He narrowed his eyes. “Yes, but don’t get any ideas. I’m not auditioning.”
“I already got that message.” Gramp dismissed the warning with a flick of his hand. “But you could provide moral support. For Isabel, not me.”
“Assuming I don’t get pulled into another crisis at the mill like I did Saturday, I should be able to go. We can talk to her about it tomorrow night, after I get home from work. Between the two of us, we ought to be able to convince her to at least go to the auditions. Whether she’ll get up and sing in front of everyone is a question mark.”
“‘Happy Birthday’ is acceptable for the kids, according to the info they sent. That should be a piece of cake.”
“Not for a shy little girl.”
“We’ll keep our fingers crossed. You want me to finish up in here?” He motioned to the dishwasher.
“No. I’m almost done, and I know you want to watch that PBS program about theTitanic. Besides, the cook shouldn’t have to handle cleanup.”
“If you’re certain...”
“Go.” Aaron waved him toward the living room. “I may join you after I finish filling out the work schedule for next month.”
But an hour later, after he wrapped up his task, he was ready to call it a night.
After flipping off the light in the kitchen, he detoured into the living room. “I’m going to turn in, Gramp.”
“Don’t blame you. I would too if I got up as early as you do. Sleep well.”
“Thanks.”
Shoving his fingers into the pockets of his jeans, he continued down the hall, pausing at the door of Isabel’s bedroom to peek through the crack.
She was slumbering peacefully. A positive change from the early days after Olivia’s death.
The question was, how long would her restful sleep last tonight? While the nightmares were becoming less frequent, they weren’t gone yet.
Maybe the summer musical would keep her entertained and chase away the sadness that continued to linger in her eyes, though. She might even make a new friend or two.
And if securing her participation meant he had to show up to offer moral support at the auditions and a few rehearsals, so be it. He could always take his laptop, sit in the back, and do paperwork there. It wasn’t as if all the noise and music would bother him. Anyone who worked in a mill learned to focus despite a background din. Add in his lack of interest in musicals, and it ought to be a cinch to shut out what was happening on stage.
After all, what could possibly distract him at an amateur theater rehearsal?
He owed Aaron an apology.
Taking out his frustrations on an excellent supervisor had been wrong. And if he kept it up, the man might walk. Which would only add to the mess in his life.
Muttering a word that had crept into his vocabulary far too often over the past fourteen years, Martin Fisher pushed his chair back from his desk with more force than necessary, slamming it into the filing cabinet behind him.
As the sound of splintering glass shattered the quiet, he swiveled to the right.
Farther down, the framed Small Business of the Year certificatefrom the governor lay on the floor, shards of glass scattered across the planks.
The vibration from the impact must have dislodged the award from the spot it had occupied on the wall for the past eighteen months.
Breath hissing through his teeth, Martin rose, picked his way among the pieces of glass, and lifted the prized tribute.
His father had never received such an honor. Neither had his grandfather or the great-grandfather who’d founded the company.
This award had been proof that the blood, sweat, and tears he’d poured into the company had paid off. That all of his efforts to salvage the floundering business he’d taken over from his father had been worth it.
Onlyheknew the full significance of this achievement, however—or how much it had cost him to attain it.
And now the glass was shattered, the frame dented, the certificate scuffed.
