Fire at Dawn: The Firefighters of Darling Bay 2 Read Online Free PDF Page B

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