19
A n hour or so later, Bailey signaled it was time. As Dillon rose from the sofa, she asked her daughter, “You’ll be okay while I take our guest back?”
Elena told Dillon, “I learned the meaning of rhetorical early on. Part of bringing up Mom.”
Dillon told her mother, “This young lady can be scary.”
“You have no idea.” Bailey kissed the top of her daughter’s head. “Be good.”
“I assume this means I’m not welcome to come along for the ride?”
“Oh, I think we’ve had enough of your lip for one night. You know what to do if you need anything, correct?”
“Grab the speargun from the back of my closet. Load, aim, shoot.”
“Elena.”
“Go find Grandad.” Then she surprised them both. Elena rose from the couch, stood on tiptoes, gestured for Dillon to lean over, and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Please come again. Please.”
“I would like nothing better.”
She branded his cheek with a kiss, then released him and stepped back. “Is it true what Mom said, you’re living in the jail?”
Dillon followed Bailey toward the kitchen door. “I have a cell all my very own.”
“Welcome to my world.”
Bailey did not even turn around. “Elena!”
“Sorry. It just slipped out.” She blew Dillon a second kiss. “Tell Mom, for once I approve.”
Bailey did not speak until they were backing out of the drive. “I actually don’t know what to say.”
Dillon did not have that problem. “Your daughter is truly amazing.”
She did not respond until they were on the main road heading back toward town. Her voice was mildly fractured when she said, “I also don’t know what I’m going to do without her.”
Dillon saw the damp glistening on her cheeks and decided now was an excellent time to change the subject. “Can I ask a favor? There’s a house on the road leading to our valley road. A ton of Christmas ornaments in the front yard, all dark. And the windows—”
“The Inghams’ place. With all the candles.” Bailey took the next left. “Absolutely.”
They did not speak again until they were parked outside the home. Dillon saw four other vehicles sitting there, with more driving slowly past. If anything, there were more candles tonight. Dozens and dozens of glimmering flames, defying the dark and the storm. Bailey said exactly what Dillon was thinking. “I know it sounds crazy. But this gives me hope.”
He nodded. Silent. Thinking.
“Thad Ingham works for the fire service. He told me they wake up most mornings to find boxes of candles stacked on his doorstep and lining the entry to his garage. His kids think it’s the angels’ way of saying they’re doing something good.”
They remained there a long moment, then Bailey restarted her car, turned back toward town, and said, “So tell me about Olivia.”
* * *
Dillon looked at her. “Excuse me?”
“I have a dear friend who wants to talk with Olivia about something important. He needs to know what’s her state of mind.” Bailey met his gaze. “I’m not for one instant pretending there’s no personal interest in the matter.”
The direct and honest Bailey Long. The childhood friend all grown up and still holding on to the things he had valued most. Despite everything. “It seems to me there are two Olivias. The one who was put through an awful time in LA. And arrived here pretty close to crushed.” He pointed to the curb. “Pull over, will you? I don’t like how you’re driving with both eyes not on the road.”
“You’ve never been a mother.” Just the same, she turned her attention to the way ahead. “And the other Olivia?”
“A very gifted artist with her camera,” Dillon replied. “I have the impression she’s actually coming into her own.”
“Meaning what, exactly?”
“Her jobs in LA were at least partly the result of her husband—”
“Ex-husband. Speaking for all women everywhere, there has never been a more important prefix since the discovery of language.”
“May I continue?”
“Look. You’re talking to the mayor. I’m required by law to correct men who don’t know how to say what they mean.”
Dillon started to reply that he now understood what Elena had been talking about. But the trace of past tears was still there on Bailey’s cheeks, so he merely asked, “You’ve seen Olivia’s portrait of the family?”
“The one in Gleason’s window.” Bailey nodded. “The whole town is talking. Far as I’m concerned, it ranks up there with the candles in the hope department.”
“Tell her that, okay? Olivia needs to hear it. Especially coming from you.”
“Duly noted. Back to my question.”
“Whatever comes from her photography here in Miramar, it’s all due to her talent. This is her chance to fly solo. If she’s successful, it’s because she made it happen.”
Bailey passed the town’s main supermarket, drove down rain-slick streets, and finally responded. “It seems to me the same might be said about you. The Dillon who arrived here with his own hard-luck tale. And the guy who is doing his best to save our town from bankruptcy.”
He nodded. “I’ve been thinking about that.”
“And?”
“My grandmother used to say Miramar was a town made for second chances.”
“All you had to do was move beyond the past, and grab hold of the hour when it came,” Bailey agreed. “I’ve heard that all my life.”
But Dillon was still caught by those earlier times. “My grandmother learned never to say that in front of my dad. He’d start shouting and throwing things. Then toke on his bowl and snarl at the world until he passed out.”
Bailey waited until she approached a stop sign to turn and say, “That was another time. The Dillon here beside me is all grown up. There are all sorts of second chances just waiting to pounce.”
The car remained silent until Bailey pulled through the police station’s main gates. She parked, turned off the engine, and said, “Back to the personal angle I’ve been dancing around.”
Dillon did not pretend to be in the dark. “Me and Olivia.”
She slid around, tucked one knee on the central console, faced him squarely. “And?”
“Friends to the end.”
“As in, friends with benefits?”
Which was just like the Bailey he’d grown up liking so very, very much. “If that chance arrives, and I don’t think it will. But if it does, I hope the ghosts of Christmas past will be enough to warn me off.” He gave her a chance to respond, then asked, “Will you tell me what this thing is, concerning her? I mean, you know, other than the obvious.”
“It’s best if she hears it first.”
Dillon nodded. “Thank you for a lovely evening.”
“I was just thinking the very same thing.”
“Please tell your daughter I can still feel her kiss on my cheek.”
Bailey’s eyes gleamed copper-dark as she reached over and placed her hand on the exact same spot. “You’ll remember what I said earlier.”
“About chances,” Dillon replied. “And not pouncing if a certain door creaks open.”
She released him, settled behind the wheel, and restarted the car. “You bet your bippy.”