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Dad liked to say everything was different in Harmony Valley. If Dad were out here, he’d say Mandy wasn’t a stranger. She was a neighbor. Practically a friend. Friends found solace in each other’s smile.
“There used to be a fence here,” she said from her backyard in a voice as neutral as Switzerland.
“You lived there before?” Ben moved closer until the thick hedge that separated them nearly touched his chest. He tried to take a bead on her feelings. Was she happy to be back?
“My grandparents raised me here. Back then the Morrettis lived in your place.”
“My mom said a windstorm recently knocked down the fence and the Morrettis cleared out the debris, but didn’t rebuild.” He couldn’t see Mandy’s face in her shadowy backyard, couldn’t fathom why she wanted to see the moon. He wasn’t very patient or much good at beating around the bush. “Why do you want to look at the moon?”
More silence. He waited her out.
“I’m raising my sister,” she said in a low voice he had to strain to hear. “She’s seventeen going on thirty-seven.”
“I’m raising my goddaughter,” he said without thinking. “She’s seven going on seventy.”
Mandy chuckled. It was a warm sound that reached across the shrubs to ease the neck cramp he hadn’t realized was there.
“You can see the moon over here,” he repeated, adding quickly, “There’s a break in the hedge toward the back of the yard.” He’d discovered it when he’d checked the property to make sure it was safe for Hannah. He hadn’t realized she’d use the front door and a bicycle to go exploring.
They walked side by side to the opening.
Mandy entered his yard. The moon cast her in soft light, illuminating her gentle sanity-holding smile. She’d taken out her ponytails, and her hair hung loosely over her ears. She still wore her postal shorts and baggy shirt. She was comfortable in her own skin, disheveled as it was. Little about her should have been attractive or intriguing.
She intrigued him anyway. Opening a post office. Raising a girl. Giving him grief.
Mandy tilted her face to the heavens. “Hello, Mr. Moon.”
Talking to the moon.
Ben bit back a grin. Of course, a woman who smiled through her troubles would talk to the moon.
Erica had been a firm believer in everything having energy and heart. She’d talked about cars and fires as if they were alive and had a personality. It was probably why Hannah projected personalities on every animal she came upon.
“Mr. Moon keeps all my secrets,” Mandy whispered, bringing Ben back to the present.
He had the strongest urge to be pale and round and silent. He wanted to know the secrets Mandy told the moon, especially about her smile. He’d never been one to keep things inside. The few secrets he had, like the night he’d spent with Erica, were too personal to share with anyone.
Thinking better of his wish for Mandy’s secrets, he took a step back.
Life was cruel. Bad things happened. People let you down. And it was best to scowl and go it alone, like the big full moon Mandy was sharing her secrets with. If only the moon were scowling and not smiling, like Mandy.
“Okay,” she said with a burst of expelled air, the kind of breath that indicated she felt the awkwardness of the situation as palpably as he did. “Thanks for giving me my nightly sliver of sanity pie.” She turned. There was no smile on her face.
No smile.
He couldn’t believe it.
Ben almost reached for her, almost fell to the impulse to cup her cheek with his palm. “Come back anytime,” he said instead.
“Do you mean it?” She grinned a happy grin, one full of joy.
He grinned back. “I do.”
“Thank you.” She slipped through the hedge to her backyard. “The moon helps me deal with Olivia without breaking any eggshells.” She turned back to him, everything but her voice lost in shadow. “That’s what I call losing my temper. You know, because kids are fragile...and frustrating. And she’s taken more hits than any kid deserves.”
Like Hannah. “Wouldn’t want to be Humpty Dumpty.”
“No.”
There was another awkward pause, awkward because he felt the need to fill it and couldn’t find the right words. Mandy had her act together. He respected that. She had a way to deal with stress. He respected that. He was just worried that there were other things he liked about her that had to do with the distraction of an attractive, fascinating woman.
The last thing he needed in his life was a distraction.
“Good night,” she said softly.
Her sneakered footfalls made soft noises in the darkness.
“Good night,” he called after too long of a pause.
Ben waited until he heard Mandy’s door latch, waited until Mandy and her secrets were locked safely inside. Only then did he turn back to the house.
Without looking up at Mr. Moon.
CHAPTER FIVE (#u57945a2e-938e-5c0d-96c7-e6c0b5161a40)
“THERE IT IS,” Dad said as he and Ben drove toward a small grass fire on a solitary stretch of two-lane highway on the outskirts of town.
