He needed to pick up a jar of jelly from his friends’ farm.They kept a stand of goods by the road, and payment was on the honor system.He took a short detour, got the jelly, and made it home in time to make breakfast for them both.
Bella made her way downstairs ten minutes before she had to catch the bus.
“Happy Monday,” he said, sliding her omelet onto a plate.
She took a seat at the kitchen table, peering up at him.“Happy Monday.”
“Are you feeling okay?”he asked, taking a seat next to her.“I can make you something else if you’re not feeling an omelet.”
“No, this is good.Thanks, Dad.”
He wasn’t going to push.She always came to talk to him eventually – or at least, sheusedto.
At fourteen, it seemed she was pushing him further and further away, to the edges of her life.He knew teenagers needed to reject their parents to find their own identities (or so the books said), but whyhisdaughter?Couldn’t they be the exception?
She’d been his world from the moment she came into the world.She was his best friend – not his confidant, he knew that was too much pressure for a kid – but she was his everything.And he’d always been hers, too.
Maybe that was over now.Was it the gradual beginning of the rest of their lives, where she was too mature and cool to confide in her old dad?Or was it, mercifully, just a phase?
His chest tightened at the thought, and he forced down the rest of his coffee with a gulp.
She made it to the bus on time, and after cleaning up, Miles got in his truck and drove to the fire station.
He’d been a full-time firefighter just over six years.Bella used to think it was the coolest thing in the world.“My daddy saves people,” she’d tell her friends, or people in the grocery line, or attendants on the ferry.Never a shy child, she loved to say what was on her mind.
What did she think now?His bubbly little girl had turned into a quiet, brooding teenager.Half the time, he couldn’t tell if she was sullen or thoughtful.Maybe she was both.
Inside the fire station, the mood seemed off from the moment he walked in.Everyone was looking at him with half smiles on their faces.
“What’s up?Is there something on my shirt?”Miles asked.
They scrambled, leaving his buddy Sam to face him.
Sam shook his head.“Nope, nothing on your shirt.I was wondering if you found any matches recently.”
Miles tilted his head.“What matches?”
“You know,” shrugged Sam.“To start a fire.”
He frowned.“Are you talking arson?”
Clarissa, one of the part-timers, popped her head into the room.“Not to start a fire, Sam.Just a match.”
Miles sat in his chair and leaned back.“Are you all on something?”
Clarissa laughed.“So…you haven’t seen it yet.”
“Seen what?”asked Miles.
She put her hands up.“I’m not going to tell him,” she yelled, disappearing into the kitchen.
Sam let out a heavy sigh.“I guess it falls on me.”
Miles wasn’t going to play Sam’s game, whatever it was.He turned without a word and logged onto his computer.
Sam appeared at his side, crouching low, phone in his hand.“We all heard you’re looking for amatch,” he said.
Miles sighed.“Sam – ” He glanced over, doing a double take at Sam’s phone.It was a picture from the fundraiser he’d been bamboozled into doing months ago.
