24
O livia was helping Maud clean and prep the jail cells when Bailey rushed in. The mayor led Olivia out front, dropped her gubernatorial bombshell, and said, “Dillon says you’re the perfect pro to help us develop before-and-after images of the damage. The question now is, can you fit yourself around a timeline that just got shrunk to almost nothing.”
“I can work fast,” Olivia replied. “And Gleason can help with the befores.”
“In that case, you’re it.” Bailey walked to the nearest desk, grabbed pad and pen, and scribbled. “Here are what I’d class the six most crucial areas where we need federal funding. Consider these just a starting point. Add whatever you think of.” Bailey handed her the page. “And hurry.”
* * *
Despite the mayor’s sense of urgency, Olivia took her time walking down Ocean Avenue. This particular late afternoon was already so full of so much. What she needed most was a chance to revisit the conversations she’d just had.
Her and Dillon. Dillon and the builder, Berto Acosta.
Olivia and the mayor.
Go for it? She had actually said that to Bailey?
And meant it? Really?
Yes, as a matter of fact, she had.
The lance of regret she had felt was just that. A momentary spasm. Or so she tried to tell herself. And hoped desperately it was true.
* * *
Olivia spent the next couple of hours in Gleason’s back room, going through his photo files. He had stored computerized renderings of many bygone favorites. She took her time, enjoying this glimpse back into the world she had known as a child. Once she had selected the early photos, she matched these to contemporary images of Miramar at its best. She then made a mental note of areas she would photograph the next morning, illustrating both the damage and the need.
But as she finished up, Olivia kept being struck by a niggling doubt. She had the distinct impression that she was missing a vital element. What that might be, she had no idea.
Gleason was busy in the front room dealing with multiple pre-Christmas clients. Olivia left a note on his desk and slipped through the shop and headed out. As she started up Ocean Avenue beneath a slate evening sky, she realized she was famished.
She was surrounded by a mist shifting in random waves. The Pacific was louder today, emitting a sullen growl that accompanied her up the gentle slope. A larger storm was out there somewhere, probably headed their way.
Most families previously trapped in Miramar had left. It was just the locals now. She walked the side alley and knocked on the diner’s kitchen door. “Anybody home?”
“Huh. That’s a good one.” Claire appeared in the doorway. “As if we had time to be anywhere else.”
“Come on in, darlin’.” Arnaud offered his nearly constant smile. “Sorry, we’re all out of rodents. The traps came up empty.”
“Hush with your rodents,” Claire said. To Olivia, “The boats went out. We’ve got line-caught mahi.”
With flour-spackled arms, Arnaud pointed to orderly counters. “Tonight’s special is grilled mahi tacos with cilantro, cabbage slaw, and my mother’s special sauce.”
“His mother is a worse cook than me,” Claire said. “Nix on the sauce.”
Olivia said, “I’d love some, thank you very much.”
“We’ve also got tables out front, if you’re interested in actually being comfortable,” Arnaud said.
Olivia seated herself on a stool. “What I’d most like is a chance to chat.”
“Goody. I’ve been looking for an excuse to take a break.” Claire picked up a double armful of plates and headed out. “Let me deposit these and check my tables, and I’m yours.”
Her friend returned just as Olivia finished a second portion. “Good?”
“Wonderful.”
“Coffee?”
“Perfect.”
Claire filled two mugs, set them on the counter, then pretended to inspect Olivia. “I don’t see any gaping wounds.” She settled onto the next stool. “If they were demolishing the cottage where I grew up, I’d be a basket case.”
“Actually, I haven’t given it much thought,” Olivia replied. “And that’s not what I wanted to talk about.”
“Really?”
“Yes. And they’re not tearing it down.”
Arnaud offered, “That’s not what we’ve heard.”
“They’re moving it. At least for now. And the cottage is not the issue. Well, of course, it is. But it’s not at the head of today’s shopping list.”
“So what . . .” Claire realized her husband had sidled in so close he was almost touching. “Don’t you have something that needs burning?”
“It can wait. Go on, Olivia darlin’. What’s on your mind?”
Claire told her, “Say the word, I’ll shoo him back to the far corner.”
“Actually, it’d be nice if you both stayed,” Olivia replied. She took a huge breath, announced, “Bailey is in love with Dillon.”
They both froze. And might have remained that way for hours, if Claire’s other waitress had not pushed through the kitchen door and called, “New table of five. All want the special.”
“On it,” Arnaud said. “Olivia, talk loud.” He rushed over and began filling plates.
Claire demanded, “You think or you know?”
“I saw how she was watching Dillon. We spoke. She confessed.”
Arnaud passed over the plates and bounced back. “Bailey Long. Our mayor.”
Claire said, “Bailey told you she’s in love with the man who broke your heart.”
“Right. Him.”
Arnaud said, “The guy you’re going to be living with.”
“Not like that I’m not.”
Arnaud told his wife, “She doesn’t sound broke up to me.”