It was their first fire operating as the Harmony Valley Fire Department. Ben was excited. Finally, the work he’d become a firefighter for had materialized. The peppery smoke was thick, the red-gold flames low, and a twenty-foot patch of ground blackened.
“You knock it down, son.”
Ben stepped on the brakes too hard. “What about calling for backup?” They were only two men. “What about protocol?” A four-person crew.
“We can have this fire out long before the Cloverdale team gets here.”
“Since when did you become a renegade?” His father had always played by the rules.
“Things are different in a small fire department.” Dad grinned. “And I happen to be the fire chief.”
No one would have their backs if things got out of hand. It would just be Ben and his father. It’d never been just Ben and his father, not even when he was a kid.
Ben leaned forward to study the fire again. It was a small fire, about the size of his parents’ living room. The grass here was sparse, having survived several years of drought. Little fuel, little wind, little fire. Odds were in their favor.
“Okay, boss. We’re saving Cloverdale Fire some gas.” Ben would rather his father stay in the truck, but he needed a second pair of hands to run the system, monitor water pressure and occasionally help him with the hose. With adrenaline-fueled speed, he hopped out and strapped on his breathing apparatus—his mask and a tank on his back. Then he pulled a hose free and connected it to the truck, while Dad readied the pump.
The fire crackled and popped as lazily as a ringed campfire. Ben wasn’t fooled. One strong gust of wind and the flames would sprint to the hills and then the Mayacamas mountain range separating Sonoma County from Napa. The fire would feed on the sparse grass until it found something meatier, like an abandoned house or a grove of drought-thirsty trees.
Planting his feet firmly on the ground, Ben aimed the nozzle toward the fire. “Let’s do this!”
Dad gave him juice, and soon water doused flames. The resulting steam sent a wave of heat rolling over him.
They were lucky. In no time, they were done. They’d caught the grass fire early. It died a quick death.
Goodbye, little fire.
Shades of Mandy, talking to inanimate objects.
Ben glanced skyward, where the moon made a daytime appearance.
A flash north of them caught Ben’s eye. At the bend in the highway, a small gray car backfired as it pulled out from under the trees and drove away. It was too far off for Ben to make out the license plate or even discern the make.
“Shut it down.” Ben called it. When the water stopped, he removed his mask and pointed to the trees. “Did you see that car?”
“I was busy.” Dad sank onto a bumper, gulping air. His mask-less face was ashen. “Watching you. And the gauges.”
A rush of anger drowned Ben’s adrenaline high. He stepped forward and clutched Dad’s shoulder, giving it a shake. “Why didn’t you wear a mask?”
Dad tugged off a glove and wiped his face. “I forgot.”
“You don’t forget. You can’t forget. You’re the fire chief.” Ben bit back a rant that might break eggs.
“Well, I did.” Dad produced his inhaler and took a hit. “What did you say before?” He drew in a labored breath that gave Ben sympathy gasps. “Something about a car?”
“I’m taking you to the doctor.” Ben tried to help him up, tried to be patient, tried not to be mad toward or disappointed in or scared for his role model.
“No doctor.” Dad shrugged him off. “Your mother will worry.”
“As opposed to her grieving...” Ben began to shout. “...when you die!” He glanced down to count the eggshells he’d broken and stomped on the urge to break more. He couldn’t let his father get to him.
“Don’t be maudlin.” The color was slowly returning to Dad’s face. “Do you suspect arson?”
Ben fumed quietly for a moment, trying to decide if he should call Dad’s doctor, or Mom, or no one at all. He made a choice. The choice to respect his father and his fire chief. “Doesn’t it seem suspicious? A car left right after we put the fire out.” Arsonists often stayed to watch the havoc.
“Maybe the driver was the one to call it in.”
“Maybe.” His mind wouldn’t let the idea of arson go. He’d studied to be a fire investigator for years. It was hard not to put any of that training into play.
Granted, the fire hadn’t been fast burning, which seemed to rule out accelerant. And it was within cigarette flicking distance from the two-lane, which would lead him toward suspecting a careless driver. But their audience... It felt like someone was flaunting their dirty work.
The wind shifted, sending smoke in their faces.
