Rewind Read online

  Cover image © Getty Images/Digital Vision

  Cover design copyrighted 2004 by Covenant Communications, Inc.

  Published by Covenant Communications, Inc.

  American Fork, Utah

  Copyright © 2004 by Jeff Downs

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any format or in any medium without the written permission of the publisher, Covenant Communications, Inc., P.O. Box 416, American Fork, UT 84003. The views expressed herein are the responsibility of the author and do not necessarily represent the position of Covenant Communications, Inc.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialogue are products of the author’s imagination, and are not to be construed as real.

  Acknowledgments

  Once again I would like to thank those who helped make this book possible. Ernie Riedelbach—thank you for sharing so much. You and Sheri are truly an inspiration to many. Thank you to Trent Summers, Brian Stewart, Tom Mackay and Ila Litz for your technical expertise, and to Gay Rothwell and Val Sawicki for cheering me on once again.

  To JoLynn Davis, thanks for the name, and all—and I mean all—of the cakes; Karen and John Smuin for reading and sharing in the stories I haven’t published—you still have me shaking my head when I think back on it; Jeff Haroldsen for accepting all personal correspondence mistakenly sent his direction; and the Ballards for their input on the story—you inspired me to go forward with it in the beginning.

  I’d like to express my appreciation to Shauna Humphreys, the managing editor at Covenant. Also thanks to Carrie McGhie, who made a difference in my life! If it hadn’t been for your e-mail and sticky note, this book would never have seen the light of day.

  Thanks to Angela Colvin and all of the staff at Covenant (and I mean everyone)—you are all truly masters of your craft. My gratitude also goes out to Rhea Buttars, Kathleen Killian, Jeff Vale, Elaine Davies, Landon Coburn, and the Barzee, Contor (especially Josh), and Eckman families for all of their kind words and support.

  Also, thanks to Deoine Gunderson who taught me the value of sharing; Fred “The Hulkster” Harper (for the friendship as well as the beatings); Bill Litz, whom I am very proud of; my parents, Steve and Jan, for all they’ve done for me over the years; and finally to my wife Kara, who, when I mentioned doing this, went out, bought the paper, and told me I could do it.

  No man, having put his hand to the plough, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of God.

  —Luke 9:62

  Prologue

  “He made you look like an idiot, Scott,” Chad said suddenly, breaking the silence that had prevailed since they’d left the conference room.

  Scott stopped walking in the narrow hallway in front of his office and glared at his friend and longtime partner in sales. “You never beat around the bush, do you, Chad?” he asked harshly. “You club it dead center and field dress it on the spot.”

  Scott entered his cramped office and took a seat behind a somewhat-cluttered desk.

  Chad dropped into one of the two artificial-leather chairs directly across from him. “In this case, that’s because I think there’s something you need to learn from me, Scott.”

  “Chad, he’s a program director; it’s understood that he’s ignorant about these things.”

  “He’s been with this radio station four months, Scott. He’s only building credibility every day. And with this sluggish economy and clients bailing out on us left and right, he’s going to do everything he can to pin the blame on us, regardless of what Wall Street has to say. You’ve got to prove to management that he’s wrong, not just wait for them to figure it out on their own. Look at how many announcers they’ve already sent packing in their . . . ‘quest for excellence.’ Just who exactly do you think will be next, if revenues don’t improve, and if we can’t show a plan of action?”

  As Chad cleared his throat, undoubtedly preparing for a second assault, or at the very least to answer his own question, Scott suddenly managed a weak smile, a wry thought crossing his mind. “He’ll do anything to hold on to that Jaguar, right, Chad?”

  “Do you think this is some kind of a joke?” Chad’s voice was rising.

  Scott shook his head, putting up his hands slightly in a conciliatory gesture. “Of course not, Chad. Of course it’s no joke. Believe me. He’s—”

  “Then stop taking so many cheap shots, Scott! You have to convince them that we are giving one hundred percent.”