“I’m sorry,” Claire said. “Obviously my brain is operating in the wrong gear. You’re actually telling us you are okay with them being, you know, together?”
Olivia replied, “I told her to go for it.”
The waitress reappeared. “Claire. Table eight wants dessert.”
Arnaud said, “Maybe we should just close for the day.”
“Tempting, but no.” Claire rose from her stool. “Don’t anybody say a single solitary word until I get back.”
Arnaud retreated to the stoves, worked his way through a couple of orders, dinged his pickup bell, prepped more plates. Claire came and went twice. Olivia found it mildly amazing, how they could both continue with their jobs while apparently looking nowhere except at her.
Ten minutes later, husband and wife were back. Claire said, “Hon, what exactly are you wanting to discuss?”
“I’m trying to figure out why I feel the way I do.”
“Okay,” Claire said. “The light is beginning to shine.”
Arnaud shook his head. “See, that’s why I leave the room when you and your lady friends start talking about guys.”
“I’ll try and explain later,” Claire told him. “Again.”
Olivia said, “I love Dillon. He’s a part of my life. I hope he always will be. When I arrived back and saw him, I mean the very instant we met up, I felt like all the years just vanished.”
Claire said, “All those years, meaning while you were married to old what’s-his-name.”
“Exactly. It felt like I hadn’t allowed myself to miss Dillon until that moment. When we were back together again.”
“That is just so sweet,” Claire said.
Arnaud said, “Okay, now I’m really lost.”
Claire ignored her husband. “So you come back for the first time in forever. You discover your home is a wreck. Porter offers you a bed inside his jail. And wait, who is in the next cell but the heart-breaker himself.”
“Right.”
“So you’re concerned that all this might, just might, be warping your judgment.”
“Yes and no.”
Arnaud opened his mouth, but Claire raised one finger, halting words before they emerged. Which Olivia thought was remarkable, given how Arnaud stood directly behind his wife and Claire’s gaze was laser-focused on her friend. Claire told her, “I’d say you were perfectly right to be worried. Now tell me what you think is going on here.”
“I don’t know.” Olivia thought her voice sounded overly calm. As if internally she wailed, but didn’t know how to release her confusion. “I need you to tell me what you think.”
Arnaud wheeled about, waved his arms over his head, and went back to the stoves. The clattering pots almost masked his muttering.
Claire glanced at her husband, smiled, said, “That’s a good little chef.” Then she told Olivia, “Do you love Dillon?”
“I always will. But I don’t love him.”
Claire’s smile was as gentle as a mother inspecting her infant. Sharing a special moment. Just the two of them. “You think or you know?”
“I’m growing more certain by the moment. And I desperately want this to be true. Especially, you know . . .”
“Since you just told our childhood bestie to go for the cheese.”
Struggling to express these partially formed thoughts had an interesting effect. Olivia felt as though she listened to herself, but as an outsider. Watching the concepts take full form only as she spoke. “Coming up here, I really thought my life was over. I’d hit the brick wall, and the best I could hope for was to limp back home.” She watched Arnaud walk back and fit himself in beside his wife. Spatula in one hand, empty taco shell in the other. Olivia continued, “Take my time, do what I could to survive and hopefully heal. Someday. Maybe.”
Arnaud spoke with grave authority. “You’re talking like a lady with no friends. Which isn’t the situation here. At all. You hear what I’m saying?”
Claire slipped her arm around Arnaud’s waist. Gave him a one-arm hug. Asked Olivia, “And now?”
“Ever since I arrived, I’ve watched new avenues open up. New opportunities.” She took a hard breath. “I’m happy. It’s a word I haven’t used to describe myself in what feels like centuries.”
“Now you’re talking,” Arnaud said.
Claire said, “Back to Dillon.”
The reality she faced became clear. This was why she had come here, Olivia now knew. To speak these words aloud. And accept them as her version of truth. She desperately hoped. “I’m just a few months removed from my divorce. Not to mention attending my ex’s funeral. Losing my business. And my home. You see?”
This time, it was Arnaud who nodded. “This is a perfect case of bad timing. You’re not ready. Not for the old to become new.” When Claire turned and looked at him, he said, “What?”
“Oh, nothing.” She kissed him soundly. “My kitchen poet.”
Olivia said, “Actually, it feels like great timing.”
Arnaud stepped away. “Okay, now I’m back inside that total guy-confusion zone.”
The other waitress chose that moment to enter the kitchen and announce, “Looks like half the town council just arrived. And they’re hungry. And they’re asking about the lady here. And they’ve got the heart-breaker with them.”
Claire scolded, “You weren’t supposed to be listening to a private conversation.”
The waitress was tall, strong, weary, and very amused. “Honey, that’s the only way I keep myself entertained.”
Arnaud turned back to his stove. “Rodents on toast coming up.”
Claire rose, hugged her friend, said, “Go see if all those good intentions stand up to watching the two of them together.”