23
D illon stopped in the station’s front room for a time, mostly because it was the polite thing to do. He listened to Berto and the others begin to fill in his idea and give it a more concrete form. But nothing they discussed required his input. When he started for the exit, Berto asked, “Going somewhere?”
“I thought I’d try and get a start on the fire chief’s records.”
“Good luck with that,” Porter said. He watched Bailey enter the station texting on her phone. “I’m pretty sure that mess is what drove our former bookkeeper around the bend.”
“That poor soul had a serious case of the crazies from day one,” Maud offered. “Charlie’s idea of records only nudged her a trifle in that direction.”
Berto took that as his cue. “I better grab my crew and take a look at a cottage that needs shifting.”
“Correction.” Bailey pocketed her phone. “You’re going to pace around your new property while your crew does all the real work.”
“Thinking and planning are real jobs,” Berto protested.
“Oh, sure.” Maud pointed to the builder’s considerable gut. “Look at all the muscle you’re building.”
Dillon followed the builder from the station, refused his offer of a lift, and enjoyed the walk through town. He felt as if the gray season had gifted him a different set of eyes. He viewed Miramar without any of the frustrated rage that had propelled him out. Gone too was the bitter regret that had brought him back. In its place was . . .
As Dillon entered the fire chief’s office, he decided there was no way to describe how he felt just then. Different was the only word that came to mind.
* * *
The mess blanketing the fire chief’s desk looked even worse than the day before. If that was even possible.
As he seated himself and began the sorting process, Dillon found himself recalling other afternoons, other places. Losing himself in numbers and analysis, making sense of an impossible market, thriving on how others trusted him to get it right.
And look where it took them. Straight off the financial cliff. All his clients and partners, not just burned by the markets. They were incinerated. Because he failed to see the assassins lurking behind his numbers . . .
“Whose dog just died?”
Dillon jerked so hard he spilled papers all over the floor. “Elena. Hi.”
“Don’t hi me.” Bailey’s daughter closed the office door. “What’s the matter? And don’t tell me nothing. I get enough of those nothings from Mom.”
“You sound so much like your mother. Not the voice. It’s how you see below the surface.”
“Is that a very adult attempt to change the subject?”
“Sort of.”
“Nice try.” Elena pulled over a chair, seated herself, then asked more softly, “What’s wrong?”
“You pulled me away from some very hard memories.”
“Terrible things. Or so I’m told. I’m supposedly too young to have any.”
“I don’t believe that for a second.”
She bounced the chair a couple of times. “Change the subject?”
“In a heartbeat.”
“What are you doing, and can I help?”
“Aren’t you supposed to be using the Christmas break to, you know . . .”
“Moon over some boy band? Call my bestie and giggle about some teenage version of dear old Dad?”
“I was actually thinking about your application.”
“Oh. That.” She waved it aside. Which again shot him back to earlier days, and how Bailey could verbally fence her way out of any tight spot. “Shall we now return to the question you’re not answering?”
Dillon felt intimately connected to Elena’s mother. Glimpsing what Bailey probably saw every day, her daughter captured in that incredibly brief moment between child and woman. “I’m supposed to prepare a major ask for the feds. Miramar wants Washington to pay for structural rebuilds and replace some damaged equipment. We’re talking sums approaching outer orbit.”
“So, can I volunteer a few boringly idle hours?”
“Absolutely.” Dillon shifted over enough to let Elena move in beside him. “I would pay you, if I had the money.”
He sketched out what he needed her to do, sorting and collating items that were tied to loaned equipment. Dillon found a distinct comfort in working alongside this brilliant young woman. He fielded a few questions, then when silence reigned he again lost himself in puzzling out what the feds needed. When he was ready, Dillon began filling in the massive forms.
Sometime later, he straightened, stretched, and discovered Elena was watching him. Her gaze was solemn, her expression almost sad. “What’s the matter?”
“You know how equations are split into two basic elements.” It was not a question.
Dillon had no idea how to respond. This woman-child looked ready to weep, but she was talking about math. He shut the laptop and swiveled around so as to face her. And waited.
“Even the most complex equation can be broken down into definable parts. Constants, terms, operator. I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know, right?”
Dillon remained silent. Motionless.
“One-step equations. That was my second true love. Mom being the first. Dad too, but Daddy . . .” Something about speaking about Dillon’s former best friend caused Elena to stop and wipe her face. “I don’t even remember when my love of math really took hold. Mom says I was four. At least, that’s when she first saw me trying to copy out equations from a program on educational TV.”
Dillon forced himself to breathe. Waited.
“What I do remember is how amazing it felt. One set of symbols or numbers, connected by operators. Add, subtract, multiply, square roots, whatever. And then the equal sign. And on the other side of that sign . . .” Another impatient swipe at tears. “The outcome was truth. That’s how I saw it. A question on the left, a truth on the right. Before, mystery. After, something new. Something awesome.”
It seemed the most natural thing in the world to reach over and take her hand. Elena’s fingers were still damp from her tears.
