I mute the sound on the TV. I don’t think Jeffreys can volunteer any information that I haven’t already gotten via Scott. Besides, he’s not the one I’m looking for.
Jeffreys talks for a few moments, then images of the restaurant from better, un-burned days splash across the screen.
I unmute the sound.
“—this three-star Michelin establishment,” the newscaster is going on. “Owner and premier head chef Stephanie White had this to say…”
I sit up straight in my chair as the camera cuts to another location on site. Steph’s face dominates the screen.
“Everyone in the restaurant got out safely,” she says, “and that’s the thing that matters the most.”
“And what will you do now?” the newscaster asks.
Steph shakes her head, glances over her shoulder. “I don’t know. I really don’t.”
She looks lost. My hand clenches tight around the remote again.
The scene cuts back to the front of the building, and why not—it’s carnage that sells, not the human angle, after all. I switch off the TV. I’ve seen enough.
My phone rings not long after. Scott has been typically quick and efficient with his intel-gathering.
“Okay,” he says, “generally speaking, if White has good insurance—”
“And she probably does,” I muse.
“And she probably does,” Scott concurs, “after the structural inspection, all of the flame-broiled décor can be hauled out and the reconstruction can begin as soon as that’s done.”
“What’s the timeline on starting the reconstruction?”
“Depends on how long it takes to get the inspection. Could be as much as a month, could be as little as two weeks if she catches all the right breaks.” He pauses. “Are we still—”
“Yes,” I say. “We’re staying out of it.”
“Trent, I just want to be sure you understand the magnitude of what White’s facing here. You think you had to pay out the big bucks to get your kitchen put back in order…well, that was only one room. We’re talking about an entire restaurant. You can’t just call up one company and say, ‘Hey, there was a fire at my restaurant. Can you come in and fix everything?’ She’s going to be dealing with multiple contractors at all hours of the day and night. It’ll be enough to drive her up the wall.”
I drum my fingers on the arm of my chair and force myself to say the words. “She’ll be okay.”
“I’m just saying, there’s no magic wand to be waved over this mess. The closest thing to it would be the kind of influence and resources that are beyond her means.”
“But not beyond mine.”
“No, not beyond yours.”
“Scott, she doesn’t want a bail-out.”
“Yeah, but how do you know that?”
I close my eyes and massage my temples with one hand. “Because I know her. She’d rather operate a hot dog cart on the sidewalk corner than take charity to get her business back online.”
“So this is a pride thing?” Scott says. He sounds doubtful.
“More like an independence thing,” I tell him. “I can’t just up and offer to bankroll her reconstruction effort, and I’m sure as hell not going to engineer it behind her back. I’ve learned my lesson when it comes to that.”
“So we’re going to do nothing.”
“Yes, that’s right. For the time being, we do nothing.”
“For the time being?”
“I’ve got an idea, but it’s pretty rough and splintery at this point. I’ll share the details once I’ve got them sorted out in my head.”
“Fair enough. Anything else you want me to look into?”
“No, Scott, that’s it for now. Thanks. I’ll be in touch.”
I’m quiet for a few minutes, thinking. Then, before I can second-guess myself, I pick up my phone and call Steph.
“Hi,” she says when she picks up. There’s no anger in the greeting, I’m glad to note.
“Hi. I heard you got some bad news.”
“Pretty rotten news, yes. I didn’t know the Chicago news was so popular over in London.”
“Curtis called and told me.”
“Oh. Must have been a sour note to get from home while you’re away.”
“I’m not the one whose business went up in flames. Steph, I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” she says. “I understand it was a wiring malfunction.”
“I’m not apologizing for your restaurant burning. I’m apologizing for from before I left.”
She gives a weak little laugh. “To be honest, Trent, the edge’s kind of got taken off that situation by more recent events.”
We are quiet for a moment, the silence spinning out between us.
Then, she says, “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Have you been with Jamie Wells there in London?”
I don’t hesitate to answer her question. “No. She came by my hotel room, tried to start something up, and I shut her down. She left, probably pretty mad while she was at it.”
“Really?”
“Really. I’ve been having phantom pains in my arms and legs where she’s no doubt been jabbing a needle into a voodoo effigy of me.”
“You weren’t with her, then.”
“Never have been, never will be.”
Steph is quiet again for almost half a minute. “I’ve missed you,” she says.
In that instant, I know I was right to call her. “I’ve missed you, too.”
“I’ve almost called you something like a hundred times.”
“Me, too.”
“So why didn’t you? Apart from that one time?” There’s no reproach in her question, only naked curiosity.
“You know,” I say, “just at this moment, it’s hard to say why not. Why didn’t you go through with it and call me?”
“I thought you’d still be angry with me,” she replies.
“That’s been the furthest thing from my mind.” I look out the window of the plane. We are going through a cloudbank, so there’s nothing much to see at the moment. I’m anxious to catch sight of the land
