A Different Light (44 page)

“Every step of the way,” he admitted.

“Why?”

“You think I’d let you disappear into the night with a womanizer like Christopher Moore? Especially after Brenda had the florist tack mistletoe up here and there?”

The music stopped and several of the dancers in the crowd applauded enthusiastically.

“And what if I had, Quentin? I haven’t seen you beating much of a path to my door lately. As a matter of fact, every time I see you, you take great pains to run in the opposite direction. Don’t deny it, you’ve been doing it for months.”

“I don’t deny it,” he said, embracing her as the music began again. “Have I told you how beautiful you are tonight?”

“Yes.” She was beginning to steam and wanted no more of his flattery. “Quentin, I have had enough of this. I don’t understand you. First you’re my friend, then you turn on me and make my life just one long run through Hades. Then you like me again and you take me out and we get along splendidly. I didn’t imagine that, did I? I
mean, I thought we were …”

“Splendidly is exactly right,” he readily agreed. “You didn’t imagine anything.”

“Then the next thing I know, you take off like a bat out of hell every time I get within five feet of you.”

“Ten feet,” he muttered. “I tried to keep it to about ten feet. And you left out the part where you wouldn’t speak to me, remember? You were pissed off because I …”

“I remember exactly why I was pissed off, and I apologized to you. I thought you’d accepted my apology.”

“I did.”

“But you’ve still ignored me for the past few months.”

“I was cordial when we ran into each other,” he protested.

She’d grown weary of his playful quips. “I never figured you as one to play games, but I feel you’ve been playing one with me.”

He was silent, holding her close and slowly rubbing her cheek with his. When the song ended he took her by the hand and led her to the small morning room off the kitchen. He turned on a light and bent down to stoke the fire before placing another log on it.

She leaned back against the table in the middle of the room, her arms folded across her chest. He turned to her, walked slowly to where she stood, and ran his hands slowly up and down her arms, staring deeply into her eyes. He kissed her mouth and her chin, her cheeks, her neck, and her shoulder before moving back to her mouth again.

“Stop it.” She wanted an answer, even while her knees buckled and her heart pounded and she wanted him to keep on kissing her. “I want an answer.”

“I thought things would be easier if we put our relationship on hold for a while.”

“Easier for whom?”

“Both of us. Okay, yes, easier for me, mostly. Look, when I did that interview with Rossi, even though I wanted to put his crooked little face through the wall, I had to be objective.” He paused and sat next to her on the table, taking her hand. “When the interview ran, you were so hurt—not because Rossi said unflattering things about you, but because
I
wrote the story. You thought I cared about you—and I did, very much—but that I hurt you anyway for the sake of a story.”

“Quentin, I told you, I understood. At least, after I thought it through I did. It’s all right. I thought we’d put this behind us.”

“It’s never going to be behind us, not as long as I remain on that beat—it’s going to happen again and again.”

“If it’s any consolation, it didn’t hurt so much after the first time.”

“The article I did on Wolmar, when he called you an inexperienced embarrassment to the city …”

“I had to consider the source. They weren’t your words, they were his. Anyway, I am inexperienced, though if I’ve embarrassed anyone from time to time, it’s mostly been me.”

“And the one where I quoted Rossi as saying that the city will be lucky if it doesn’t go into bankruptcy between now and next November?”

“Rolled right off my back,” she said with a shrug.

“How ’bout the one where Rossi …”

“Quentin, this is silly. Yes, I lost my head after that first article, but since then, I’ve come to understand that it’s your job and that what you think and what you report are
not necessarily the same thing. I thought I made that clear to you. At least I tried to.”

“I figured once Rossi wins the primary, he’ll forget you’re alive. So I thought if I backed off for a few months, it would be easier for both of us. Then maybe we could pick up where we left off.”

“Did it help? Backing off?”

“God, no.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “It was a pretty stupid idea, if I do say so myself. I was so busy looking at you, I missed half of what you said at every press conference. Lucky for the
Herald,
we have another reporter assigned to cover the city.”

“I noticed that. What’s up with that?”

“I asked Hughes to bring on someone else for that desk. Look, I had to make a choice. If you and I kept seeing each other, as long as you were in office and I was working for the paper, there was going to be a conflict. I tried to convince myself that I could be objective, but, well, you saw how that worked out.”

“That was my fault, not yours.”

“It doesn’t really matter who was at fault. The point is that my reporting on the city created conflict between us. But if I quit back then, I’d have been letting Hughes down. With Brenda leaving the paper to work at CCN, I didn’t feel I could walk out on him at the same time.”

“If you felt that strongly, why didn’t you ask Brenda to assign you to another desk?”

“Every desk was already covered. I couldn’t bump someone else out of their job just because I wanted it.”

“So what you’re saying is, it was easier to dump me.”

“I did not dump you,” he protested. “I merely put you on hold.”

“Call it what you like. It still hurt.” She crossed her
arms over her chest. “And I don’t see where anything has been resolved. I’m still mayor. You’re still working at the paper.”

“Not anymore.”

She tilted her head to one side, not sure she understood.

“I resigned this morning.”

“You …”

He nodded.

