35
O livia served customers in the front room of Gleason’s camera shop while her partner in crime ran off the necessary photographs. Every now and then Gleason emerged with another four or five prints, which she carefully attached with adhesive to a set of lightweight foam backings. Gradually the town’s story and its determination to heal became stacked upon the counter.
There was a slow but steady stream of customers, mostly families doing late Christmas shopping. Olivia relished her role as adviser, which was what almost all of them were after. If these people had known precisely what they wanted, they’d have ordered online. Gleason’s shop had changed with the times, and served a dual role now, selling phones and monthly plans as well as high-end photographic equipment. Two national companies ran competing shops of their own. It used to be four, according to Gleason, but the others recognized his sway within the community and licensed him instead.
Olivia loved her unexpected role. Especially when the customers included young people harboring an early passion. They were here because they wanted to move beyond selfies. They intended to shape art of their own. In an idle moment, Olivia found herself wondering if the old man might be interested in her taking on a more formal role. Here. Inside Gleason’s solitary domain. The place which had played such a vital role in her own escape. All those many seasons ago.
Elena entered as Olivia concluded another sale. Bailey’s daughter held a double-armful of manila folders and stood by the front window as the customers departed. When it was just the two of them, she remained frozen in place.
“Elena?”
Her only response was to tremble, tight little motions that rattled the pages in her arms.
Olivia rushed around the counter. “Honey, what’s the matter?”
She showed Olivia frantic, wide-eyed gaze. “I just discovered what a panic attack feels like.”
Olivia returned behind the counter, then rolled Gleason’s chair over. “Here. Sit. Give me those files.”
“These can’t wait.”
“Yes they can. Two minutes one way or the other won’t matter. Relax your grip, Elena.” She took hold of the folders and started toward the counter, only to discover Gleason standing in the rear doorway. Olivia shoved the files into his arms and said, “We need a minute.”
Olivia went back and squatted beside the young woman’s chair. That was exactly how Elena seemed to her. A woman whose body had not yet caught up with the rest of her. Olivia asked, “Will you tell me what’s wrong?”
“I’m so happy,” she whispered. “And I’m so scared.”
It seemed the most natural thing in the world to gather Elena in a heartfelt embrace. Then, “Don’t wipe your nose on your sleeve, dear.” She rose and pulled tissues from the box Gleason used for cleaning lenses. “Here.”
“You sound like Mom.” She sniffed, pulled a thumb drive from her pocket, said, “Gleason needs this too.”
Olivia rose once more and entered the rear room. Gleason stood by the printer, watching, silent. Olivia told him, “Don’t ask.”
“Wasn’t planning to.” He accepted the drive, and handed her another half-dozen large prints. “This is the last of them. I never thought I’d say this to an artist. But you’ll need to go hang them yourself.” He started toward his desk. “Tell Dillon I’ll have the booklets done on time. How, I have no idea. But I will.”
Olivia started back, then stopped and said, “I’ve always wanted to ask. Is Gleason your first or last name?”
“It’s the only name that matters.”
“Oookay.”
He scowled fiercely, an expression he had often used during Olivia’s growing-up years. So potent it had silenced any number of teenage tirades. “My first name is Ramone.”
“Get out of town.”
“Named after a grandfather I never met.”
“Gleason works just fine, thank you very much.”
“Our secret, okay?”
“Absolutely. No problem at all. My lips are permanently sealed.”
* * *
Helping Olivia apply the adhesive and position the final prints on their white backing steadied the young woman. The fiddling work required precision. Each photograph needed to be placed in the exact same position, so together they formed a unified flow. Elena measured, Olivia applied the adhesive-stick and placed each print, then Elena used the rubber-sided ruler to flatten each photograph. They could hear Gleason working in the back room. Neither woman spoke again until they gathered up the thirty-three prints, bid the old man farewell, and set off.
Once they were on the street, Olivia asked, “Is this about Dillon?”