  Scott was losing patience. His own voice grew louder. “Look, Chad, I handle things in my own way, all right? Just relax. Give it a little time—”

  “And you and I will be unemployed!” shouted Chad. “Don’t you get it?” And with that his friend jumped to his feet, straightened his tie, and stormed through the open door.

  Scott just sat there, loosening his own tie and unbuttoning his shirt collar. He wasn’t surprised at Chad’s theatrics; he’d seen them displayed countless times in the past. But, deep down, he knew the man was right. He did get it. He knew it better than anyone else. And yet what was he supposed to do about it? Their station had been bought by a huge media conglomerate, and a new program director, Sky Remington, had been sent to see to it that their money hadn’t been wasted. But this isn’t Chicago, thought Scott. They’re bound to figure that out soon, right?

  And there it was—doubt. Scott had always relied on his gut to steer him in the right direction. It was the one lesson Scott’s dad had drilled into him as a kid. Now Sky, Chad, and even his father-in-law were questioning his tactics. But how did you explain decisions made from the gut? Despite the fact that deep in his heart Scott knew he was on the right track, Sky’s relentless barrage was really beginning to chip away at Scott’s resolve.

  Maybe I don’t know what I’m doing. Maybe I’m completely out of touch. Maybe . . . maybe Sky’s right.

  His eye caught the computer on his desk. And, for the umpteenth time, he found himself wishing he’d stuck with the computer hobby he and his dad had enjoyed when he was younger. In the computer world, Scott mused, you dealt primarily with machines—a bunch of numbers really. You were in control. Absent were the silly mind games and hoop jumping he was now being forced to endure.

  The humorous thought of simply switching Sky off, or of having him reformatted, flitted through Scott’s mind. But the reality of the situation was that he couldn’t do either of those things. Scott had to either deal with him, or go on just putting up with him—to ride it out and wait for the pendulum to swing.

  How would Dad have handled this? Scott found himself asking this question a lot lately. His dad, a simple mailman and the bishop of their ward, seemed to balance things so well. Scott remembered him as easygoing and fun loving. He could be stern when he needed to be. But that wasn’t often; he found ways around it. If his dad had only lived longer, Scott mused, maybe he’d know how to better handle the problems he faced.

  But then his parents had only had one child. Now three—that pushes out a few more gray hairs. Scott smiled at his own predicament. But was Scott really remembering things the way they had been? Years had gone by. Perhaps the rose-colored glasses of the past got even rosier as the years sped on.

  He swiveled his chair and looked out the small window of his office just in time to catch Sky slipping into his new sleek silver Jaguar. Probably a bonus for condescending to come here in the first place. Even on a program director’s salary, Scott doubted Sky could easily afford such a car on his own.

  As Sky backed out, Scott caught the license plate: SKYSDLMT. Sky’s the limit, he thought. What does that mean, anyway?

  The phone on his desk unexpectedly jangled. He lifted the receiver. “Hello.”

  “Hi, honey. You don’t sound so hot.” At the sound of his wife’s voice, his mood lighte
ned, but not much.

  “Oh, well . . . executive meeting this afternoon was rough, Kate.”

  “I take it they didn’t appreciate Bob’s pulling out of his contract.”

  “Now there’s the understatement of the decade.” Scott gave a small snort of chagrin.

  “Want to talk about it?” Kate offered.

  “Oh . . . Sky just pointed out to everyone that this is the third client that’s bailed on us this month. He wants to know why I’m not pushing for litigation.”

  “Litigation?” Kate sounded taken aback. “Bob’s just having a rough time with his business. He’ll be back as soon as he can afford to advertise. Aren’t you always telling me that you can’t get blood out of a turnip?”

  “You know that, hon, and I know that, but Mr. Jaguar is millimeters away from rebilling Bob at a higher rate for the months he’s already used up. That alone might bury Bob.”

  “You’re going to fight him on it, aren’t you?”

  “I’m working on it, Kate.” Scott sighed. “It just feels like a lost cause.”

  “No, honey. Don’t sell Bob out without a fight—”

  “Kate,” Scott interrupted, frustrated, “I don’t know if there’s a whole lot I can do about it.”

