He most certainly is a hero. Now why don’t you go change out of that costume. Gram still has to iron on the pumpkin’s face.”
“All right, Gram.” Brittany shoved the newspaper article back into the folder and looked at Tyler. “Are you mad at me for bringing the newspaper to school?”
He gave her a squeeze. “No, I’m not mad. It was very nice of you to want to bring me for show-and-tell.” He gave her an extra hug. “I love you, Brittany.”
“I love you, too, Daddy,” she responded, but the words were subdued.
As soon as she was gone, his mother said, “Every little girl wants her father to be a hero.”
Tyler rubbed the tight muscles in his neck. “Fine. I can be her hero while we’re here in this house, but she doesn’t need to know everything that happened in Hibbing, and I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t encourage her to talk about it.”
“She’s a child. She has questions.”
He frowned. “Why did you give her the newspaper?”
“I didn’t give it to her. Tyler, your picture was on the front page. She saw it when we were in the grocery store. It’s rather difficult to pretend you weren’t in that crash when it’s been in the papers and on television.”
“I don’t know why the media have to hound me. I’m sick and tired of them intruding in my life,” he said, loosening his tie. He walked over to the sideboard and poured himself a Scotch on the rocks.
“There’s nothing wrong with being a hero, Tyler,” she said gently.
“Mom, please, not you, too.” He took a swallow of the fiery liquid.
“You saved Kristen Kellar’s life. At least that’s what she says.”
He grimaced. “Of course she would sensationalize everything. She’s one of the media. A reporter. And you and I both know they feel that title gives them the right to invade everyone else’s privacy. Have you forgotten what happened after Susan died?” He made a sound of disgust. “They were at the cemetery with their cameras.”
“That was awful,” she agreed solemnly, “but Kristen Kellar isn’t a reporter. She’s a news anchor,” his mother added. “And a darn good one. She reports the news accurately and with sensitivity.”
Again he made a sound, this time of disbelief.
“Well, she’s told the world that without you she wouldn’t be alive. I guess that makes you a hero.”
“I think the eight people who died on that flight would disagree.”
“You can’t possibly think you’re responsible for their deaths?” She looked at him with a look of horror. “Tyler, the plane split in two. There was no way you could’ve saved their lives.”
He took another swig of the Scotch. “Since you weren’t there, I don’t think you know what I could or couldn’t have done.”
He set his glass down with a bit more force than necessary. Again, he knew he’d been sharper with her than he’d meant to be. What was wrong with him anyway? Lately, he seemed to fly off the handle at the slightest provocation.
“I’m sorry, Mom. Maybe we ought to change the subject. There’s no point in arguing over something that’s in the past. I’ve been living out of a suitcase for the past four days and I need a shower.”
“And you’re tired, aren’t you?” His mother became all maternal once again, fussing over him as though he were a child instead of a thirty-five-year-old businessman. “There’s plenty of time for you to rest before dinner, if you like. I’m going upstairs to finish Brittany’s costume and leave you to unwind on your own.” She gave his arm a gentle touch, then headed for the stairway. She stopped in midstride. “Oh, by the way, your mail is on the console in the hallway, and I left your phone messages on your desk.”
Tyler nodded and watched his mother climb the steps to the second story. Then he walked over to the console where several days of mail had accumulated. He flipped through the pile until he came to a pale pink envelope. His name and address were handwritten and there was no return address.
He opened the envelope and found a single sheet of pale pink stationery. At the top printed in gray ink was the name Kristen Kellar, her address and phone number.
Dear Mr. Brant,
Please forgive me for taking so long to contact you, but as you are probably aware, I’ve been in the hospital until very recently. I wanted to speak to you before I was moved from the Hibbing hospital, but unfortunately that wasn’t possible. Since I was told that you suffered only minor injuries and that you were discharged after a few days, I assume that you are in good health and have returned to work.
The purpose of this letter is to express my gratitude, although the words “Thank you” seem inadequate for expressing what’s in my heart. I don’t want to think about what the outcome might have been if you hadn’t been on that flight. The value of your strength and determination cannot be measured. Please know that I will always remember the help you gave me.
Sincerely,
Kristen Kellar
Tyler stared at the feminine handwriting until he no longer saw words, but images. An engine on fire. Panic among the passengers. A plane torn in two. His heart began to race, his palms to sweat. He remembered the look on Kristen’s face as she had frantically struggled to free herself from the twisted wreckage of the plane.
With a grimace, he crumpled her letter in his fist. He turned his attention to the other mail, determined to forget the crash.
He would forget. He had taught himself a long time ago to block out those images that had the power to play games with his emotions. And the memory of that plane crash was one of those images. He was a survivor. Always had been, always would be.
So for the rest of the evening, Tyler didn’t once think about Kristen Kellar or the crash. He played a board game with Brittany, sat with her while she watched The Little Mermaid video for the umpteenth time and then, despite his mother’s warning, let her eat a giant chocolate bar while he read her a bedtime story.
After she’d fallen asleep, he went into his office and worked until midnight. When he finally crawled between the covers, he was weary, but it was a welcome weariness. He’d have no trouble falling asleep tonight.
And he didn’t. Only it wasn’t a peaceful sleep. No matter how exhausted he was, he couldn’t prevent the dream.
He was in the broken half of the plane.
“I can’t get free,” a woman cried out to him, blood streaming down her face. “The seat belt is stuck.”
Tyler hurried to her side only to discover the seat belt wasn’t preventing her escape. Her right leg was trapped. With a strength he didn’t know he possessed, he managed to bend the metal bar pinning her leg.
“We have to get out of here,” she urged. “Look.” Her eyes widened as she stared at the open end of the plane. The aircraft was slipping into the water.
“It’s