“But I thought you said you couldn’t quit on Hughes …”

“Three months ago, I couldn’t have done it. Hughes didn’t offer me a job at the
Herald
just because there was an opening at City Hall. He wanted to bring me into his family, wanted me to feel part of it since he’d married my mother, and he wanted to offer me a means of making a living while I worked on my book. I owe him, Athen. I couldn’t just walk out on him when he had no one there to pick up the slack.”

“But Brenda’s still at CCN. That hasn’t changed.”

“Hughes and I had a very long and very honest chat a few weeks ago. The end result was that he offered to hire someone else to cover the city. The agreement was that I’d stay until the new reporter had her feet on the ground, then I could leave if I still wanted to. We already had someone on staff who’d been going to the press conferences with me. She’s a natural. She’ll do a great job.”

“Wait a minute, you gave up your job …?”

He nodded.

“That’s huge, Quentin.”

“It is.”

“I don’t understand why you didn’t bother to have this conversation with me before.”

“What would you have said if I had?”

“I’ve already said it. I understood the position you were in. If you have to write something negative, then write it. If I deserve to be criticized, say so. If not, I’ll have to defend myself.”

“The part you don’t understand is that I could not continue to fall in love you while at the same time, on any given day, something I would have to print would hurt you.”

“I just said, I was all right with …” She arched her eyebrows. “Were you? Falling in love with me?”

“A little bit more every day since I met you.” He leaned closer until they were forehead to forehead.

“Want to try again?”

“I think that’s supposed to be my line.” He kissed her nose and nibbled on her bottom lip.

“That was your line last time.” She drew him closer, reaching up to kiss him, feeling their bodies mold together through the soft velvet of her gown.

“Quentin.” The door swung open and Brenda rushed in. “Quentin …”

He reluctantly disengaged his lips and looked over his shoulder at his stepsister.

“I just got a call from downtown. There’s a fire.”

“Where?” Athen asked.

“Fourth Street,” Brenda said meaningfully.

“Fourth Street …?” Athen repeated, then understanding fully what Brenda was telling them, cried, “Oh, my God, no …”

“Come on, Athen.” Quentin grabbed her hand and led her from the room. “Brenda, see if you can find Athen’s wrap and meet me at the front door. I’ll get a car and drive around.”

 27 

The orange flames that filled the sky above Woodside Heights were visible from the end of the Chapmans’ drive. Quentin took the winding curves on two wheels, yet neither Brenda nor Athen appeared to notice.

Fourth Street was blocked off at Schuyler Avenue and a uniformed police officer directed them to turn left, away from the fire. Athen rolled down her window and called to him.

“Officer, it’s Mayor Moran. I need to get through.”

“Oh, sorry.” He walked to the passenger side of the car. “I didn’t see you.”

“How bad is it?” she asked anxiously.

“About as bad as anything I’ve ever seen.” He leaned into the car slightly. “They got trucks up there from every company in the city and every surrounding town, but it’s not doing much good.”

“How close can we get?” Quentin asked impatiently.

“The city’s fire marshal doesn’t want any cars up there, on account of all the pumpers. Plus, there’s the danger of the buildings collapsing, so he doesn’t want anyone to go through. But you could probably drive a block or two more, then park and walk as far as they’ll let you.”

Quentin was off in a shot, turning briskly at the next corner and pulling into the last empty spot closest to the blockade.

“How fast can you move on those shoes?” He gesturing toward Athen’s feet as he put the car in park.

Ignoring him, she opened the door and ran in the direction of the three houses that were engulfed in flame. The fire marshal met her a block from the conflagration
and refused to let her go any farther.

“Any one of those walls could go at any moment, Athen. I can’t let you get any closer. I’m worried enough about the men, without having to worry about you, too,” he said. “We’re trying our damnedest to keep it from spreading to the other side of the street, but it’s touch and go. We’ve already evacuated two blocks in every direction and sent folks to their relatives or to their churches to wait it out.”

Quentin and Brenda caught up with her moments later. They stood in silence, watching the conflagration, until Athen finally exploded.

Athen spit the words from between clenched teeth. “He will not get away with this. That son of a bitch.”

“You don’t think that Dan Rossi …” Quentin began, but she cut him off.

“Oh, yes, I do think. And I will not let him get away with this.”

“Athen, before you start making accusations …”

“Convince me that somehow this is a coincidence.” She turned wild eyes upon him.

Quentin watched the fire burn out of control, watched the façade of the first house crumble, sending red-hot bricks blazing in a shower to the street below. The heat and smoke surrounded them even at this distance and they were forced to pull back to the end of the block.

They watched in helpless disbelief as the second, then the third house fell, shaking the ground beneath their feet and filling the night with smoke and thunder.

Quentin shook his head. “You’re right. This can’t be a coincidence.”

Frozen to one spot, they stayed until there was nothing left to burn but the rubble. Then, stunned, Athen followed
Quentin back to the car. Brenda caught up with the photographer from the
Woodside Herald
and was interviewing the city’s fire marshal as they passed. She waved to them, indicating that she’d get a ride home.

“I can’t believe this happened,” Athen repeated over and over on the drive to her house. “I never would have believed that even Dan Rossi would stoop this low.”