  Kate was silent for a few moments, then, quietly she said, “Just promise me you won’t give up on him.”

  Scott lowered his own voice. “Of course I won’t. It’s just . . .” Scott couldn’t finish the sentence; he knew it wasn’t what she wanted to hear.

  “Sky’s just new, Scott. He doesn’t understand how you do things around there yet. Remember, he’s from the big city; he’s a very small fish from a very big pond.”

  Scott laughed. “Trust me, hon, none of us here will ever be allowed to forget that he’s from the big city. That I can assure you.”

  Several seconds passed in companionable silence before Scott decided to change the subject. “How’s Justin?”

  “I don’t know. He was still kind of sullen when he got off the bus today.”

  Scott had exploded at his son the night before. He’d left home before seeing Justin that morning, and had felt bad about it all day. Apparently, so had Justin.

  “I didn’t mean to flip out, babe. But, dang it, the tent we have is good enough for what he needs it for.”

  “He was only asking if you’d seen the green one at Shopko.”

  Scott felt the heat rise once more in his face. “No, Kate. He wanted the green one at Shopko,” he corrected. Now there’s a thought! I could hit Sky up for the tent. He could claim it as a charitable deduction. Then his high-priced accountant wouldn’t have to leave that portion of the tax form blank for once. Or, better yet, thought Scott, maybe he’d let me come over and check the couch cushions. I bet I’d find enough for two green tents at—

  “You shouldn’t have gotten angry, Scott. Swearing at him never—”

  “I know, Kate. I know. I’ll . . . I’ll make it up to him.”

  Another long and awkward silence followed.

  Scott’s father never blew his stack the way Scott had.

  Finally, in a tentative voice—a voice he’d noticed Kate using a lot lately—she said, “It’s just that you’ve . . .”

  “What, Kate?”

  “It’s been happening quite a bit lately, honey. Even the girls are—”

  “Kate, look, I’m sorry, all right? I’ve been under a little stress here with the economy bottoming out and—”

  “Scott, all I’m saying is you need to watch who you’re taking your anger out on. That’s all.”

  They’d had this conversation before. Each time Scott had committed himself to doing better. But, just as before . . .

  “Hey, we can talk about this tonight when you get home. I called to remind you to pay the dentist before going to the mechanic tonight. The bill’s a few weeks overdue. I’ve transferred some money into checking so we won’t overdraft again. Those service charges are driving me . . .”

  Scott’s attention involuntarily drifted away from the conversation. He focused on the Jaguar’s now-empty parking stall, and then his gaze shifted to the blue minivan parked in his stall; he had just replaced the transmission two months earlier. He suspected it now needed a new alternator—an alternator he couldn’t really afford right now.

  He thought of Sky once more. Off to some party, no doubt. A few visiting friends from the entertainment industry showing their gratitude for making them look so good in middle America. He had little doubt it would be a catered affair at what had to be a palatial home in the hills. Perhaps they’d eat around the pool, or in the gardens.

  Scott gave in to his quickly souring mood.

  Why is it I put in double the hours and yet . . . I’m older than he is, for crying out loud. The Jaguar, the trips, the money. The way Scott saw it, he’d be lucky to enjoy any one of the trips Sky had supposedly taken. And, to make matters worse, Sky did nothing but complain about where he’d been; Peru was too hot, Scotland too rainy, his Switzerland tour had lasted only seven days instead of ten (he’d apparently forgotten to add in travel time).

  “Sweetheart?”

  Kate’s voice jerked Scott back into reality. “Huh?”

  “You still there?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I’m still here. Sorry, I was just distracted for a minute.”

  “Look, hurry home, Scott, okay? Caitlin still has a bit of a fever, but what do you say we rent a video tonight? We still have some Double Fudge Delight ice cream in the freezer.”

  There’s MY big party, Sky! thought Scott with an edge of bitterness, grimacing inwardly at what Sky might think if it. And to cap it all off, he knew he needed to help Glen, the elders quorum president, with two move-outs on Saturday. “Yeah, Kate. A video sounds good . . .”

