Chapter 36
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
EIGHT IS ENOUGH
DAHLIA
It’s another sunny day in California, the sky a perfect blue. We drive over to the shop, and there’s a large white SUV parked in Dylan’s spot. We pull in next to it, and Dylan checks out the vehicle.
“What the hell?” he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice.
I glance over, and Everett is the first one I see, stepping out of the SUV. Goldie is next. Her ponytail is high, and she has a lemon-printed tote bag on her shoulder. Other than Dylan, she’s the most sunshiny one in the family. Her name fits her.
“Oh my God,” Dylan says, when Camden, Noah, and Tully pile out of the SUV.
He gets out, and they all hug him tight.
As Chloe and I are getting out of the car, I hear Dylan saying, “What are you guys doing here?”
“You really think we’d let you face this without us?” his dad asks. “I’m just sorry we couldn’t all be here when you saw it for the first time.”
“Thank you for coming,” Dylan says, his voice cracking.
Camden claps Dylan on the back, and Noah ruffles his hair. I can only imagine how they must have treated him like their little pet when they were younger. Chloe is so excited to see all of them, and when they come over to hug us, Tully lifts her out of my arms, and she pats his cheeks.
I can’t even speak over the lump in my throat.
“Milo wished he could be here but sends his love. Sorry, we weren’t here sooner,” Goldie says. “We caught the red-eye, and I think all of us slept.” She glances around. “So put us to work.”
Dylan’s eyes are glassy as he looks at all of us. “Thank you for being here.”
“Where else would we be?” Everett says, smiling. “Grandma Nancy and Grandma Donna send their love. And they’re spoiling Bill rotten.”
“I bet they are,” Dylan says, laughing.
“Poor Kevin isn’t the only dog-child anymore,” Everett says.
“There is nothing poor about Kevin,” Goldie says. “That dog has got it made. He and Bill are adorable together,” she tells Dylan.
Everett chuckles.
Camden claps his hands. “All right. Should we get after this? Let’s divide and conquer.”
“I can start clearing up the debris,” Noah says. “That okay?” he asks Dylan.
“That’d be great.”
“I brought muffins,” Goldie adds. “And granola bars. And I will absolutely be DoorDashing something more substantial soon. Both grandmas tried to send Lutheran Jell-O as comfort food for all of us. You’re welcome that I convinced them that it wasn’t travel-friendly.”
We all have a good laugh over that.
Everett gestures toward the rubble near the front counter. “Want to walk us through what’s salvageable?”
“Absolutely,” Dylan says. “Rudy’s going to be so excited to see all of you.”
“Can’t wait to see him,” Everett says.
“And I can take this nugget for a while,” Tully says, bouncing Chloe on his hip while she giggles and holds on to his hair.
My heart melts into a warm puddle.
Rudy arrives, and he gets teary when he sees the Whitmans too.
Once they’ve hugged it out, we get to work.
Within minutes, everyone is moving with purpose.
Camden hauls out ruined shelves, and Noah sorts through the inventory with Rudy.
Goldie sweeps and sets up piles for all the things that don’t have a home anymore.
Everett stands beside Dylan, listening carefully when Dylan tells him what the detectives and insurance adjusters said yesterday.
With them here, there’s hope in the air.
Hours pass in a blur of sweeping, lifting, sorting, bagging, and cataloging.
Chloe rotates among the siblings and is in her element.
Goldie braids flowers into her hair from a bouquet someone dropped off.
Tully teaches her how to say “surfboard” with the world’s most exaggerated surfer accent.
Camden keeps her well fed. When she comes back inside after hanging out with Noah, they have a little house made of sticks that’s held together with wax.
And she and Everett come back with so many shells, they could make a little path lined with them.
Every now and then, Dylan catches my eye, and there’s so much gratitude, so much love there, it steals my breath.
By late afternoon, the progress is visible. The chaos looks organized, and the air smells a little less like smoke.
Dylan comes over and loops an arm around my shoulders, pulling me against him. “I can’t believe they came,” he murmurs, voice thick.
I lean into him, resting my cheek against his chest. “They’re amazing.”
