway of his professional life.
“Brock, to a degree I understand where your uncertainty is coming from.” Kellen’s words were even and un-accusing. “I just want you to hear me out. No one’s putting a gun to your head. I simply want you to listen to what I have to say.” Silence passed. “Bottom line. Are you interested in taking a meeting or not?”
Kellen was forthright, yet ready to cut and run at this point—not that Tyler blamed him. As suspected, avoidance had run its course. If he didn’t meet with Kellen, he’d regret it. Admitting to that truth, however, reeked of compromise. Potentially dangerous compromise.
Nonetheless, he had to be honest—with Kellen, and with himself. From there, he would trust God to move His purpose, and His grace, through whatever decisions might need to follow. With flutters erupting through his body, Tyler answered the question. “I’m interested. In a meeting. I’ll listen to what you have to say, that’s all I promise right now. Set it up with Jess and I’ll be there.”
“Fair enough, and thanks. Rest assured, she’s my very next call.”
Tyler didn’t doubt it. Kellen Rossiter was on a mission—but would that mission best serve Tyler, and his career? Only God could answer that question, and Tyler was counting on His intervention and grace to do what was right.
Disengaged from the call, Tyler expelled a shaky breath. Well. So much for a day of escap
ism. Now Tyler was wired. Adrenaline pulsed through his veins; so did the thrill of possibilities and everything that might happen as the result of his music. Kellen’s comments about the Woodland website left him intrigued. Tyler glanced at his laptop, which was open and humming. His computer rested atop a dark wood desk that had stood sentinel beneath his bedroom window for years. Since he had time to spare, he logged on, intending to explore. He was anxious to review Amy’s photographic handiwork.
It took him a while. Kellen wasn’t kidding about slow log-in times and spotty access. Were that many people logging on to review the chronicle of his concert? Really?
His brows pulled together. Tyler clicked, waited, clicked, propped his elbows on the surface of the desk and waited some more. He rubbed his stubbled jaw as the hourglass spun and lingered. At last, he made his way onto the “Welcome Home Tyler Brock” page and smiled with genuine amazement at what he found. Amy had captured it all. Picture after picture spoke not just of a concert, but a faith-filled event, full of life, energy and a family of fans that had been in his corner since his victory on Opry Bound.
Lord, what a ride that televised talent search had proven to be. The appearance had marked the dawn of his career.
Never had he expected to find his way onto a countrified version of American Idol, but, he had quickly run out of options. Fresh out of high school he had hit the Nashville pavement hard, knocking on the doors of every record label, talent agency, and musical connection he could think of in order to establish his dream. Fading fast one particularly hot and humid afternoon, he wandered through the doorway of Notes of Spirit, Inc., a talent agency that drew him in by virtue of its name alone. The agent he spoke with that day had forsaken representation in the face of a lack of experience—the story of Tyler’s life thus far—but he had been encouraging. Tyler left the agency with an application in hand to join thousands upon thousands of hopefuls auditioning for next season’s edition of Opry Bound—a CMT series that searched for the next, best country music star.
Tyler had been nervous, but figured: Why not leave this opportunity—like everything else in his life—to the hand of God? After all, this kind of opportunity is exactly what he had prayed for upon leaving Michigan and moving in with his aunt, RuthAnne Newman. God opened up the pathway; Tyler simply trusted enough to follow the call.
He plowed through week after grueling, draining week as the field narrowed. Performances led to evaluations, then rounds of fan voting and the agony of watching other talented, multi-faceted performers, many of whom became dear friends—like Rebecca Graham—get voted off.
But Tyler’s music, his message, had a twist that seemed to intrigue the judges and audience members alike. Rather than performing pure country, or a combination of pop/country rock, Tyler focused on the music that spoke to him the strongest. His performances centered on contemporary Christian music that rolled straight out of his heart into the famed rafters of the Grand Ole Opry Theater.
At the end of it all, he had emerged victorious.
On a professional level, his life rocketed forward after the show results. He found himself the featured artist on thousands of Christian radio stations across North America. He made high-priced, glossy videos; he toured, and his name recognition began pulling in audiences at bigger and bigger venues. Last year culminated in Dove Awards for songwriting, and record of the year for the anthem that fast became his trademark, the duet he performed with Rebecca: Amazing Grace.
It sent a shiver down his spine that the mood and lyrics of the song seemed to somehow reflect the life and times of the one he missed most since leaving Michigan, the one who, even now, completed a piece of his heart: Amy Maxwell.
Clicking through the pictures, Tyler sensed Amy’s spirit behind each photograph. And he yearned—yearned to know her all over again, in the here and now.
Hearts Key
6
“Mommy, there’s Annie! There’s Annie!” Pyper yanked hard on Amy’s hand. They moved forward, leaving their car in the driveway of Ken and Kiara’s home. In tandem, they walked toward the front porch. The door rested open. Annie’s light brunette head popped in and out of view as she bounded through the entryway inside and peeked out the door window, watching after them, and waving emphatically.
All of a sudden, Annie was swooped up into the arms of Tyler Brock. He swung her high while she giggled and squealed. That was enough of an image to stop both Amy and Pyper in their tracks.
