Small-Town Fireman

“Don’t get technical. I know Karl fishes. You can’t tell me your grandpa never took you fishing.”

“Oh, he did. Lots of times. It was sort of fun when I was little.” Why hadn’t she had the sense not to get into this discussion with someone like Dylan?

“Then what made it not fun when you were bigger?”

There wasn’t a safe way to answer that. There were times when peaceful afternoons out on the river made for good memories. It was just that as she grew up, those long stretches out on the water too often ended up in tense arguments between her father and grandpa. “It wasn’t the fishing, so much as the fishermen.” She slid the steaming mug toward him and lifted the dome off the glass plate where the muffins sat piled.

Dylan caught the plural. “Obnoxious brother?”

“Oh, no, I’m an only child of an only child. Let’s just say Dad and Grandpa don’t always paddle their boats in the same direction.” That felt much kinder than the memories of arguments she’d tried hard to forget ever happened. Some of those trips were the first times she’d become aware of her difficult position between her father and grandfather. She loved them both, but most times they had such a difficult time loving each other. It was one of the reasons she’d consented to come out here when Grandpa needed help—leaving Dad and Grandpa alone with each other was always a dicey proposition.

“Oh.”

She was glad Dylan seemed to catch on to what she was saying. This wasn’t the kind of thing she wanted to relay in any detail.

“Water isn’t always a peacemaker, is it?”

Funny thing was, it always had been for her. Even when the prospect of going out with Dad and Grandpa held the good chance of a fight, she went anyway. “I like the water. It’s why I like Chicago. Back home, I get out to Lake Michigan whenever I can.”

“The lake is nice, but I found it too big. Give me a river any day.”

She looked at him curiously. “You used to live in Chicago?”

Something flashed behind his eyes before he answered. Chicago was evidently a sore subject. She watched him measure out his words the same way she’d just done. “It wasn’t for me.” There was a long story behind that short answer.

“So you came here.”

Dylan took a sip of the coffee she’d made, nodding his approval. “Oh, I like this better than the last one. Maybe even better than the first one.” He glanced at her for a long moment. “I should have come here all along, but I let other people convince me of what I wanted.” Then he took another sip, a longer one, making Karla wonder if he was buying himself time to decide how much he was going to say. “Don’t ever do that.”

“I’ve got my own dreams clearly in sight.” She patted the Small Business Strategies textbook where it sat on the counter. The look in his eyes made her add, “And now it looks like you do, too. Captain of your own destiny, as Grandpa would say.” The “as if” expression on his face made her wonder if that was why he seemed pleased and annoyed at the “Captain” title. His fishing business meant much more than a paycheck to him, she could see that.

“I’ve poured everything into Gordon River Fishing Charters. It’s going to work out because I’ll do whatever it takes to make it work out.” He turned up one corner of his mouth in a half smile, half grimace before adding, “Even marketing.”

“I imagine you will,” she replied. The determination in his eyes made that easy to believe.

Dylan took another sip and then set down his mug. “Are you working Saturday morning?”

“No, my dad takes over on Saturday mornings.”

“Then that settles it. You’re going fishing.”

Karla let out a moan. “Don’t you have a charter or something? Boy Scout field trip?”

“As a matter of fact, this is my only free Saturday this month. I think you need to go fishing.”

“No, really—it’s not my thing.”

Dylan picked up the coffee mug again, hoisting it up in front of her face as if it were Exhibit A.

“You got three tries out of me. I think it’s only fair I get three hours out of you. Five-thirty to eight-thirty Saturday morning.”

“Five-thirty a.m.? You want me to get up at dawn on my day off?”

A playful grin crept across his face. “It’s not like you won’t have enough coffee.”

“There isn’t enough coffee in the world,” she complained, leaning against the counter. “Is the sun even up then?”

“Just barely. It’s the best time to be out on the river.” He pointed to the Commercial Baking 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.