Dad bent over, hacking deeply. Ben had to help him inside the truck, where the air was cool and filtered. After Dad was settled and breathing almost normally, Ben stowed the gear, keeping an eye on the blackened ground in case an ember flared to life again. Nothing did.
“Sorry I couldn’t help with the cleanup,” Dad said when Ben returned to the cab. He looked like a defeated old boxer who’d tried unsuccessfully to make a comeback.
“It’s okay. I knew what I was getting into when I came here.” Double duty. Hiding Dad’s secret. Locking away his principles for the better part of a year.
Ben put the engine in gear and headed into town, letting his mind wander. It meandered to a tin of matchbooks.
“I just didn’t think I’d feel so worthless,” Dad said, his voice barely audible above the engine.
If Dad had been among the new generation of firefighters, like Ben, he’d have worn a breathing apparatus at every fire—big or small. He wouldn’t have developed heart and lung disease. He’d be finishing a long and illustrious career in Oakland. He’d be planning retirement and trips with Mom, making jokes about poor working stiffs.
And Ben would be switching gears, working as a fire investigator.
Those matchbooks...
“Where are we going?” Dad asked when they missed the turn to the firehouse.
“I have a hunch.” There was one person in town he knew of who’d started a fire and been mesmerized. He hoped he was wrong. He hoped he was being paranoid, falling prey to a worst-case-scenario hypothesis. But being a worst-case-scenario thinker was a plus when it came to fire prevention, and Dad had just proved his judgment wasn’t the greatest.
Ben pulled in front of the post office and wished he hadn’t.
There was a small gray sedan parked in the lot.
* * *
EVEN WITH COUNTRY music blaring from the radio in the post office, Mandy knew when the town’s fire engine pulled up. The big engine rivaled the beat of the country song on the radio.
“I’m not ready for a fire inspection,” Mandy muttered, turning the music down. It hadn’t been a week since the first one.
What she really wasn’t ready for was seeing Ben again. The past few nights, she’d stayed up late before going out to see the moon because their exchange had seemed too intimate. She’d told him about eggshells. She’d told him about sharing secrets with the moon. He must think she was an idiot!
Not that this was anything new when it came to Mandy and men.
Mandy didn’t have her act together when it came to the opposite sex. And especially not when faced—literally—with a confident handsome man like Ben. He probably liked women who were petite and polished and wore heels the likes of which Mandy didn’t have in her closet. She was launching a post office and raising a teenager. She didn’t have time for pretty clothes, stylish hair or makeup. Who was she kidding? She didn’t like clothes that showed how reed-thin her body was. She didn’t like spending more than a minute on her hair. And makeup? It gave her acne.
On nervous legs, Mandy dodged the postal service maintenance crew, their ladder and the stack of boxes they’d brought containing fire alarms, extinguishers and lighted Exit signs. They’d claimed the sorting counter as their personal staging area, but they’d spread out like high tide on a flat marsh.
Utley sat in the sunshine on the loading dock in a webbed camp chair, a burning cigarette in his fingers. How long had he been sitting there? She hadn’t noticed his arrival.
Mandy touched his shoulder as she passed.
The old man startled, dropping the cigarette on the concrete, barely missing the tin of matchbooks he’d saved from the trash several days ago.
She paused at the top of the stair. “Did I wake you?” It was hard to believe anyone could sleep through her music or the whine of drills installing new signage and fire alarms.
“No.” Utley’s eyes were heavy-lidded. “I was meditating.” He lifted his fingers to his lips as if to take a drag from his cigarette, noticed his fingers were empty, and immediately brushed at his lap as if dozing and dropping cigarettes was a regular occurrence.
“It’s on the ground,” Mandy told him, hurrying down the concrete steps to meet Ben. “Don’t light another.” She’d already told him twice he couldn’t smoke on the premises.
She’d received her first mail delivery this morning and wasn’t sure how much of a stink Ben would put up about her operating without the fire control panel working. She didn’t want to admit all her safety measures weren’t in place, but she didn’t want to disappoint her supervisor and delay mail delivery either.
She reached Ben in the middle of the parking lot.
He wore his turnout gear and smelled pleasantly like the wood fires her grandfather used to make when they went camping. She’d wondered about their next meeting. Would he be the rigid fireman or the compassionate neighbor?
Question answered. Ben wore his intimidating scowl, as if they’d never spoken in the darkness about eggshells or the moon.
