Claire’s eyes widened. “So you don’t know.”
The reality was there in their faces. The same dark stain, the concern. All the humor gone now.
Olivia breathed. Tried to ask. But she couldn’t. Not with everything that had brought her here. The words just would not come.
Porter Wright slid off the stool, fitted his hat on properly, and offered Olivia his hand. “You just come with me.”
* * *
A fitful wind pushed them up Ocean Avenue. Rain fine as Pacific mist struck once, twice, then the storm departed. Sort of. The sky went back to swirling gray strands as they passed a family clustered on a sidewalk bench. Porter stopped and indicated the camper parked in a fire zone. He asked the parents, “Is this yours?”
The kids watched in solemn resignation as the father stood. “I’ll move it.”
“Stay where you are.” Porter took out his ticket pad, scribbled, tore off a sheet. “If anyone asks, show them this. We’re hoping the northern routes will reopen tomorrow. Three days, tops.” He started walking. “Come on, Olivia.”
As they continued away from the Pacific, she asked, “Is your daughter coming home for the holidays?”
“Celia’s here now. But it looks like she’ll be heading back to school soon as the northern roads reopen. She’s working on some time-sensitive project and can’t risk getting stuck here. Which could well happen if we’re trapped by another storm.” He glanced at her. “I’d offer you a place. But Celia came down with six friends who couldn’t make it up north. Three are in her room, three in the barn. She’s sleeping on a pallet in our room. Sorry.”
Olivia decided it was time to ask, “What aren’t you telling me?”
The chief stopped and removed his hat and stood as solemn as a funeral director. “Olivia, honey, you’re not going home. Not tonight, not tomorrow. Maybe in a while. But I wouldn’t count on it happening anytime soon.”
“Mom’s cottage . . . It’s gone?”
“Not entirely. The cottage’s foundations have held. Mostly.” He replaced his hat. Giving his hands something to do. “You’ll need to have an expert make a careful inspection once the valley roads reopen.”
She had no idea what to say. Porter nodded, as if her silence was the proper response.
He touched her arm, guiding her around and on up Ocean Avenue. “We’ve lost more than half the seafront walk. These folks you see, they were evacuated from the oceanfront hotels. The ones from down south are crawling home. These others . . .”
“Porter, where are you taking me?”
“Only place in town with a free bed.” He started them down the side street leading to the police station. “Where are you parked?”
“In the employee lot behind Castaways.”
“Once you’re settled, bring your car over here. Tell Maud I said it was okay.”
She halted outside the station doors. “You’re putting me inside the jail?”
“Don’t knock it. This is restricted to locals only. I’ve had outsiders offer me five hundred dollars for a cell.” He held the door open, waved her inside. “Come on, I’ve got to go make sure Miramar stays crime-free. Don’t know what we’d do if we nabbed a felon. Cuff him to the fence, I suppose.”
“I actually don’t know what to say.”
He ushered her inside. “Yeah, I get a lot of that these days.”