  Scott mumbled a good-bye and returned the phone to its base. For several minutes he just sat there staring at Sky’s empty parking stall—his mind switching gears once again—wondering just what the man would do to maintain rule over his radio kingdom. The barrage of unjustified insults he’d hurled at Scott and Chad earlier that afternoon seemed to indicate that he might be willing to resort to anything. Sure, Sky was tough, charismatic when he wanted to be, and seemed to have a lot of outside connections, but he couldn’t seem to connect with the mom-and-pop businesses in town. Scott acknowledged that they could be unreliable at times, but he knew that if you treated them well and you had enough of them, they made a good customer base. At least that’s what Scott had always believed.

  But Sky had been hired by the new station owners to take the third-rate station to “bigger and better heights.” And individual addends apparently didn’t work into Sky’s equation for big-time success.

  But the others at the station had to see his side of it, didn’t they? After all, Bob had been with the station since its founding. Begin suing every client for breach of contract and it would just wipe the smaller businesses off the map. Of course, what choice did the others at the station really have? Even the station manager seemed intimidated by the “representative from on high.”

  Scott suddenly noticed how overcast the sky had become—droplets of rain randomly peppered his office window. The gray sky seemed to match his mood perfectly. Great, a rainstorm, he thought sarcastically. That’s what I wanted to drive home in—the perfect ending for a perfect day. He stood and reached for his worn tan overcoat. Why am I not surprised at rain?

  He met Chad at the elevator just as the twin stainless-steel doors opened. The silence was awkward as they made their way in. The doors had closed before Chad finally spoke. “Look, Scott. I’m sorry I blew up at you back there. I just don’t like to see . . .” He hesitated, struggling, it seemed, to come up with the right words. Scott broke in.

  “Chad, it’s okay. Sky doesn’t bother me. He’s just a flashy young know-it-all. He’ll come around to how things are done around here. Give it time. Really, it doesn’t bother me.”

  Chad opened his mouth to reply but seemed to think better of it,
opting for silence until the elevator sounded and the doors opened onto the station’s small, quaint lobby. Then he sighed. “Okay, Scott. See you tomorrow.”

  Scott made his way to his van through the steady, icy rain. He pulled the collar of his now-slick overcoat tighter around his neck. “It doesn’t bother me,” he muttered, involuntarily recalling Sky Remington’s final statement to the station manager. “Just maybe we need to get someone in here that can hold onto clients!” Scott’s mission president in Guatemala, attempting to use reverse psychology in an effort to get Scott’s zone out of a slump, had used a similar line on him years ago. It might have worked with someone who was truly slacking off. After his mission president dug a little deeper into the situation, though, he apologized for having tried the tactic. With his mission president, the remark had originated as a well-meaning catalyst, so to speak. But Scott knew that the same words coming out of Sky’s mouth were meant as nothing more than a bold-faced threat.

  Scott knew his speech about ignoring Sky probably sounded convincing enough to Chad. But deep inside, he knew his words were a cover-up—nothing more. Nearly everything about Sky did bother him—had for quite some time, and he was worried. Was staying the course really the answer? Scott just wasn’t sure anymore.

  He fumbled for his keys, the rain coming down now in sheets.

  Scott had lied to Chad. Much worse, however, at some level he knew he was also lying to himself.

  CHAPTER 1

  Ordinarily a leisurely stroll through the quiet streets of his old neighborhood brought with it a feeling of peace and contentment, coupled with a longing for the carefree days of childhood—games of hide-and-seek, kick-the-can, and tag played late into the evening, the itching from playing in the grass and bushes lingering well into the night. Today, however, for reasons he couldn’t quite put his finger on, Scott was finding the experience oddly disconcerting and out of place.

  An open blue sky hung peacefully over the cracked, tree-lined sidewalk he was walking on. The gentle sound of rustling maple leaves overhead provided what seemed to be the only evidence of a slight spring breeze. It was neither too warm nor too cool. Everything was just right—a perfect day. This was what seemed to be bothering Scott the most. But before he could give the matter much thought, the distant sound of a school bell captured his attention.