Over the next hour, Dillon fielded a dozen urgent issues. More. The crowd seemed more or less agreeable with the idea of a stranger giving them orders. Enterprising locals brought in mobile food vans. The power company shifted ornaments and lights from the powerless outer streets to the blocks of Ocean Avenue leading to their lane. Local musicians, including several semiprofessionals who backed up Connor Larkin, set up on the town hall’s broad front porch—but only after they solemnly promised Dillon that every other number would be about Christmas. Gradually one side of the street began to take on the recognizable form of a street party.
The area around the fire station, however, was a very different story.
A bit later, he stopped for a coffee and fresh-cooked doughnut. Dillon stepped back far enough for the van to block him from most of the throng, granting him a much-needed breather. In the days and weeks to come, Dillon suspected he’d look back on this moment as his very own Christmas epiphany.
Standing there on the muddy rain-soaked earth, surrounded by the town and locals he’d fought so hard to leave behind . . .
He was as happy as he’d been in a very long while.
And something more.
Dillon felt genuinely fulfilled.
It wasn’t coming home that did it. Or facing defeat. Or rising from the destructive flames. Or even standing on the verge of a new love.
It was all of those things. And more besides.
If Dillon had ever designed a motto for those years since leaving Miramar, it would have been,Success first, life after.
Or something to that effect.
And now, in the cacophony of a half-formed street party, he faced a future he could never have dreamed up. Not in a million years of yearning. Where there was nothing for him except the wonder of living this noisy, fractured, joyful day.
Which was when Bailey’s daughter stepped in front of him and demanded, “Why are you hiding back here?”
“I’m not,” Dillon replied. “I’m . . .”
Elena stood with hands on hips. “You’re what?”
Dillon grinned. “Okay. Hiding works as well as anything I can come up with.”
“Mom sent me over to make sure you weren’t in a total panic. And if you are, she said to tell you that’s her job.”
Dillon stepped away from the van and looked across the street. The mayor stood in the middle of the fire station, surveying the array of photographs now adorning the station’s rear wall. “Bailey looks in pretty good shape to me.”
“She’ll be delighted to hear the disguise is working.” Elena took hold of his free hand. “Oh, and the governor’s late.”
“Outstanding.”
“Exactly what Mom said. Only with more volume.” Elena tugged on his hand. “Come on, sport. There are things to do and people to yell at.”
“One second.” Dillon surveyed the three segments that made up the growing street carnival. The smallest was also the quietest. And by far the most orderly. Inside the fire station, a stern-faced mayor oversaw a quietly cheerful team laying out trestle tables, benches, and folding chairs carried over from the town hall. In one corner of the fire station’s rear wall, alongside Olivia’s pictorial display, now stood a podium, mikes, and loudspeakers. Dillon wanted to rush over, embrace Bailey again, tell her what an incredible job she was doing. All that.
But he couldn’t. Because the other two segments shared an element that could be summed up in just one word.
Party.
Elena demanded, “Why are we standing here?” “I’m trying to find where I can help out.” Dillon swept his free hand over the noisy scene. “It looks to me like people are pretty much getting on with their jobs.”
Elena lifted up on her tiptoes and squinted. “You ask me, the zebras and hippos have taken control of the circus.”
Dillon’s response was cut off by Claire shouldering through the crowd, followed by a grinning Arnaud. Claire planted fists on hips and demanded, “What’s the big idea?”
“About what?” Dillon sketched a wave. “Hi, Arnaud.”
“Don’t mind me. I’m just the innocent bystander here,” Arnaud replied.
“You and me both,” Elena said.
