10
When Olivia entered the station’s front room that next morning, Dillon was nowhere to be found. Porter and Maud stood in the same position as the previous day. Maud held an open file in one hand and jabbed at items on a page with her free hand. Porter frowned in concentration, shaking his head now and then, saying nothing. Then he spotted Olivia’s approach and said, “Come save me from this nightmare.”
“Well, thank you so very not at all,” Maud snapped.
Porter asked, “Did Dillon speak with you?”
“About the portrait.” Olivia nodded. “I’m happy to do it.”
“It needs to be today. More rain is due, and Celia is packing up to leave.”
“All right.”
“Great.” Porter reached for the phone. “I’ll call the house and we’ll set out.”
Maud demanded, “What about these forms?”
“My standing here not understanding what you’re telling me hasn’t helped a bit.” Porter punched in the number. “Do what you can and we’ll hope for the best.”
Maud loaned her a go-cup, which Olivia filled with coffee. She gathered her Canon and lenses and reflectors from her car, and was ready when Porter emerged and unlocked his pickup.
They held to silence as Porter drove them from town. Or rather, Olivia stayed quiet while Porter fielded several calls on his radio and one on his phone. She didn’t understand what was being said, and really didn’t care. They took another of the winding roads through a valley south of where she and Dillon had traveled. The going was almost identical, threading their way through piles of rubble gathered by the dozer gangs. Flashing lights marked where the road had been cut away. They took it slow.
Olivia had slept well, which she found mildly astonishing. She was not so much refreshed as able to calmly view her situation. This time spent in the jail was proving strangely helpful.
Olivia’s early years had been defined by her desire to spread wings and fly away. Despite the love, the joy, the wonder her mother brought to most days. The cottage had often felt like nothing more than a cage perfumed by drying wildflowers.
And now that was gone.
In the light of another gray dawn, even if money wasn’t such a critical factor, Olivia doubted she would ever rebuild the place. Make her mother’s home her own. Somehow the concept just didn’t fit.
Which brought her to the impossible situation she now faced.
Living with Dillon.
As friends.
Porter might as well have been reading her mind, for he chose that moment to say, “Your man took off early. Looked seriously worried about something.”
“He’s not . . . Don’t call him that.”
Porter glanced over. “Sorry.”
“All that was over years ago. Now . . .” She sighed.
“We’re trying to find a new way forward. I don’t know how to describe it any better.”
“Makes sense,” Porter said. “You want to be pals.”
“We’re that already,” she replied. Now that they were talking, she found trying to frame it in words actually helped. “Last night we talked about rewriting the rule book. If we can.”
He nodded. “People change. Relationships need to grow as well.”
“There you go.” She waited while Porter maneuvered them around a pair of dozers clearing the road. Once he exchanged waves with the drivers and accelerated, she went on, “The only thing that hasn’t changed about Dillon is his need to work. Nothing makes that man sadder than standing still.”
“Sounds like a guy after my own heart. He was in some kind of business, do I remember that right?”
“He had a small investment company. It went bust, but it wasn’t his fault. I won’t say any more because I’d probably get it wrong. Dillon trained as an accountant, then got a job on Wall Street . . .” She went quiet as Porter hit the brakes and pulled off the road. “What?”
Porter said, “Dillon’s a bookkeeper and he’s looking for work?”
“Probably best not to call him that. He was a lot more than your basic bookkeeper.”
“Maud and I are too worried to split verbal hairs. Can the man handle red tape and numbers, is what I need to know.”
“Porter, you need to ask him. But I’d say, absolutely. Why, you have a problem with your accounts?”
“Call it what it is. We’re facing a full-blown crisis.” He reached for his phone. “You really think he’d be willing to help us out?”
Something about the way Porter’s frantic fingers had trouble working the phone brought up the day’s first smile. “I know he’d like to try.”