When Elena looked down, the motion was enough to release another tear. As it landed on the back of Dillon’s hand, he feared his heart would break without understanding why.
“People are so different. The math doesn’t work out. The answers aren’t there.” She spoke to his hand now. “But the before and after is still very clear. The before, Mom was alone and it hurt her. The after, she meets you. But what is waiting for her on the other side of this equation? I can’t figure out . . .”
Dillon remained silent.
“She doesn’t see how it’s already moved to the other side of the equation. The transition is real and it’s happened. For me too. I know it has, and I can’t help it.” A hard swallow, another dislodged tear. “I don’t know who’s more scared, me or Mom.”
Dillon gave it as long as he could manage, then asked, “Would it be okay if I hugged you?”
She did not raise her head. “I think I would like that more than just about anything.”
Dillon had no experience when it came to hugging a girl this age. When Elena’s slender form slipped into his arms, he felt his heart expand. Like he had been waiting for this moment, yearning for this chance. Which was impossible, of course. But still.
And then the mother walked in.
Dillon’s mind went from utterly content to full-on panic. He wanted to step back, say something, do anything to defuse what might have been a major wrong move. But his arms refused to unlock, and his mind remained a frantic blank. So he just stood there, trapped in his own version of the deer in headlights, when . . .
Bailey gave the two of them a purely feminine smile, then asked, “Is there room for one more?”
Elena shifted a fraction to her left and released half her hold on Dillon. While her face remained pressed firmly to his chest, she waved her right fingers in Mayor Mom’s general direction.
“Oh goodie.” Bailey shifted forward and melted into position, holding them both with surprising strength.
Dillon felt the pair take a long, unified breath. In. Out.
Bailey murmured, “I needed this. Sooo much.”
Elena rubbed her face against Dillon’s shirt. Back and forth. “Bad day?”
“Great day,” Bailey replied. “Scary last hour.”
When Elena released him, Dillon felt the absence like an unexpected sorrow. She slipped into Dillon’s office chair and bundled her knees up under her chin. “What happened?”
“Later.” Bailey kept her firm hold, but lifted her head back far enough to see his smile. “What’s so funny?”
“Crazy thought,” he replied. “I feel like my arms were made for what just happened.”
“Right answer.” Bailey settled her head back on his chest. She asked her daughter, “Did you tell him?”
Elena started swinging the chair in tight little mini-rotations. “Not yet.”
“So tell, honey. I thought that was why you came.” When Elena’s only response was to continue her little chair-dance, Dillon asked, “Tell me what?”
Elena came out with something that sounded to Dillon like, “Iusedyourideaandfinishedthethingieand sentitoffandnowImtryingnottofreak.”
He felt Bailey shift slightly, and knew it was time to release his hold. Hard as that was. Dillon leaned against the desk and said, “Bailey, a little help here.”
“To translate from pre-teenese, Elena used your concept—”
“It wasn’t my anything,” Dillon protested.
“Don’t interrupt the mayor,” Elena said. “She’ll puff up with all the words she hasn’t gotten out and explode all over us.”
“As I was saying, my darling daughter worked all night—”
“Ignoring yells from dear old Mom, who interrupted every hour on the hour.”
“—and most of today. She finished her application and sent it off.”
“And now I’m doing a major freak because they’re taking forever to respond,” Elena said.
“My darling genius, they haven’t even read it yet.”
“They’re working to one clock. I’m living by another.”
Dillon said, “This is fantastic news.”
Bailey said, “Now is the moment when you thank the nice gentleman.”
Dillon said, “She just did.” He liked how Elena gave him one of those looks only a woman could manage, where the eyes were two bottomless wells. “That was the nicest thank-you I have ever had.”
They remained trapped like that for what felt like hours. Happy in one another’s company, no one ready to let the moment go. Until a large vehicle lumbered into the front drive, doors slammed, and voices laughed their way toward the station. Bailey said, “Here comes the fire chief.”
“He’s going to call me Lizzy,” Elena said. “Why did you ever tell him my middle name?”
“It sort of slipped out,” Bailey replied. “When I was yelling at you. Over something really important. Give me a minute and I’ll remember what it was.”
“Huh,” Elena replied. “Not that important.”
The office door slammed back and Charlie shouted, “Lizzy!”
Elena told Dillon, “I hate that name worse than spinach.”
Bailey took two steps away from Dillon, and in that slight movement she switched from warm and caring to full-on mayor. “I have some news.” She pointed out the side window to where the police chief was greeting volunteers. “Porter needs to hear this too.”
Charlie protested, “I’m not sure this day can hold anything grim.”
“Just the same, you both need to hear it.”
“Can it wait until tomorrow?”
“Not a chance in the whole wide universe.”
“Bailey—”
“Now means now.”
When the station chief stepped out, Elena said, “Mom’s been practicing that voice on me. For years.”
“Only when you need it.” When Porter joined them, Bailey said, “Close the door.”
Charlie sighed. “I was having the first good day in years.”
“I can’t tell whether this news is good or bad. Only that it can’t wait.” Bailey took a breath. “The governor is coming to Miramar.”