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.”
