but—”
“How old was your father when he died?”
Hutch exhaled. “Fifty-eight.” He’d never forget the day he lost his father. He’d been twenty-five, carefree, selfish and a little arrogant. Back in those days, he had time for golf and dating and friends. That had all changed, literally overnight.
He’d always accepted that eventually he’d step into his father’s shoes as head of the family enterprise. But he’d figured it would be years before Bryan Sr. retired and he hadn’t concerned himself with details about the business. Although Hutch had showed up for work every day, he hadn’t paid much attention. Certainly not enough to assume the company’s leadership on such short notice.
It had taken him two years to learn everything he needed to know about the business and the CEO’s role. He’d made mistakes and the company had floundered. Not only did he have responsibilities to their employees, his mother depended on the income. Mount Rainier Chocolates had lost market share, and those lessons had been hard, but Hutch had slowly found his way. Over the next few years, the company did marginally better and then, gradually, there’d been a turnaround. His confidence increased. Hutch had encouraged the development of new products, which he wanted to test. He’d switched distributors. He was involved in every aspect of the business, from research to hiring to advertising and everything in between. And because of all that, he worked twelve-and fourteen-hour days. This wasn’t a good time to be sued, in other words. Then again, was there ever?
“I’ll write you a prescription,” Dave said sternly, “but what you really need is a change in lifestyle.”
Hutch resisted the urge to groan aloud. He couldn’t add one more thing to his already crowded schedule. “Like what?”
“Diet.”
Now, that rankled—although he agreed that he skipped too many meals and ate too much junk food on the run. “I’m not overweight,” he argued.
“True, but you’re close to being anemic, your potassium is low and you’re putting your immune system at risk. That’s one of the reasons it’s taking your thumb so long to heal.”
More than a month ago Hutch had sliced open the flesh between his thumb and index finger while he was trying to cut a rubbery, two-day-old piece of pizza. The injury had required several stitches. To this day it continued to bother him. His improperly healed thumb was what had prompted him to make the appointment for his physical. It’d been a year and a half since he’d last seen Dave in a professional capacity. Or any capacity, really, except for a drink at Christmas.
“What about vitamins?” Hutch asked hopefully.
“I’m going to recommend one and put you on iron tablets, as well as blood pressure medication, but that isn’t enough. You need to start taking better care of yourself.” The unspoken words hung in the air between them. Otherwise Hutch would end up like his father—prematurely dead of a heart attack.
And this time, there wouldn’t be anyone to take over the business.
“Okay, I’ll sign up for a gym.”
Dave shrugged as if this wasn’t a big enough concession. “You’ve got to do more than sign up. You’ve got to work out at least three times a week.”
“Okay, fine. I’ll do it.”
“You might also join a class or two.”
There was more? “What kind of class?”
Dave leaned back, grinning as he studied Hutch. “Don’t laugh,” he said.
“Why should I laugh?”
“Because I’m going to suggest you take up knitting.”
Hutch shook his head. “This is a joke, isn’t it?”
“No, it’s not. I had a male patient come in to my office with sky-high blood pressure. He decided to start knitting—I think his wife talked him into it. I have to tell you I was shocked at the difference in him. I’m not kidding. I saw the evidence myself.”
What a ridiculous idea. “Like I have time for… crafts?”
“It’s only a suggestion, but it’ll help your thumb, too.”
Hutch jerked his thumb back and forth and felt it tighten. It was especially stiff in the morning. But knitting? Him? The gym he could handle, but knitting? If any of his friends or employees heard about that, he’d be a laughingstock.
“How about you?” Hutch asked, suddenly suspicious. “Do you knit?”
“Yeah.” Dave grinned again. “My wife taught me.”
“Get outta here!”
“It works, Hutch. Give it a try.” Dave reached for his pad, wrote out the prescriptions and handed it to him.
Hutch stared down at the small sheet of paper. He never would’ve believed he’d be on blood pressure medication in his thirties. Dave was right; this didn’t bode well.
“I want to see you again in two months.”
Hutch nodded. He stood and pulled a candy bar from his inside pocket. “I brought you something.”
Dave accepted it and looked up expectantly.
“We’re about to launch this nationwide. It’s called the Mount Saint Helens bar.”
Dave turned it over and read the description. “Coconut covered with dark chocolate and a liquid chocolate center. An explosion of flavor.”
“That’s what I’ve been working on for the last eighteen months. We finally have a national distributor willing to give us a shot.” His friend couldn’t appreciate how difficult it was to get into the bigger markets when he was up against the huge candy companies. Hutch believed in this new product and was prepared to gamble on the future of the business. So far, everything seemed positive—if he didn’t end up forking out millions over a frivolous lawsuit.
Dave examined the packaging and Hutch could tell he was impressed. “Sugar’s not too high,” he murmured, “and 70 percent cocoa is good.”
“Practically health food,” Hutch said with a smile. He began to turn away.
Dave stopped him. “Two months, Hutch. Don’t disappoint me.”
“I won’t.” He walked out of the office and galloped down four flights of stairs instead of taking the elevator. He couldn’t disagree with Dave about getting more exercise. But there just weren’t enough hours in the day. He delegated whatever he could but so much still demanded his personal attention.
By the time he returned to his office, Dave was fifteen minutes behind schedule. Gail Wendell, his personal assistant, relaxed her anxious face the moment he walked in the door. She stood as if expecting him to need something right away.
“Mr. Williams is waiting in your office,” she told him.
