Fire at Dawn: The Firefighters of Darling Bay 2 (5 page)

Lexie said, “I’m going to tell her that last eye lift she had made her look like Joan Rivers.”

Her brother snorted. “I’ll pay you a dollar.”

“Make it ten thousand and you’re on.”

“Lexington! Come in here and help me!”

Lexie had to give it to her mother—even if she didn’t want to—her mother knew her way around a kitchen like Lexie knew her keyboard at work. Mira Tindall was known for her four-course meals which she made all from scratch, naturally, during which never she broke so much as a sheen on her forehead. Her mother just had to look at a Beef Wellington for the meat to practically slice itself, perfectly trimmed pieces landing on every plate. If they were in a Disney movie, her mother would be the wicked stepmother who had a magical cooking charm.

“Daddy’s favorite tonight,” sang Mira in a disarmingly cheery voice. “Orange-roasted duck with a marmalade and soy sauce dressing, and a bok choy salad with a gorgonzola dressing.”

Lexie didn’t remember this being her father’s favorite. In fact, she remembered he’d really liked mac and cheese, the kind from the blue box. He’d make it on nights her mother had taken to bed early with one of her headaches. If Lexie’s nose didn’t wake her up, her father would gently nudge her after he’d fixed her a plate. Those were her favorite times, growing up. Sitting at the kitchen table with her father—not the fire chief in those moments, he was just her dad—a man who had loved her, no matter what.

Unlike her mother.

“You look pretty tonight,” said Lexie.

Mira set down the porcelain gravy boat from which she’d been pouring a glaze over the duck and patted at the bottom of her well coiffed, softly curled hair. It had been red once, like Lexie’s, almost as fiery as one of the engines at the station. Now, though, it was a glossy deep auburn, an expensive shade she called “natural.”

“Why, thank you. Did you have to add the word ‘tonight,’ though?”

Naturally, Lexie had already stuck her foot in it. “Sorry. You always look pretty, Mama. You just look even prettier tonight. That color suits you.”

It did. Mira also knew style, and the dark plum of her well-cut dress made her petite figure look even smaller. Lexie wondered again what it must be like to have a tummy so flat and small that you never had to suck it in, ever.

Mira wiped her hands on a red cloth napkin that hung from a hook on the huge kitchen island. “Will you get me the dressing on the door of the fridge? The low-fat one.”

Ah. The Lexie dressing, careful reserved for her. It was all right—Lexie liked this flavor. She certainly wouldn’t complain about not getting the gorgonzola dressing. She knew how this game was played.

Her mother was to be tolerated. Never patronized—oh, no—but accepted. She needed to be listened to. It was simple, if Lexie managed to keep from exploding.

“Good. Carry that in to the dining salon, would you?”

“Can we eat in the kitchen?” Every week, Lexie asked this.

“No,” said her mother, just as she did every week.

The “salon” it was then.

“James!” Lexie yelled in her firehouse voice. “
Dinner
!”

Mira gave a long-suffering sigh. “Must you, darling?”

Lexie nodded. “Yep.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Over the main course, Mira quizzed James on his the state of his car. “I saw you, you know.”

James made a noncommittal noise.

“Driving on Fourth. You were going too fast.”

“Mmmm.”

Lexie focused on her duck, which was rich and complex. Her mother had given her a tiny portion, but that was all right—Lexie wouldn’t hesitate to help herself to more.

“I want to know when you last washed it.”

“A week ago.”

“James Tindall. Do not lie to your mother.”

“If I tell you the truth, you’ll have a cow.”

“I don’t have
cows
.”

Lexie allowed herself a small smile at her mother’s distress. Mira did have cows. All over the place, as often as possible. She practically mooed.

James spoke with his mouth full, something designed to make Mira lose it even faster. “I washed it in January.”

“But it’s
October
.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“You can’t do that.”

“What? Keep up with the calendar? We’ve been using the Gregorian calendar since the switch from the Julian, in 1592, and even though it’s inaccurate, it works for modern civilization, so …”

“It’s embarrassing. I can’t have a son driving a car that looks as if you sell drugs from it.”

“Whoa, now,” said James, who had admitted to Lexie once he’d never even tried pot in his teens. “Did you actually see me selling heroin down by the docks or did someone just tell you I was there? Because that’s a lie. I sell over by the bookstore.”

Mira’s eyes went to slits. “That’s not nice. Just wash your car. Your father would have a fit.”

“Dad wouldn’t have cared,” mumbled James.

“He cared about everything,” insisted Mira, pushing her plate away with a petulant, delicate shove. “Now I’ve lost my appetite.” She glared at Lexie.

Lexie, ignoring her mother, buttered another piece of bread.

“Darling, I bought that for James.”

“You bought a whole loaf of herbed slab from Josie’s bakery not intending for me to have even one piece?” Lexie grabbed another slice before her mother could move the plate away.

And in this way, as always, they entered the Lexie portion of the evening.

Lexie could stage it, if it were a play. She could write out the words and block the action. She knew her mother would say things like “a little chubby, don’t you think?” and “no boy wants a girl to weigh more than he does.” Lexie knew she would respond with curt assents or dissents that Mira would pretend she hadn’t heard. The best part of the night would be when Mira stood, putting her hands flat against her belly. “Do you see this? Do you know how hard I work on this?” Lexie would barely prevent herself from snorting, thinking about the two tummy tucks her already-thin mother had gone through and the fact that food had always sickened Mira, no matter how much she liked to cook.

Mira spent all her time worried about how she looked in the mirror. Lexie had spent years working on herself, on accepting her body as it was. As it looked good. As it wanted to be.

And an hour in her mother’s house could put her right back to high-school-level mortification.