She glanced at Pyper. A half-scared, half-resentful expression clouded her daughter’s features. Pyper’s hold on Amy’s hand tightened and she looked up, her brows pulled tight, her eyes stormy. “Mr. Tyler is comin’? I didn’t know Mr. Tyler was comin.’”
“Pyper, he’s a good friend to Pastor Ken, to Miss Kiara and me, too.” Amy dropped a beach bag and a small cooler at their feet and then knelt so she could be eye-to-eye with her daughter. “It’ll be OK.”
Pyper’s down-turned lips and doubting eyes broke Amy’s heart.
“He’s nice? You promise?”
“Very nice. I do promise. You remember that from last night, don’t you? Plus, you’ll be so busy having fun with Annie you won’t even have to worry about him.”
The furrow between Pyper’s eyes didn’t ease. She looked toward the doorway, where Tyler and Annie waited—a cheerful picture that contrasted starkly against Pyper’s dubious mood. Pyper rolled her lips inward, pressing them tight between her teeth, not moving forward quite yet.
Episodes like this battered Amy’s soul. On the outside, her daughter looked the quintessence of little girl innocence. She wore a pair of white terry cloth shorts over the lower half of her orange and yellow polka dot swimsuit. Upon purchase, Pyper exclaimed she loved the swimsuit because it included a thick, matching headband that presently held her bevy of hair in place. Sunglasses were perched atop her daughter’s head because Amy had a pair, too, and wore them just the same way. Pyper appeared every inch the picture of girlish charm, until she had to go face-to-face with a grownup man she didn’t know. When that happened, she faded like a flower without water.
“OK.” Pyper steeled her shoulders and firmed her jaw. “I’sorry, Mommy. I’ll go. C’mon.”
Heaviness pervaded Amy’s spirit. Pyper didn’t say the words because she was reassured. Body language and the false bravery that illuminated Pyper’s eyes left Amy to realize Pyper offered the assurance only to please her mother. That made the moment twice as sweet, but ten times as heartbreaking.
Before re-gathering their gear, Amy leaned in to kiss Pyper’s cheek. “I love you, snug-a-bug.”
Pyper’s wide, uncertain gaze touched hers. “Me, too.”
Amy led the way to the front door. Pyper kept a tight hold on Amy’s hand until Annie pushed open the screen door and yanked Pyper inside.
“You’re here! Finally, you’re here! We waited and waited!” Annie bounced, chirping with glee. “Mommy, Daddy, let’s go!”
“Good morning, ladies. How are you doing?” Tyler’s warm greeting encompassed Amy, but seemed to be directed mostly toward Pyper. Annie’s presence certainly helped. In the company of her friend, Pyper assumed her more typical, sweet personality. She ran after Annie with gusto, but bypassed Tyler with nothing more than a short glance and a barely audible hello.
Amy’s gaze met Tyler’s, and she gave him a reassuring smile as she stepped inside and set her supplies on the ground. Once she straightened, she found herself wrapped in a hug from Tyler.
He was warm; his heartbeat next to hers was sure and steady. Hugging came as naturally to Tyler as breathing—she recalled that now. She used to be the same way, until life pulled a shutter over her emotions. The connection, while wonderful, also set her nerve endings on edge with an awakening sizzle.
“I’m so glad you came.” His breath skimmed against the skin of her neck. He pulled back and took custody of her bags then gave Amy a directing nod toward the kitchen where, she assumed, food packing took place.
“I want gummi
bears.” Annie knelt on a nearby chair so she could oversee proceedings and help supervise her parents’ efforts.
“Me too!” Pyper danced from foot to foot, peeking around Ken and Kiara, who stood at the counter, stashing foodstuffs. “An’ don’t forget cheese curls! I love the cheese curls!”
“Gotcha covered, kiddo,” Ken gave Pyper a wink and Annie’s hair a brief tousle when she left her chair and made a dash to stand by her friend.
In the meantime, Tyler gave Amy a look of mock offense at Pyper’s food choices. Amy stared right back and shrugged. “She inherited my junk food gene. You’re surprised about that?”
Tyler’s easy laugh filled the room, causing Ken and Kiara to turn and greet Amy’s arrival with a round of hugs.
But Amy’s focus was all on Tyler. Dressed in loose swim trunks and a polo shirt of light blue, he moved through the kitchen, hefting a couple of grocery sacks and a cooler Kiara pointed to at the corner of the kitchen.
Ken clapped his hands together, eyeing the little girls like a conspirator. “Let’s say we pack up the car and get outta here! Ready to hit the water?”
The enthused squeals of two delighted five-year-old girls was his answer.
****
“Here’s a good spot. Let’s drop anchor.” Ken steered the boat slowly toward the shoreline—close, but far enough out that it felt to Amy as if they had a spot in the lake all to themselves. “According to the depth gauge, it’s just over five feet. Should be perfect for swimming.”
The engine came to rest and the boat began to float in a peaceful wake as the guys anchored the pontoon into place. Pyper and Annie, both safely secured in their float vests, sat next to Kiara and Mrs. Brock. The little girls started to squirm in their seats, chattering happily, as seagulls spun and cawed up above. A push of humid air crossed through the open space of the boat. Pyper and Annie shucked their shorts and shoes, which became a colorful heap on one of the padded benches. Amy and Tyler followed their lead, making ready to dive into the lake.
Hearts Key Page 6