Nancy Warren - Aftershocks

Her uncle turned to look at her, and she saw the hurt in his eyes. “Do you think I don’t care about this city? I’ve lived here most of my life. I know these people. I’ve served them both as a banker and as a councilor. It’s my duty to stop some young hothead with dubious ethics and his own agenda from spending us into bankruptcy. I won’t let him destroy this city, Briana. I won’t.”

“Are you sure this isn’t personal?” she asked softly.

“Of course, it’s personal. He ruined my chances of ever being mayor, he ruined my loving wife’s peace of mind for weeks. Now it looks like your precious mayor is trying to ruin my relationship with my niece!”

“I just want to do the right thing,” she said, rising from her chair.

“Then do it. Make that bastard pay for hurting your family.”

“OKAY, PATRICK, we’ll be live in five, four, three, two, one and-” The light on the camera blinked and Patrick looked directly into the camera. He didn’t need any speaking notes or other aids from his communications advisor. He was appearing live on KSEA TV station at the time of day when most of Courage Bay was tuned in. The local news was finished and the station had preempted some programming to give him a chance to talk directly to the city’s citizens. Patrick knew exactly what he wanted to say.

He’d explained to the head of the station earlier in the day what he wanted to do, and Timeright Communications, the station’s owner, had been more than willing to provide him this public forum. After the day’s regular news, Patrick was on a live broadcast to take his message straight to the people. This would be followed by a live phone-in segment with KSEA’s news coanchor, Andrew Hayden.

“People of Courage Bay,” Patrick began, speaking from his heart to the people he’d seen at yesterday’s ribbon-cutting, to the families who’d lost relatives in the crises of the past few months, and to his neighbors, friends and voters.

“For more than one hundred and fifty years, the people of Courage Bay have been known for their selfless and valiant sacrifices in coming to the aid of their fellow citizens in times of disaster. In more recent months, we’ve seen our own times of crisis. We’ve lost neighbors, friends and loved ones. We’ve seen our police officers, our paramedics, firefighters and ambulance drivers risking their lives to avert disaster and save lives. Our hospital staff have worked countless hours of overtime to treat victims of fires, earthquakes, rare viruses, droughts and mud slides.

“Our emergency services teams are stretched to the limits of their endurance. I’ve repeatedly asked city council for more funding to hire additional emergency personnel and to support the strain on the city’s infrastructure and resources.

“As you may be aware, there is a Courage Bay Emergency Fund with several million dollars in it. That fund was set up almost two decades ago to help pay for any unforeseen, extraordinary expenses that might crop up.

“I believe that we need to tap that fund now in order to hire more emergency service workers, keep our emergency equipment in top shape and shorten emergency response times.

“In order to access the emergency fund, we need a one hundred percent yes vote from city council. If you care about your city, your safety and your future, contact your member of city council and demand their support to free up this fund.

“Last night in an emergency meeting, only two of five councilors voted to release much-needed money. It’s time for your voices to be heard.

“Your city council was elected by you to serve you, the people of Courage Bay. I urge you to make your feelings known. I’ll be standing by for the next hour, taking your phone calls. Please feel free to ask me anything. As your mayor, I’ll do my best to answer what I can, and if I don’t know the answer, I’ll make sure and get it to you within twenty-four hours.”

He paused for a sip of water, reminding himself to keep his voice slow and steady. He thought about his mom and about Mrs. Simpson and pretended he was talking to the two of them. By speaking directly to two women he cared for, and who were caretakers themselves, he felt a sense of calm.

“Too much precious time and energy has been wasted. It’s time to support your emergency crews. Call now.”

The camera switched to Anchorman Hayden, who said, “Thank you, Mayor O’Shea. Our telephone lines are open. The station number is at the bottom of your screen. At the end of the program, we’ll also post phone numbers, fax, e-mail and snail mail addresses of all the members of city council. Exercise your right to be heard.” Behind the cameraman, the producer held two thumbs up.

“MAYOR’S OFFICE.” Briana answered the phone on her desk without glancing away from the television screen in Patrick’s office. He was facing the camera, talking sincerely and powerfully, taking his message straight to the people.

As sorry as she was that he’d taken this step without council’s knowledge or approval, she couldn’t find it in her heart to blame him.

She shifted her attention from the TV screen to listen to her caller. “Is my daddy there?” a young voice asked.

“Is this Dylan?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry, Dylan. Your daddy is at the television station right now. He’s on TV. If you turn on your set, you’ll see him.”

“Oh.” There was a pause. Then, “When will he be home?”

“Maybe another hour or two. Is everything okay?”

“I guess. I was hoping he’d be home now.”

Her heart went out to Dylan. He was obviously upset about something and wanted his dad. Maybe there was something she could do to help, Briana thought.

“Did something go wrong at school today?”

“No.”

Well, something must have happened. Had the baby-sitter punished him? Mrs. Simpson had seemed like a decent, caring woman the one time Briana had met her when she brought the kids by to see their dad, but Dylan struck her as a sensitive boy who could be easily hurt. Briana had a feeling that, even though she was younger, Fiona was the tougher one emotionally. Of course, she’d been younger when they lost their mother. Briana was guessing it had hit Dylan hardest.

“Did something happen with Mrs. Simpson?”

While she spoke with Dylan, she kept an eye on the television. Patrick was as appealing on television as he was in person. She had a feeling Dylan would grow up to look similar. Both had the black hair and blue eyes.

“I think maybe it did. She’s not here.”

Her gaze immediately snapped from the TV screen to the phone as though she could see through it. “What do you mean she’s not there?”

“When we were dropped off at home by the car pool, Mrs. Simpson wasn’t home and the door was locked. I had to use the secret hidden key.” His voice held a touch of pride.

Briana would be smiling at how cute he was if her heart weren’t pounding so fast.

“Did the car-pool mom drive away before you and your sister were in the house?”

“Yes.”

“Are you alone? You and your sister?” Alarm spiked through her, but she kept it from her tone. They were awfully young to be alone, and she imagined Patrick would have a fit if he knew.

“Yes. I told you. Mrs. Simpson wasn’t here when we came in the house. I don’t know where she is. She didn’t leave a note.”

Cursing the woman for abandoning her young charges, Briana grabbed her purse and pulled on her navy linen suit jacket. She could try calling Patrick’s mother, or the children’s aunt Shannon, but that would only waste time and she suspected she was geographically closest to the children. She couldn’t stand to think of those kids alone. “I’m going to come over and sit with you until your dad gets back. Would you like that?”