The Next Best Thing

“I don’t know,” she said. “No one wants to hear an old lady’s stories.” Goggy sighed and then rose to her feet with surprising vigor. “Let’s get cleaning. This place looks well enough on the surface, but those cabinets could be hiding a world of germs.”

* * *

FAITH WOKE UP AT THREE in the morning with an idea.

The first event at the Barn at Blue Heron would be an anniversary party for her grandparents. She could have the place done in time, or at least mostly, and she’d organize a big party for them, and maybe Goggy and Pops would remember some good times. Some love. Surely you couldn’t be married for six and a half decades and not love your spouse.

Poor Goggy. How hard it must’ve been, moving on from that idyllic love to something so utilitarian with Pops, wondering what life would’ve been like if Peter had come home from the war. Dad, too, faced with so many days without Mom, his life so different from the one he’d imagined.

She wished she could call Jeremy, hear his kind voice. Maybe her grandmother was right...she’d never find someone to love who measured up to her first love. Just like Goggy. Just like Dad.

Crap. She seemed to be crying a little.

Blue gave a soft snort, then wagged his tail in his sleep. The moonlight was sweetly unfamiliar, cutting into her room in slices of cool white. From the kitchen came the sound of the refrigerator cycling on. Otherwise, it was quiet.

She may as well get up, check the production schedule for the barn. She padded barefoot to her office, Blue following dutifully, his ball in his mouth, then flopped down at her feet as she sat at her desk, as if they’d lived here for years instead of hours. Faith rubbed her foot through his thick fur, earning a croon of appreciation from the beastie.

You couldn’t be too lonely with a dog. That was for sure. Faith turned on her computer, then noticed something.

The apartment smelled like chocolate.

Now, that was nice. And a little odd. Maybe the bakery was opening already? As the computer warmed up, Faith went to the front windows to check. Nope, Lorelei’s windows were dark.

She went to the door and opened it a crack. The hall was dark, but there was a band of light coming from under the door of 3C, and the smell of chocolate was stronger here. Blue poked his head out, too, and licked his chops.

Levi was baking.

Baking at 3:17 in the morning.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

TWO WEEKS LATER, all Levi wanted was to get into his apartment without Faith’s big dog leg-humping him in the hall, pour himself a beer and watch the Yankees win. It had been a very long couple of days; he was trying to train Everett, but the kid had a mind like a sieve. Nevertheless, Levi was letting him be in charge tonight, no matter how unsettling the thought was.

“You call me if there’s anything you’re not sure about, okay?” he asked. “And you keep that gun holstered. If I hear you took it out without my direct consent, you’re fired. I don’t care who your mother is.”

Everett beamed. “Roger, Chief. Don’t worry about anything.” He put his feet up on the desk, missed and fell out of his chair.

Levi suppressed a sigh. “I’ll check in later.”

“You’re a control freak, did anyone ever tell you that?” Emmaline said as she pulled on her raincoat. On her desk was a book entitled  Taking Control of Your Life: How to Change a Dead-End  Job into the Career of Your Dreams.

“Looking for a new job, Em?” he asked.

“Looking to get yours.” She gave him one of her classic looks, half amused, half irritated.

Levi held the door for her, then bent his head against the foul weather. Even though it was only October, it had gotten cold all of a sudden, and the earlier rain had turned to sleet. The sidewalk was already slick. Lucky for him, his commute was roughly fifty yards. He walked with Emmaline, who lived right across the way in a pretty little bungalow next to the library. There was some work going on there—right. Faith Holland was doing something to the courtyard.

“Thanks for walking me home. Now go. Get away. Leave me. Shoo,” Emmaline said as she unlocked the door. “And don’t obsess over Everett. He needs experience, and if you keep hovering over him like a worried mother, he’ll never learn.”

“Have you thought of running for president?” he asked.

“I have, but I don’t photograph well. Try to have a good night, Chief.”

A night alone. It should be something he looked forward to. Sarah had shown up Tuesday night, claiming to be sick. Homesick, yes, but physically sick, no. Plus, she’d hitchhiked. With a cop for a brother! Said her car hadn’t started, so she’d gotten a ride with the Hostess deliveryman. This had required Levi to lecture her on the dangers of that and the idiocy of saying she didn’t want to go to college. “What are you gonna do if you stay here?” he’d asked sharply as he’d driven her home the next morning. “Wait tables? Be a bartender up at one of the vineyards? Don’t you want more, Sarah?” She’d answered by staring out the window, tears leaking out of her eyes, making him feel like an utter shit. She hadn’t even said goodbye when he’d pulled up in front of her dorm.

Then there’d been a wreck on Route 54...no fatality, but for the grace of God—Josh Deiner, the same kid who’d gotten Abby Vanderbeek drunk. The wreck had resulted in the kid losing his license, which brought on a huge hissy fit—he was a rich kid, not used to the rules applying to him.

And then there was Faith Holland, living across the hall from him. It was...distracting. He’d only seen her a few times, but each time, it seemed harder to shake off.

“Hey, Chief! Nasty night, isn’t it?” Lorelei called as she locked the front door of the bakery.

“It is. You be careful on the roads, okay?”

“You bet.” She beamed, then dug her car keys out of her giant purple purse. He waited till she got in her car, then watched as she drove up the street. She fishtailed slightly as she turned, but she only lived about a mile out of the village, not up the Hill, where conditions would be worse.

