6
A rising wind off the Pacific threatened to turn their framed prints into sails. Dillon kept a tight grip on the protective Bubble Wrap and held the frame sideways to the blow. At least the rain had momentarily paused.
They hurried back up the six blocks, stepping into the road where the sidewalks became clogged with people going nowhere. Tangled remnants of Christmas decorations still clung to streetlights and overhead cables, spinning frantically in the rising wind. The air tasted damp. The clouds swirled and churned.
Despite everything, Dillon was as happy as he’d been in a long time. In a way, it made little sense. Nothing about his own state had changed. Just the same, he was back in the company of his first true love. They were doing something together, sharing an act that had made a deep impression on them both. For the moment, it was enough.
They slipped through the fence surrounding the station lot. The main entrance faced inland, so that the building blocked much of the wind. Olivia unlocked her car and slipped the print she carried into the rear seat. She then joined Dillon under the broad overhang, sheltered from rain now spackling the cars. She spoke in a voice scarcely audible over the strengthening storm. “You broke my heart.”
It was an accusation nine years in the making. Dillon was almost glad to have it out in the open. “I’ve written you a hundred apologies. Late at night. In my head. And heart. I just never had the courage to actually put pen to paper.” He lowered the print so that it balanced on his right shoe. “Plus you’d gotten married and moved to LA. I wasn’t sure you actually wanted to hear from me.”
“I didn’t, truth be told. Not for the longest while.”
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. Truly, deeply sorry. I should have handled it better. Been straight with you about . . .”
“Everything.”
He nodded. “Especially the timing. My big chance came, and we’d just broken up again, and so I left.”
“You ran away.”
He wanted to argue, just like before. She’d always had the ability to press his red button. Ever since they were kids, Olivia could send him into full-rage mode with a single word, sometimes just a look. The way she’d responded, just as furious and sometimes more so, had left him helpless.
But they weren’t kids anymore. And the arguments never got them anywhere. “I didn’t run from you.”
“Oh, really.”
“No. I ran from our arguments. From how we never could hold on to peace, not for more than a night.”
“And then you got your big chance.”
“I did.”
“Which you never told me about.”
“No.” Big breath. “And I should have. Even though I knew it would be the worst argument of all. Me going. Without you. So yeah. I ran away. But mostly I was running from here. This place. It was as tight a cage as the cells back inside there.”
She was quiet now. Thoughtful. “I felt that too.”
“I know you did.” He took a huge risk, reached out, settled his hand on her shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Olivia. I was desperate, I was angry, I was hurting, and none of that is any excuse. I should have done things better.”
She examined his face, her expression thoughtful. “Gleason was right. We were just another pair of lonely kids with dreams too big for Miramar.” She flinched as the wind blew rain under the awning. “Let’s get inside.”
* * *
Olivia knew Dillon thought they had stopped under the awning so she could speak of past deeds and broken hearts. But in truth that almost came out unbidden. She had been thinking of their ending, of course. Not the last time they were together. She couldn’t remember that at all. Some argument. One of many. Shouting with the furious abandon of kids who did not know how to hold back. And that’s what they were, of course. Two very young people who knew nothing of the world beyond Miramar, who were so intent on breaking out they fought against everything and everyone. Especially those closest to them. The people with whom they should have been gentle. And almost never were.
All that was with her still as she entered the station. But none of it was why she had stopped beneath the rain-swept awning.
Despite the storm and the empty season and how tonight she would share a jail cell with strangers, Olivia had been struck by the most astonishing of thoughts. Standing there in the gray dusk, Dillon holding the framed print and following her lead, she had found herself turning away from everything that had brought her to this moment.
For that one brief instant, Olivia found herself looking toward an unseen tomorrow.
It was such a sudden and unexpected experience, she became welded to the spot. Wondering what on earth it might mean. If there truly was something, anything . . .
Porter stood by Maud’s desk, his hands filled with papers. He glanced up and told Dillon, “We could use some help, shifting mattresses and linens into our new bachelors’ pad.”
“No problem.” He asked Olivia, “Can I show them?”
She moved toward the side wall, so as to observe him and the print and the officers. Dillon showed the same eager pride she had known and loved, all those many eons ago.
Dillon remained where he was, scarcely two steps inside the doorway. “Olivia, please.”
“Go ahead.”
Dillon mimicked Gleason’s slow and formal movements. He set the frame on an empty desk and kept the print facing away from the officers as he freed it from the packing. When he turned it around, he offered a quiet, “Ta-dah.”
Porter, Maud, and the detective whose name Olivia couldn’t remember, they all moved together. Bouncing off unseen barriers. Drawn to the image.
Maud said, “Oh my sweet word.”
Porter said, “Olivia, this is . . .”
Dillon shifted slightly to one side, his head turning from the print to the officers to Olivia and back again. “I know, right?”
