Free One Night in Boston by Allie Boniface

office, I don’t have any idea where to start looking.”
    “I’ll see what I can find out.” Eden rustled some papers in the background. “When will you be here?”
    “Maybe four or so? If traffic isn’t too bad.”
    “Call me when you get into town. And I’ll call you back if I hear anything between now and then.” Eden paused. “Are you sure there isn’t anything else I can do to help? Do you need money?”
    Maggie shook her head, surprised that it had taken her friend nearly ten minutes to guess the truth. “No. But thanks for offering.” Though Eden worked as executive assistant to one of the top defense attorneys in the city, Maggie was sure that her posh little apartment, designer clothes, and the zippy red sports car she drove more than sucked dry her weekly paycheck. No, finding Dillon was the most practical answer. She could only hope.
    *
    Dillon swung his pick-up truck into the space marked “Reserved” and dodged raindrops on his way inside the office. Flipping on the overhead light, he settled himself into the chair behind his computer. Two of his guys had stopped by, judging by the paperwork lying on his desk and the half-full pot of coffee. He poured himself a cup and stuck it in the microwave to warm up. Scanning his appointment book, he mentally rearranged the jobs for sunnier days.
    Rained more this month than any other June I can remember , he thought. When he was a kid, summers seemed to stretch out with sunshine from dawn to dusk. Any rain that passed through came and went in the time it took to run inside and have a snack at the kitchen table. He ran a finger down the list of jobs he’d had to reschedule just this month: six. Not good. Fatigue, helped by the previous night’s tequila shots, pinched the back of his neck and squeezed his temples. Dillon flopped into a slouch and closed his eyes for a minute.
    The memory slipped inside his mind’s eye before he could shoo it away.
    *
    “Dillon, will you make me one?” Her voice, too big for her tiny, ten-year old frame, bounced across the room to him.
    “Nope. Go away.”
    “Please. I won’t bother you again for the rest of the day. I promise.” In an instant, his kid sister Maggie was pulling a chair up next to him, leaning both elbows on the table and staring at his sandwich like she hadn’t eaten in a year.
    “Yeah, right. In an hour you’ll be bugging me to let you play in the fort with me and Jimmy.” At thirteen, he knew he should pretend to be too old to talk to little girls or make them sandwiches. Still, down deep, he sort of liked Maggie. He liked the way she followed him around, the way she only let him apply her Band-Aids, the way she sat curled up next to him on the couch when they watched television at night. At least when Dad married this time, Dillon had gotten a sister out of the deal. That was pretty cool.
    “Please, Dillon.” She refused to let her mother trim her bangs and crazy curls fell into her face. He laughed; he couldn’t help it. And when he put down his sandwich to take a long drink of milk, she snatched it from his plate and ran into the living room, giving it back only when he caught her and tickled her until she squealed.
    *
    Dillon’s eyes flew open as the telephone rang. Jesus , he thought, where did that memory come from ? He ran a palm over his forehead and found it damp with perspiration.
    “Good afternoon, Spectacular ‘Scapes, may I help you?” The words came out in one long, ragged sentence.
    A woman cleared her throat and said, “Yes, hello. I’m interested in getting an estimate for a flagstone patio?”
    “Sure, go ahead.” He grabbed a notepad and jotted down the woman’s address and phone number. At least the rain hadn’t chased away potential clients. He’d just have to find a way to work them all in.
    “Could I ask you another favor?” the woman went on.
    “Sure.”
    “Well, I’m the vice-president of the Women’s Horticulture Club of Greater Boston. Would you be