Elena held the lightweight but oversize prints down low enough to see over the top edge. But this also meant they bumped her thighs with each step. “I feel stupid worrying about this with everything else we’ve got going on.”
Olivia directed her smile at a pristine blue sky. “You want stupid, I walked down here worrying about your mom making a success of loving the man I once wanted to spend the rest of my life with.”
They passed beneath a power-company crew repairing ornaments strung from the streetlights. Two families walking along the opposite sidewalk accused the crew of stealing Christmas. Elena said, “I will never understand adults.”
Olivia felt a new level of awareness growing inside. One so potent she stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and studied the younger woman.
Elena demanded, “What?”
“I’m trying to decide if I can speak with you, woman to woman.”
Elena liked that enough to nearly smile. “One way to find out.”
“My relationship with Dillon is going through a major change. Your mom might already have told you that.”
“Not told, not really,” Elena replied. “More like, she hopes that’s happening. Really a lot.”
“Well, it’s true. And that’s not the point. What’s happening with Dillon is part of something bigger taking place in my life. I needed this chance to let go. Remove myself from yesterday.” Olivia felt such a balloon filling her chest, so huge and so fast she had to force out, “It’s the only way I can make room for whatever this new season might bring.”
Elena offered a fractional nod. “Mom’s been wrestling with that same problem. Letting go.”
“Do you know anything about Dillon’s early years?”
“Mom says they were rough.”
Olivia started back up the sidewalk. The prints and their foam backing made a bulky but almost weightless armload. “A stoner dad, a mom who left when he was your age. Just walked out the door and never contacted her own son. Nothing.”
“What I just said about understanding adults.” Elena shook her head. “How can anybody do that?”
“Excellent question. Anyway, Dillon was saved by two things. His grandparents were the greatest. And Dillon loved to work. Still does. He took aim at building his own life and he worked to make it happen.”
Elena added, “And he had you.”
“Okay. Yes. Our good times were special and they helped. But we had a lot of bad times, and finally we broke up. And that’s not the point here.” Olivia was so intent upon the young woman she only now realized how the two of them had been joined by a number of others. Families, couples, young people, old, all walking in the same direction. She said, “Dillon never wanted kids. Whenever I brought up the subject, you know . . .”
“Back when things like that mattered,” Elena said.
Olivia had to smile. Being so in synch with this woman-child was amazing. “Right. Dillon’s reaction was a total negative. We fought about it so often. His response never changed. His desire for offspring had been cauterized by everything he’d been through.”
“Lucky me,” Elena said. Her attention was total now.
“Seeing the way he looks at you . . .”
“What?”
Olivia swallowed hard. Not from sorrow. Okay, well, yes, maybe, just a little. But mostly out of joy for her two friends. “You’re the daughter he thought he’d never have. That’s what I think. Elena, careful, don’t drop the photos!”
“Sorry.” She took a firm grip, lifted her face to the sky, blinked furiously. “Now I’m doing just like I always tell Mom not to.”
Olivia continued. “It’s too early for anyone to know how things will work out between him and Bailey. But about one thing I am utterly, completely certain. You and Dillon are friends for life. He will be there for you. Always.”
They turned the corner and entered a mob. Or so it seemed to Olivia. The street was filled from side to side with happy, jostling people. She started to thread her way forward, then Elena shouted, “Wait!”
When Olivia turned back, Elena was looking at her, eyes brilliant as washed gemstones. “Elena, honey . . .”
“I heard Mom talking with Dillon. I know you’ve been through a bad time. I just want to say, I’m pretty sure your storms had a reason.”
Olivia had no idea what to say.
“Or purpose. Whatever. You and Dillon, you came when I most needed, and now you’re here, and . . .” She lifted her head and shouted at the sky, “ This is the best Christmas ever!”
Everyone within range turned and cheered.
Elena stepped around Olivia, who was still busy digesting what just happened. She yelled, “Coming through! Ladies on a mission!”