I climbed in the Chevy, slamming the door. I put my hands on the steering wheel, thinking how Bryan’s strong hands had touched the same wheel, years ago. That damnable mayor. How could he suggest I discard a perfectly working vehicle?
But he was right on one count. I was too wound up to drive now.
So I sat in my truck, sipping lukewarm coffee from my thermos, as the mayor’s limousine, then the Mercedes and various swanky sports cars rolled off the parking. As the lot emptied, and the last protesters milled away, a measure of calm returned to me.
Looking at the modest building standing beside the lot, I felt grateful that it had been a prank. If it had been a real fire, there was no doubt in my mind that I would have joined Bryan wherever he was. Usually, such a thought would leave me m