He presses a kiss to my temple, and we both startle when his phone buzzes. He looks at it. “Detective Ruiz.” He looks around the room. “Hey, I’ve gotta take this call. It’s the detective.”
Everyone stops what they’re doing and goes quiet.
He answers the call, putting it on speaker.
“Dylan? Detective Ruiz, LA County Sheriff’s Department.”
“Hello, Detective Ruiz,” Dylan says, voice already tight.
“I’ve got news,” she says. “We picked up Paul Johnson this morning in Oceanside. He had your shop’s address in his GPS and a half-empty gas can in the bed of his truck. He’s been arrested.”
My mouth drops.
Ruiz keeps talking. “Johnson is claiming he was hired. Says Bruce Granger paid him three grand through Venmo to make sure the place went up. Was supposed to get another seven, but that never came through. Gave us a phone number and everything.”
My dad’s name feels like a slap. I’ve tried to put him out of my mind until we know for sure, vacillating between numbness and staggering guilt.
Dylan’s arm slides around me automatically. “You’re sure it’s him?”
“That’s the problem,” Ruiz says, and her voice lowers.
“Johnson’s pointing the finger hard, but so far we’ve got nothing solid that ties Granger to it.
The Venmo account he named is registered to a prepaid card bought with cash at a Walmart in Madison, Wisconsin.
No texts, no calls on Johnson’s main phone, no emails.
Just Johnson’s word. And Johnson’s a three-time felon who’s looking at fifteen years, so you can guess how much we trust his word without corroboration. ”
“So…what happens now?” Dylan asks. “It’s no coincidence that Dahlia recognized Paul as someone her dad knows. For him to mention Bruce by name as well?”
“Believe me. I’m seeing the intersection. Johnson gets arraigned tomorrow on arson, burglary…vandalism. We’re asking the DA to hold him without bail. Victim impact statements help, if you want to submit one.”
“What about Bruce?” Dylan squeezes me closer.
“The US Attorney here opened a federal conspiracy investigation this afternoon. They’ve already pinged the phone number Johnson gave us.
It’s a burner bought in Duluth two months ago, activated once, and never used again.
The FBI in Minneapolis has probably already knocked on Mr. Granger’s door with a search warrant for his phones, computers, bank records…
the works. If there’s even a single breadcrumb linking him to this, they’ll arrest him on the spot.
If there’s nothing…he walks away, and Johnson looks like a liar trying to drag someone else down with him. ”
Dylan’s jaw is so tight I can hear it. “It’s not enough that Johnson named him?”
“I’m afraid not,” Ruiz says. “Doesn’t mean he’s innocent, just means we can’t prove it yet. Johnson might flip harder if we squeeze him, or something could still turn up. And hopefully it will, if Johnson is telling us the truth.”
“Okay, thank you, Detective,” Dylan says.
“I’ll keep you posted,” she adds.
The call ends, and we’re all quiet. I don’t realize there are tears running down my face until Dylan turns and wipes them from my cheeks.
“I love you,” he says. “I’m sorry.”
I put my hand on his cheek and take a step back. “I’d completely understand if you never wanted another thing to do with me,” I tell him.
He steps toward me, his hands holding my hips. “I want everything to do with you,” he says softly. “This is not your fault.” He leans his forehead against mine. “Please don’t pull away. That would hurt more than anything.”
I put my hands in his hair and lean on my tiptoes to get closer. “I love you so much. I just want you to be sure. This is a lot. Way beyond the normal baggage people bring into a relationship.”
“And you are worth every bit of it. Plus, you fell in my lap on a plane, remember? Can’t fly without baggage.”
My lips lift and he laughs softly, leaning in to kiss me.
When we break apart, Goldie comes over and hugs me. Everett does too. There is no condemnation in their eyes, not from a single person.
“I should go call my mom and update her on what’s going on,” I say.
Dylan squeezes my hand and nods.
I step outside, and when I tell my mom, we cry together.
I imagine my dad in his office and the agents coming in, asking him to step outside while they tear his life apart looking for proof that he tried to burn mine down.
I want him to be innocent because it hurts too much to believe he’s capable of this, but I know in my heart that he did it.