Chapter 23
Patrick
Hatred is much closer to love than indifference.
~Marya Hornbacher
Daisy stares up at me, an expression of steely resolve in her features.
Her silent accusation chills me. Beneath that, her overwhelming sadness seeps through.
I know Daisy. She’s putting on a brave face.
We read one another like books we’ve read and reread over the years.
Able to recite whole passages from memory.
I want to say something—anything—to soothe her ache, be her comforter. Instead, I’m silent, unsure, seemingly unaffected.
She turns her back to me and strides to her car, flanked by Winona and Carli.
My body pulses with the urge to chase her down.
To tell her how her speech moved me. To promise her I’m here for her.
I’d give almost anything to pull her into my arms and absorb her pain.
I step forward, but falter. I can’t go to her. It’s not my place.
As if on cue, my father appears in the doorway, beaming like the victor he is. He claps me on the back. “We did it, son.” His broad smile and inclusive words draw out a small, unexpected grin from me.
“Congratulations, Dad,” I manage to say.
“We’ve got our work cut out for us. I wouldn’t be surprised if Daisy chained herself to a tree or laid down in the middle of our field in protest.”
“Dad. No.” I warn him. “She had her points.”
“Sure. Sure. Of course she did.” His tone is patronizing.
“But if we followed her line of reasoning, we’d be still chasing bears out of the woods behind our log cabins and riding buggies into town to get provisions.
Progress means change. People always hate it, but they adapt.
And in the end, they’re grateful. We can’t let the bleeding heart dreamers of the world drive our decisions. ”
I sigh. My dad makes good points too, despite his callous delivery.
My mom steps through the open double doors, chatting with a neighbor.
Cody approaches us. “Want to go grab drinks or a bite to eat?” His invitation is aimed at me alone.
“I’d love to,” I tell him. Then I turn to my parents and excuse myself.
“You looked like a caged animal,” Cody explains when we’re out of earshot. “You reminded me of this two-year-old colt we broke a few years back. Internally kicking to break the pen.”
“I’m a stallion, thank you very much.”
“Yeah, you are.” Cody cracks up. “I’ll drive,” he says, walking toward his pickup. “Wouldn’t want all that horsepower to overtake the road tonight.”
I chuckle and climb up into his passenger seat.
“You’re between a rock and hard place on this one,” Cody says, starting his engine. “Judy’s okay?”
“Judy’s is perfect.” Probably half the town will be there, but Cody and I can hopefully find a private booth.
“I saw how you were looking at Daisy,” Cody continues.
“Hmm? How was I looking at her?”
“You had the look.”
When I don’t say anything, Cody adds, “You like her.”
I stare out the windshield, wondering how I ended up being the man who falls for a woman who literally hates me. “Remember when someone set fire to the old barn out on the eighty-five?”
“That pile of sticks? I don’t think it had served as a barn in over fifty years.”
“Exactly. It was so far gone it barely took a spark to take it down. By the time we got there it was all ash and embers.”
“Yeah. I remember,” he says. “Why?”
“That’s the chance I have with Daisy Clark. Whatever’s between us already burnt to the ground by the time I showed up with any interest in saving what’s left.”
Cody shakes his head. “My mama always used to say, ‘If it ain’t dead, there’s still life in it.’ You’re not dead and neither is she. Embers, man. Embers. Besides, isn’t all that electricity between the two of you the same as sparks? Correct me if I’m wrong, but sparks and embers can be lethal.”
He’s not the first to mention the tension between Daisy and me. Even the author at her book event noticed.
“Love’s action, not passion,” I say. “It’s sacrifice. Losing yourself on behalf of the one who dominates your thoughts and emotions.” I look across the cab of the truck. “Infatuation is passion. Love goes deeper.”
I ready myself for Cody’s retort, something along the lines of: Okay, Shakespeare. But it never comes. Instead, Cody nods his head thoughtfully.
“That was a heck of a fire, though,” he finally says. “The old barn.”
“It was,” I agree. “At least that barn wasn’t serving anyone. It needed to come down.”
“I think you need to make your move,” Cody says.
“My move?”
“On Daisy. Ask her out. Send her flowers. Do something.”
“If only it were that simple,” I tell Cody. “She hates me. She never let go of my mistake all those years ago. And now my dad’s putting a box store next to her shop. It’s not the time.”
“Timing is overrated.”
“Easy for you to say. You don’t have feelings for someone with a hit list of one—and your name is the only name on it.”
“Yeah. I don’t know what you’re up against. But I see something there between you. I hope it works out.”