Skipping this awful part of Friday night dinner was almost impossible, unless one had a grenade.

She did.

“I’m going on a date.”

Mira choked on her sip of wine. “Darling! You’re
kidding
. Really?”

“Well played,” James said in an admiring voice.

“Oh, Lexie. I can’t believe it.” Mira pressed a shaky hand to her flat bosom. “Really? And I didn’t even set this one up for you! Are you serious?”

It was going to be almost as bad as the weight conversation would have been, but at least it had novelty going for it. “I’m not just making it up, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Oh, no. Of
course
not. Who is it?”

Crap. Lexie hadn’t thought this all the way through. “Just a guy. You don’t know him.” Lexie didn’t know him either. Coin was picking him. He had said he would come in to dispatch the following night and they’d vet each other’s online suggestions.

“Not someone you work with, is it? Tell me that’s not true.”

Lexie bristled. “I’m not stupid. It’s not. Completely not. He’s in … analysis. Computer. Graphics. Something.”

“What a relief.” Mira arched an eyebrow at James, as if he would back her up on this one. “I never want you to lose a man the way I lost your father. No men in the line of fire.”

Just out of Mira’s line of sight, James mimed cutting his wrists with his butter knife.

“Moving on,” Mira said. “Tell me about this boy.”

“Man.”

“Man, then. Who
is
he? What does he look like?”

How did she describe someone as yet imaginary? Lexie reached for another piece of bread, ignoring her mother’s wilting gaze. Worse, what if she was deluding herself? She hadn’t done online dating in a while—what if she’d run out of Darling Bay men to date? What if there
was
no one else out there, and she ended up paying for Coin to go to Bora Bora with a tiny blonde? “He’s medium.”

“What does that mean? Is he tall?”

Make something up. Anything
. “Not really. Average. Well, pretty tall, I guess.”

Mira leaned forward. “More. What color hair?”

“Black. Kind of wavy.”

“What else?”

What would it have been like, if her mother had always been this interested in her? Like a girlfriend, like someone she could talk to? “Dark brown. His nose is slightly crooked, but it fits his face. Huge biceps. He’s quiet, but he’s funny. Kind of hysterical, actually. He makes me laugh, but I think a lot of people don’t really get him.” A flash of heat raced through her body as she realized she was describing Coin. She hadn’t meant to do that.

“How many times have you seen each other?”

A hundred thousand. “None. It’s a blind date.”

Mira stilled. “How do you know what he’s like?”

Lexie’s brain scrambled, grabbing ideas and letting them go. She settled for a simple, “It was a very thorough ad.”

“An
ad
.”

“It’s an online date, Mother. Of course it was an ad.”

“Does that mean …” Mira’s voice trailed off as if she had to gain strength before going on. “Does that mean
you
placed an ad as well? Like a …”

“Like a what?” Lexie couldn’t even guess where her mother would take it next.

“You know, this fellow in my church group has a son who lives at home. He does something with computers, too. I was going to get his phone number for you. Brett didn’t tell me much, but his son sounded lovely even if he is a bit of a loner.”

Lexie bit into another piece of bread, barely even tasting it anymore. She stared at her mother without responding.

Mira pointed to the butter knife in Lexie’s hand. “Now you’re just trying to upset me.”

Lexie rolled her eyes. Carefully, she put her knife back onto her plate with a clink, and then she set down the half-eaten piece of bread. “Well, you’re easy to upset. I apologize for ruffling your feathers.”

“It’s just that I want you to be healthy …”

“I am healthy. I run. My cholesterol is jaw-droppingly great. I told you that.” No, no,
no
, she didn’t want to go down this road. Not again. She couldn’t take it tonight. “And the guy I’m going out with likes a girl of normal weight.”

“But …”

“I’m
normal
, Mother, whether you like that or not. Average is size 12 to 14 now.”

Mira gasped.

Lexie met the gasp with a sigh.

James burped and reached for the bottle of wine. “Fill ‘er up.”

“At least have a salad when you go out with him. Just a salad.”

Lexie’s head dropped forward. When she lifted it again, she said, “Fine.”

Her mother had won. Her mother always won.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“This one.” Coin pointed at a woman who looked as if she painted her teeth with Wite-Out.

“No way. What if she bit you?”

“Okay, click that one. I like brunettes.”

Lexie peered at the screen. “Is one of her eyes drooping?”

“Are you going to kick them all out of my empty imaginary bed without even letting me read their profiles?”

Lexie took a moment to wonder what that bed might look like. “You make your bed every day, don’t you?”

Coin, his elbow on the table next to her laptop, said, “Yeah. Doesn’t everyone?”

Lexie made her bed once a week when she changed her sheets, whether she wanted to or not. “Sure. What about her?” She indicated a woman perhaps a little higher on the age spectrum Coin had stipulated.

“She looks good. If I wanted the Early Bird Special and to save money on her movie tickets.”

“Don’t be mean,” Lexie said, but she couldn’t keep the laughter out of her voice. Looking at people online had always been interesting, but it had always held a strange intensity, also. It wasn’t like meeting someone in the grocery store or at church. You didn’t get to interact with them a few times before considering having a private meal together. You had to look, read, and then project your entire life—marriage, babies, death—based on what his favorite band was. She could tell Coin was quickly learning that. He’d found a woman he liked the look of, and he’d been excited when she liked Beck. “I like Beck!” he’d said. Then he’d gone on to read that the woman worshipped Beck, and went to every single one of his concerts, and her number one goal in life was to get her hands on a backstage pass, and then to get her hands on Beck’s personal backstage. Coin had tilted his mouth to the side. “That’s not good, is it?”