“And I’m not in London anymore,” I say.
“You’re not? Where are you, then?”
“Flying the friendly skies back to Mother America.”
“You’re coming back to Chicago?”
This is going to be the hard part. “Yes, but there’s something I have to see to first.”
“How long will that take?” she asks. She sounds disappointed. My resolve wavers, then I stand firm. This is the way it will have to be.
“Not long. A week. Maybe two. I promise to make it as quick as I can.”
“That’s the first time you made a promise to me.”
“I keep my promises, too.”
“I hope so,” she says.
“So tell me about where you are in the rebuilding process?” I ask, partly to change the subject, but mostly because I really want to know.
She sighs and tells me. Scott’s fears that the odds against her would be overwhelming are proving to be spot-on. She outlines all of the parties she is constantly on the phone with, architects and masons and plumbers and carpenters. The list goes on and on.
“It sounds like you’re on top of everything, though,” I say.
“Yes,” she concedes, “but every day is like a marathon of red-tape, phone calls, and waiting. The good news is, if the infrastructure of the building is intact, it’ll mostly be a matter of cosmetic work to get things back to the way they were.”
“Still sounds like a pretty huge job.”
“It will be. But I have the contractor’s word on it that they can start as soon as he gets the green light.”
“And how long will it take?” I ask.
“Don’t know. There’s so many things that need to be done. I’m going to have crews working round the clock. My goal is to have everything in order in a month’s time and open back up for business not long after that.”
“Pretty ambitious.”
“Go big or go home.”
“I know what you’re going to say, but I have to ask anyway—is there anything I can do?”
I feel like this is a gamble. I don’t want to nettle her all over again, but I need to put the question out there. She answers, though, exactly like I had expected.
“No,” she says. “I have the best insurance, so it’ll get done.” She laughs again without much mirth. “Somehow.”
“That’s what I figured,” I say. “I just wanted to offer.”
“Thank you,” she replies. “This is something I need to do on my own, though.”
“I know. And you’re going to be fine.”
“Are you sure about that?”
I smile. “Want to bet on it?”
She sounds like she’s smiling as well. “A bet?”
“Yes. I’ll bet you’re back on your feet and running smoothly by this time next month.”
“That’s a pretty narrow window you’re setting me up for, mister. What are we betting?”
I tell her, and she laughs, both honestly and openly. It’s wonderful to hear.
“Call me later?” she asks when she’s done.
“You bet.”
The “I love you” that I want to say is there on my tongue, but I want to be able to say it in person rather than over the phone. I wonder if the words are waiting just behind Steph’s lips, as well.
It’s going to be hard, not just going back to Chicago to see her, but I have something I need to do first.
I call up Scott. He seems not at all put out by the fact that I’d practically just spoken with him.
“I’ve decided what I want to do,” I tell him. “It isn’t much, but it feels honest and like I won’t be crossing any lines with Steph.”
I sketch out my plans for him. I expect him to tell me I’m crazy. He doesn’t.
“Are you sure you want to go through with this?” he says. “I only ask because I don’t think it’s a hundred percent necessary. I think you could get done what you want to do without…investing yourself like that.”
“Maybe, but I want to do this right.”
“You’re going to have to go to some pretty extreme lengths to avoid the press on this,” Scott points out. “They would eat this story up with a spoon!”
“That’s where you come in,” I say. “I need to do this somewhere where nobody knows the name Trent Stone. I don’t care what I have to do. I’ll throw on a fake mustache if need be.”
“I wouldn’t be so flippant about that. You may end up doing just that, my man.”
“Whatever it takes,” I tell him. “Just get it set up.”
“You got it. I’ll call you when I’ve got it all taken care of.”
I hang up and look back out the window again. We emerge from the clouds, and I can see the eastern U.S. coastline sprawling out below us.
Almost home.
Almost time to get to work.
Chapter 27 - Steph
I hang up the phone and let my shoulders sag. The cheap wooden crate, which Daniel so courteously appropriated from the alleyway outside, creaks under me. It’s a poor place to sit, but as of right now, it’s the best seat in the house.
Check that—it’s the only seat in the house.
“That your fella?” Daniel asks from the other side of the room. He had just as courteously given me some privacy for the call by going to re-inspect the kitchen. His examinations couldn’t have been very interesting. Everything was just as burned as it had been the last time he had looked it over.
I smile a little at this. “I don’t know if he’s my fella, but yes, it was him.”
“He coming down to check out the damage?”
I shake my head. “He’s over the Atlantic at the moment.”
“Busy guy.”
“You have no idea.”
Daniel puts his hands on his hips and looks around dejectedly. “Steph, I
