Small-Town Fireman. Allie Pleiter
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recipe book open on the back counter behind her “Besides, anyone who wants to be a baker ought to be ready to rise before the sun, right?”
“Let’s see—” Karla looked up at the ceiling, squinting in mock consideration “—the smell of freshly baked bread greeting the sunrise, or the smell of fish? It’s such a tough choice.”
“Let’s see,” Dylan matched her tone, “standing in a cold, dark kitchen staring at an oven or the thrill of landing a prize fish in the glorious setting of a river at sunrise? It’s such a tough choice.”
“Hey, that sounds like marketing talk to me. What did you do before you came out here to launch your dream job?”
All the light left his handsome face. “I sat miserably doing nothing that really mattered.”
“Ouch. Sorry to bring it up.”
He ran a finger around the rim of the mug. “You couldn’t have known. Most of the world hasn’t caught on to the soul-killing nature of institutional cash-flow analysis.”
Karla stared at him. “Wait...you had a corporate job?” She tried to imagine Dylan in a suit and tie, but couldn’t.
“I’d rather not talk about it.” He looked up. There was so much going on behind his eyes. “I’d rather take you fishing.”
Her curiosity got the best of her. “Okay, three hours. I bring the coffee—you never bring the subject up again after Saturday. Deal?”
“Deal.”
* * *
Dylan put his hand to the doorknob of the firehouse conference room Friday night like a man greeting his execution. Meetings. To his mind, there wasn’t anything more joy crushing than a committee meeting. His aversion to meetings had been solidified back at his former office job, and Dylan wasn’t in any hurry to build on it. If Chief Bradens hadn’t personally asked him to serve on the firehouse’s 150th Anniversary Committee, there wasn’t a soul in Gordon Falls who could have made him be here. No soul except Violet Sharpton. Dylan couldn’t rightly say if Bradens had sicced the feisty old woman on him, but Violet had nevertheless cornered him after Sunday services last week saying they “needed new brains in the room” and wouldn’t take “no” for an answer. Chief Bradens on his own was a force to be reckoned with, but when tag-teamed with Violet Sharpton? Well, Dylan was smart enough to know when he was licked.
Lord, I don’t mind telling you I’m in no mood for whatever lesson You have in store for me here. Death by committee isn’t the way I’d choose to go.
The rectangular meeting room table was all filled except for one seat: his. Normally a pretty prompt guy, Dylan just couldn’t bring himself to hustle to this meeting and as such was five minutes late. He’d happily have supported the firehouse’s 150th anniversary any other way, and planned to jump on any opportunity to escape into a more task-oriented role. If only that didn’t look like the slimmest of possibilities. Dylan was so absorbed in his exit strategy that he almost didn’t register the biggest surprise in the room: Karla Kennedy sat between Vi and her grandfather.
He caught her gaze as he settled into his seat. She wore the same “what are you doing here?” look he must be wearing. If Dylan couldn’t figure out why he was on this committee, he had even less of a clue why Karla was here. She wasn’t even a Gordon Falls resident, nor did she profess any desire to stay in town once Karl had recuperated. Not to mention that next to Clark Bradens—who was the youngest fire chief Gordon Falls had ever hired and by definition had to be here—Dylan and Karla were almost a decade younger than anyone else in the room. So he and Karla constituted Violet’s “new brains”?
He took a moment to survey his fellow committee members. Chief Bradens’s father and predecessor, George Bradens, was to his left. George was a friendly, caring guy—an honorary dad to half the department and a pillar in the Gordon Falls community. Next over sat Pastor Allen from the church. Dylan liked the man—he was compassionate without meddling and easy to talk to. Next to Allen sat Margot Thomas, the high school principal.
At the head of the table opposite Chief Bradens sat Ted Boston, the round, slightly self-aggrandizing man who’d been mayor of Gordon Falls for as long as anyone could remember. According to the chief, this town-wide celebration had been Boston’s idea. It made sense in some ways; the firehouse seemed to be the hub that held Gordon Falls together. It sat in the center of town in more ways than one, Chief liked to say. Next to Boston, Violet Sharpton sat smiling at Dylan, practically beaming in satisfaction. That couldn’t end well, and knowing Violet, there was more to it than met the eye. Dylan felt the weight of suspicion settle in his stomach like a rock.
The usual formalities of introductions and basic goals went by without incident. Another boring, ineffective meeting like the hundreds he’d endured in his former life. The firehouse was important to him; he knew he ought to participate. But as it was, Dylan ended up devoting more energy to trying not to look at Karla than he did mustering up some enthusiasm for the celebration.
“I’ll be honest, people,” Mayor Boston said as he leaned back in his chair, “the last thing this town needs is another potluck dinner. I want us to come up with something unique, something that will really pop. Something to put Gordon Falls on the map.”
It was one of Boston’s favorite phrases; he was always talking about ways to put this town “on the map.” Dylan thought Gordon Falls was holding its own rather nicely and didn’t need much help in the public relations department. It was part of the reason why he’d come here.
Blank faces met Boston’s challenge. If you needed new ideas, Dylan thought a bit sourly, why’d you ask the same old people who run everything else in town? The same old people except for Karla and me, that is. And why us? Dylan realized he wasn’t being fair in his criticism, but his good mood had left the room a while ago.
“That’s why I brought Karla,” Karl pronounced, as if reading his thoughts. “She’s a fountain of good ideas.” He looked right at Dylan when he said it. Karla went a bit pale and looked down at her hands.
Dylan had to admit, Karl wasn’t wrong there. “I have had a lot of success with the Coffee Catch she dreamed up,” he offered, if only to take the blanched expression from her features. “But, Karl, you’re bound to be fully on your feet long before July. Don’t you think we ought to let Karla get back to her business in Chicago?”
“It’s no good to rush these things,” Violet cut in, her voice pleasant but with a decided edge. “Let’s not go giving Karl any deadlines he can’t meet. I like to think Karla can help bring a visitor’s perspective. Besides, Karl can always help sitting down.”
Karl hurrumphed at Violet’s coddling. “Don’t you worry about me, Vi.”
“So, July is when you are planning on the event?” Karla piped up, obviously feeling the squeeze of being seated between Violet and her grandfather.
“The official anniversary date is July 15, but that’s a Sunday,” Chief Bradens answered. “Pastor Allen has already agreed that we’ll honor the firefighters in church that day, but we were hoping to have some kind of special event on the Saturday before.”
Karla looked as if that solved everything. “That’s Bastille Day.”
Befuddled expressions met her pronouncement. “What’s that got to do with the firehouse?”
“Well, nothing directly,” she replied, “but it does hand you an easy way to have a unique kind of celebration.”
Dylan had spent enough summers in Chicago to see where she was headed with this. “The Venetian Night boat parade.” It wasn’t a bad idea at all.
“What?” Violet’s smile was curious but a mile wide.
“Every July Chicago celebrates the weekend around Bastille Day with a boat parade,” Karla answered to the entire room. “People decorate their boats with lights and streamers and all kinds