to turn into a temporary play area.
When this go-round proved to be as fruitless as the first, she hurried out to the front yard again. There she found her mother. Cecilia Dombrowski was directing the movers like one of the field marshals who had existed in her family tree.
One look at her daughter’s face had Cecilia halting in midcommand. “What is it?”
Years of taking on too much, of trying to be invincible, had brought Lisa to the brink of collapse and had her tottering there now. She felt herself very close to crumbling and hated herself for having the feeling. “I can’t find her anywhere, Mother. I can’t find CeCe.”
The older woman set her mouth grimly. Moving quickly, Cecilia did an about-face and placed herself in the center of the movers. Raising her hands, she immediately captured their attention.
“My granddaughter is missing. You all know what she looks like. Please stop what you are doing and look for her. Now.” The movers, four burly men of varying heights, looked at one another, somewhat bewildered and confused. “Now,” Cecilia repeated. She pointed first to the left of the house and then to the right. “There are houses on both sides of this one. Knock on doors. Ask. She was here a few minutes ago and her legs are short. She could not have gone far. Your legs are much longer, you can cover more distance. Please.”
The last word was issued as more of a command than a plea. Cecilia’s look was unwavering as her eyes swept over the four men’s faces.
The men quickly scattered, doing as she asked. The furniture could wait.
With a semisatisfied sigh, Cecilia turned to her daughter. She placed hands on Lisa’s shoulders and Lisa could feel warmth and encouragement in the very contact.
“You do the same. Go. Look. We will find her. You know that we will.”
There were times Lisa felt that even God wouldn’t argue with her mother and she certainly wasn’t about to. Just hearing Cecilia’s reassurances that this would all be resolved shortly and satisfactorily heartened her and gave her something to cling to. Never mind that it was intangible.
“Yes,” Lisa answered with more conviction than she felt. “We will.”
“Good, I will remain here, in case she returns home on her own. You know how CeCe is,” Cecilia said, smiling.
Lisa blew out a breath, telling herself she was just overreacting. CeCe knew better than to go far.
Then where was she? she demanded silently.
Nodding at her mother’s words, Lisa began to walk to the house on the left, the last one on the corner of the development. A car passed by on its way out, its windshield catching the sun and instantly flashing it all around like a sunburst intent on illuminating the immediate surrounding area.
The glare hurt her eyes. Shading them with her hand, Lisa squinted.
And that was when she saw it.
The fire station across the street on the corner. She’d only paid marginal attention to it when she’d driven past it before, taking notice of it the way she had the library and the high school beyond, as part of the scenery, nothing more.
Now it registered with glaring lights. A fire station.
It wasn’t as if it was immediately accessible. Between the house and the fire station was a wide street with three lanes of traffic going in either direction and a small island in between for pedestrians who weren’t quick enough to take advantage of the traffic signal.
CeCe loved fire trucks.
Oh, please, let her be there.
Her heart in her throat, not waiting to tell her mother her hunch, Lisa paused only to glance at the flow of immediate oncoming traffic and to take in the traffic light that was, for at least this moment, green. Taking advantage of it, Lisa sprinted across the street like the high school track and field team member she’d once been.
She made it across the entire street, eschewing the island, before the yellow light had a chance to slip into red.
He didn’t know exactly what made him turn just then. Maybe he’d been half waiting for the approach of a frantic parent, maybe it was nothing more than chance that had made him look through the window facing the street just then. Whatever the reason, he caught the motion out of the corner of his eye and then found himself mesmerized as he watched the woman sprint from one corner to the next.
The woman moved like a gazelle.
She moved, he realized, the way the wind would, if it had taken on the form of a young, shapely woman with hair the color of sunshine just after sunrise. Dressed in white, cuffed shorts that brushed against her upper thighs as she moved and in what could only be termed as a skimpy red tank top that clung to the swell of her breasts with each breath she took, she was definitely a sight to behold. He was surprised that some of the other firefighters on duty weren’t hanging out of the upper story window, cheering her on.
Bryce sobered as she made it to the opposite corner. This had to be CeCe’s mother. The concerned look was a dead giveaway.
“Honey,” he said to the little girl who was holding his hand as if they were old friends, “I think I just spotted your mommy.”
CeCe pressed her lips together in deep concentration, as if she was trying to remember something or reconcile a new fact with the ever-growing data base that was expanding in her mind. “Mommy doesn’t like spots on her. She’s very clean.”
He bit back a laugh. “Right now, I’d say she was very angry.” He drew CeCe over to the doorway just as the woman ran up the walk.
“Excuse me,” Lisa called out the instant she saw Bryce’s movement, “have you seen a little girl go—CeCe!”
CeCe looked mystified by both Bryce’s observation and by the strange look on her mother’s face. She thought she saw tears shining in her mother’s eyes. Tears made her feel sad.
Mommy didn’t cry very often, but when she did, CeCe always felt that there should be something she could do to make her mother feel happy again.
CeCe put on her brightest smile. Mommy always said she liked seeing her smile. “Hi, Mommy. Are you okay?”
“I am now.”
There had been very few times in Lisa’s life when she had felt like laughing and crying at the same time. This was one of them. Fears she had refused to allow loose were now throbbing in her head like so many explosive puffs of steam expanding within a pressure cooker.
Completely ignoring the man with her daughter, Lisa dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around CeCe. Pulling her close to her, Lisa hugged her daughter while fighting a losing battle with her overwrought emotions. It took everything she had not to burst into tears and sob her relief.
Only after she had assured herself that her daughter was real, safe and unharmed did Lisa lean back and, still holding on to her, look at the small face. “Oh God, CeCe, how could you do this to me? How could you run off like that?”
The answer seemed perfectly logical to the four-year-old. “He has a fire truck. A real one.” She pointed to the vehicle in