He opened the door to the Opera House. If there was an accident tonight, he’d definitely have to go out; Ev wasn’t up for handling that yet. That being said, Levi hadn’t had more than two nights off in a row since he was hired.

Maybe Nina’s leaving wasn’t such a mystery, after all.

He pushed the thought from his mind. His wife hadn’t left because he’d worked too much; she’d left him because she was an adrenaline-junkie chopper pilot.

Levi opened the ornate brass mailbox—bills, a movie from Netflix—then headed upstairs. Faith’s door was open, and he hesitated, almost hoping she’d come out and...hell, do what, he didn’t know. It just seemed like a long night in front of him all of a sudden.

Something pressed against his leg. Blue, the big dope. “Go home, pal,” he told him.

He went into his apartment, only to have the dog head-butt the door, probably hoping for some special time with his leg. Levi changed into a flannel shirt and jeans, putting his uniform in the hamper. Life in the military had made him become a little obsessive about neatness, something his mom and Sarah had found quite funny, as he’d been the typical teenage slob before. Not anymore. The apartment was neat as a pin, especially now that Sarah was away. He always cleaned her room after she left, since God knew she wouldn’t make a bed on her own.

He called Lorelei; she’d made it home just fine, but, yes, it was slick out, and he was an angel for checking on her.

Levi hung up, then opened the fridge, took out a bottle of Newton’s Pale Ale and surveyed his dinner options. Lots of leftovers; cooking for one wasn’t easy. Plus, there was a vat of sauce and meatballs; he’d made it for Sarah on Tuesday, since that was her favorite. Just because he didn’t want her to drop out of college didn’t mean he didn’t love his little sis.

There was the thud against the door. Blue again. Beautiful dog, but dumb as a fern. The dog was whining now. Another thud.

Levi opened the door and stared down at the dog. “What?”

Blue looked up and whined.

“Holland, your dog’s out,” Levi said. Her door was still wide open.

There was no answer.

“Faith?” He went into her apartment. “Holland, you here? Oh, shit.”

Faith was standing at the kitchen counter, plucking at her sweater. She looked confused.

If memory served, she was about to have a seizure.

“Faith? You okay?”

She didn’t turn. The dog barked once, and Faith crumpled. Levi yanked her toward him so her head wouldn’t hit the counter and eased her onto the floor. She was already jerking, poor kid, muscles stiff, jaw clenched. He turned her on her side in case she threw up. Her eyes were open and vacant, and out of reflex, Levi looked at his watch. 18:34:17. Time the seizure in case it lasted more than five minutes, that was protocol. He wasn’t an EMT for nothing.

He’d seen Faith have a seizure four or five times in school. Somehow, it was scarier now that he was the adult in charge. Her fingers were splayed and rigid, her back arching with the force of the spasms.

Blue paced back and forth, panting and whining. “It’s okay, buddy,” Levi said, his hand on Faith’s shoulder as her arms and legs spasmed. “She’ll be fine.”

18:34:42. Still seizing. What else should he say? Speak reassuringly to the victim, the nurse used to say, and the whole class knew who the victim was. “You’re okay, Faith,” he said. “You’ll be fine.”

18:35:08. “Doing great, Holland. Don’t worry. Your dog is here.” Well, that was dumb. “Me, too. I’m right here.”

It was oddly quiet, the seizure, just the sound of her shoes rubbing against the floor, the sleet pattering against the window, the sound of her hard breathing. “Hang in there, Faith.”

Shit. It couldn’t be fun, having your body and brain rebel against you like this. Her muscles were tight and clenched under his hand, her right arm out in front of her face as if shielding herself from a blow. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Almost done.” Not that he knew anything.

18:35:42. Maybe he should call her dad. As a member of the volunteer fire department, Levi knew there wasn’t anything a call to 911 would do; they’d give her oxygen, which did more to make them feel better than because she needed it. No, she was breathing fine, if hard. No blueness to her face or lips. Dr. Buckthal had done an in-service for Emergency Services last year—Marcus Shrade had a TBI from a car accident, and had grand mals a few times a year. The doc said a seizure would end when it ended. Hopefully soon. Helluva way to get a workout.

Okay, she was stopping. 18:36:04. Her arms and legs stilled, and he could feel the tension start to seep out of her, see her practically sink into the floor as the misfirings in her brain stopped and allowed her muscles to relax. Blue lay down next to her and put his head on her leg.

“Faith? You okay?” He smoothed some hair off her face. She wasn’t shaking anymore, but she was still out of it. Postictal, that was the word, staring straight ahead. The dog’s tail started thumping. “You’re in your apartment, Holland. You had a seizure, but you’re doing fine.” She blinked and swallowed but didn’t answer. He fished his phone out of his pocket and found the Hollands’ number on it. “Hey, John, it’s Levi Cooper. Listen, sir, Faith just had a seizure. Lasted about ninety seconds.”

“You saw the whole thing?” John asked, his voice sharp with concern.

“Yes, sir. Anything in particular I should do?”

“Is she awake now?”

Levi saw that he was stroking Faith’s hair, the red strands impossibly silky. “Faith? How you doing?” She swallowed and looked up at him. “Your dad’s on the phone. You want to talk to him?”

She blinked. “My dad?”