Then Olivia remembered the detective’s name. Ryan. Ryan Eames said, “Police officers aren’t allowed to cry while on duty. It’s in the rule book. I’m sure of it.”
Porter said, “My two ladies have got to see this.” Olivia loved being able to observe Dillon. His pride and sheer unabashed joy defied the gray afternoon. He had always been her number-one cheerleader. Until that awful day when he was gone.
She heard herself say, “I have a second print in the car. I wanted to take it home, you know, whenever. You’re welcome to borrow it.”
It was Maud who said, “This is staying right here. With us.”
The chief protested, “Maud . . .”
“Porter, those ladies of yours can come in and look at it anytime they want.” To Olivia, “Thank you, dear. This will brighten up our season.”
“You’re welcome.” Olivia walked over and took the frame from Dillon. When she started toward the cells, she discovered all the others followed.
The husband was seated up now, color back in his face. But there was still an air of fragility surrounding the strong man. The wife and son shared the mattress with him, the boy still reading as she appeared in the doorway. One of the twins was snuggled in his lap, the other leaned against his side while still holding the oddly named rabbit.
Olivia walked over, knelt before the mattress, and set the frame down in front of her.
The wife gasped. Or sobbed. Or both.
Once again Olivia addressed the twins. “When I came here, I was very sad. Doing this for you makes me feel like I have a reason to hope.”
The twin holding Turtle said, “That’s what Mommy says about me.”
Her mother corrected, “About both of you.” Olivia loved having a reason to smile. From the heart. Holding nothing back. “Merry Christmas.”
* * *
Olivia woke sometime after midnight, and discovered she shared her pallet with one of the twins. She lay feeling the girl’s warmth cuddled to her side, when soft voices drifted in from the station. She was drawn to full wakefulness by the sound of Dillon’s laugh.
As she rose, the little girl whimpered but did not fully waken. Olivia left the cell she shared with the family and followed the voices into the front room.
Dillon and the dark-haired police detective were seated by the front desk. Dillon rose to his feet and said in greeting, “There’s overcooked coffee and ginseng tea.”
“Tea. Definitely.”
“And honey.”
“You’re singing my midnight melody.”
“I’ll get it.” He indicated the woman still seated behind the desk. “You remember Ryan.”
Olivia sketched a wave. “I was sure we had met, but I couldn’t remember when.”
“Lucky you,” Dillon said. “Ryan arrested my pop.”
“My first bust after joining the Miramar force,” Ryan said. She had a cop’s smile, tight and sharpened by many hard nights. Just the same, there was a warmth to her. A depth. “Then Porter said we should let it go with a warning.”
Dillon emerged with a steaming mug. “Porter is a wise man. And a good cop.”
“Now that is something I can agree with,” Ryan said. “How did you turn out like you did?”
“My grandparents helped,” Dillon replied. “Mostly I was too busy breaking free to pay my folks any attention.” He handed Olivia her mug, then asked the detective, “Can I freshen that for you?”
“Tea sounds great. Only don’t use all of Maud’s honey. She’ll skin us both.” Ryan turned her attention to Olivia. “That picture you made of the family was really, really beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
Ryan watched him pull up a third chair, waited for Olivia to settle, then said, “Dillon tells me you left Miramar for LA.”
“Eight and a half years ago.”
“You worked as a professional photographer?”
Olivia waited as Dillon shifted closer and directed her answers at him. Not looking his way. There was no need. “I mostly worked on movie sets.”
“Making films?”
“No. That is the cinematographer’s job. A totally different field. I was contracted by a studio’s PR department. I shot supposedly casual photographs. Which were almost always totally staged. Pictures that could be shared with bloggers and the entertainment channels. Sometimes I shot taped interviews. But mostly I did stills.” They were both silent, which allowed her to drift back. Drawn by their interest and the midnight hour. Back to the good days. “Nowadays the big stars almost always demand a closed set. Meaning no outside interviewer or photographer can enter. They gradually came to trust me. I only gave out shots that put them at their best light. Then some of the older stars asked me to do some promo stills. Photos they could keep on hand for whatever. They liked the way I shaped the image.”
“I believe it,” Dillon said.
Ryan asked, “What happened?”
“The sky fell.”
Ryan looked out the front doors, to where rain had turned silver by the station lights. “There’s a lot of that going around.”
“Tell me about it,” Dillon agreed.
Ryan said, “I’ve recently remarried. Come the new year, my husband is formally adopting my son by a previous marriage. I’d love to have a portrait of us.” When Olivia did not reply, she added, “I can pay.”
“I could certainly use the income.” Olivia sipped from her mug. “For years I’ve wanted to become a portrait photographer. But the competition in LA is so fierce, and the ranks are basically closed. Work like that goes to the big names.”
Dillon was smiling now. “And look what’s happened.”
Ryan asked, “Is that a yes?”