I studied the posts carefully. The tone. The pacing. The comments. People trusted her and responded to her. She made it look effortless, which I knew meant it was anything but.
I set the phone down slowly.
Asking for her help felt like the obvious answer but it also felt personal.
I didn’t like mixing those things. However, this wasn’t about pride, this was about doing the job correctly, even if it meant admitting I didn’t know something.
I straightened in my chair.
I would ask her. Professionally. Respectfully.
And hopefully, she wouldn’t laugh at me for saying I was a social media virgin out loud.
I finished the last of my paperwork, answered a call that could not wait, and checked in briefly with one of the officers about a scheduling issue before going out on my scheduled patrol. The day passed both quickly and slowly if that were possible and at the end of my shift I traded in my uniform and patrol car for my regular clothes and vehicle.
By the time I pulled into the Snowdrop Inn parking lot, I was aware that I had been rehearsing the conversation in my head for most of the drive.
The truck was impossible to miss.
It sat near the side of the building, half-decorated now, greenery lining the edge of the bed in neat, restrained rows. Lights were woven through carefully, nothing dangling or loose. A wreath was attached to the front.
Lydia stood near the back, hands on her hips, listening while two of her sisters talked at once. They had a wooden bench in front of them, bungee cords in hand, while one gestured with a wrench.
I stayed where I was for a moment, watching.
This was different from the Lydia I’d first interviewed. Not unrecognizable, but steadier and more grounded. Whatever she was doing here, it suited her.
Deciding it was better to get this over with, I exited my car and walked toward the group. I cleared my throat lightly as I approached, giving them time to notice me rather than appearing out of nowhere.
She turned, surprise flickering across her face before settling into a smile. “Oh. Hi.”
“Hi,” I said. “Am I interrupting?”
“No,” she said immediately. “We’re just arguing about how to put the bench in.”
“Do you need help?” I asked.
“Dad is coming any moment,” Meri told me.
“I still think we need to undo those bolts,” Kitty stubbornly said.
“We will know for certain when Dad gets here and gives us directions. I want to make sure it’s safe,” Lydia stated firmly.
For a moment I was proud of the difference between now versus when I had first discussed the float with her. “I wanted to follow up on parade safety. Make sure nothing here is likely to fall off or catch.”
She gestured toward the truck. “Everything’s secured. We zip tied everything down and gave it a tug to see if it was going anywhere before ziptying it again.”
“I can see that,” I said. “You’ve done well.”
Her shoulders eased a fraction at that and she gave me a smile.
Kitty opened her mouth to say something, but Meri grabbed her by the arm, pulling her away to chat privately.
Here it was, the opening to talk privately. The moment where I either asked or didn’t.
“I actually had another reason for stopping by,” I mentioned.
She waited, attentive but not impatient.