We’re quiet for a while, and then Cody says, “Hey, I forgot to tell you something,” as we’re pulling into one of the only open spaces in front of Judy’s.
“What’s that?”
“Your brother and I got to talking when he was home.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“He said he’s proud of you.”
“He did?”
“Yeah. And I could tell he meant it.”
Cody cuts the engine and hops out of the truck. I linger in the passenger seat for a moment, watching people file into Judy’s.
Declan’s proud of me?
I cradle the thought gingerly, like handblown glass in a paper sack.
Nobody in my family has ever given me that kind of praise.
Dad clapped me on the back tonight, but his approval always feels conditional—I’m only “in” as long as I fall in line.
But Declan? He’s proud of me as I am—the firefighter, the bookworm.
It doesn’t even feel real. I hop out of the truck and catch up with Cody.
Declan’s fragile words still roll around as the waitress sets menus in front of us.
Cody doesn’t press me about Dad’s development or my feelings for Daisy once we’re inside Judy’s. The place is packed. Waitresses are hopping from table to booth like bees in a hive. We’re seated in the back with enough privacy to keep our words between the two of us.
“Want to know something weird?” I ask when we’re about halfway through our meal.
I might be making a mistake, but keeping all these secrets is getting to me. I need to tell someone—to get another man’s perspective.
“I love hearing weird things.” Cody wags his brows playfully.
“This stays between you and me.”
“You have my word.”
I stare at Cody, sizing up his capacity for secrecy. He stares back, assuring me he’s got my back. One thing about fighting fires together, we learn to read each other. Never did I think I’d be staring across a table, ready to release my most prized secret.
I lower my voice. “You know I like books.”
“Mm hmm?”
He doesn’t tease me.
“Well, I have a podcast.”
Cody sets his fork on his plate and folds his arms. “A podcast?”
“I talk about books.”
“On a podcast? When do you have time for that?”
His tone is filled with more awe than condemnation.
“My days off.”
“You’re kidding me. That’s pretty awesome. Was that the weird part? You podcasting?”
“No. The weird part is …”
I’m about to tell him about M&M, but then I hesitate. I can’t explain why. He just encouraged me to pursue Daisy. Besides, something about my relationship with M&M feels fragile and intimate. Like sharing about her would pop the little bubble she and I have been sharing.
So, instead of telling Cody about M&M, I say, “Yeah. That’s basically it. I just didn’t think you’d react the way you did.”
“How did you expect me to react?”
“I’m used to people teasing me for my love of literature. I figured you might go more in that direction.”
“Well, I think it’s cool. I can’t imagine all it takes to pull together a podcast—just the tech side alone. Doing that alongside your job as a firefighter? I’m impressed.”
“Thanks.”
“You could have listeners right here in this diner,” Cody says, looking around.
“I hadn’t thought of that.” My eyes rove from table to table.
Cody smiles. “Sure could.” He tips his chin toward a table of our seniors. “Could be them.”
Something about the way he says it makes me think of M&M. The idea of her being someone with AARP benefits makes me laugh loudly enough to draw some stares.
The next morning, we’re doing our workout when the postman shows up. He parks his truck at the curb outside the window of the station gym.
“Mail!” Dustin shouts.
“Calm down. We’re not in the military, man,” Cody says. “We get personal mail at our own homes.”
Dustin grabs his hand towel, wipes his brow and walks out into the bay to see what came in.
“Packages!” he shouts in to us and then he returns to the gym carrying two medium-sized boxes.
He sets them on the weight bench and tears one open.
“Aaayyyye!” he shouts. “It’s the calendar!”
Captain rounds the doorway.
“Calendars arrived,” Cody informs him.
“Well, let’s have a look,” Captain says.
Dustin’s already thumbing through, holding up February and cackling.
He starts singing Sam Cooke’s Cupid, drawing his hand back like he’s shooting an arrow from a bow.
Greyson practically growls. “Gimme that.”
“There’s plenty more where that came from,” Dustin reminds Greyson.
He plucks another out of the box. We’re all grabbing for one at this point.
“Careful, men,” David warns. “You each get one. But the rest are for us to keep on hand to sell. I’ve got boxes going out to a bunch of other local shops as well.”
Cody’s already flipping to December. I’m scanning September, and Dustin’s checking out August. I try to imagine what this photo will look like to Daisy. Will she use it for kindling?
Dustin holds the calendar up. “My milkshake brings all the girls to the yard!”
“What does that even mean?” Grey asks, shaking his head.
“It means I’m hot. Check me out, Grey.”
“I’ll pass.”
“All right, men, fun’s over,” David says.