A Different Light

by Mariah Stewart

  “How long has this woman been on sick leave?”

  “Well, since right after I started, about four years ago.”

  “Four years!”

  Athen was stunned. Four years at full salary, with a city car and no medical reports to justify her infirmity?

  “Mrs. Moran, Mary Jo is Mr. Rossi’s … um, his, ah . . .” Veronica visibly struggled to find the least offensive path to the obvious.

  “I think I can guess what she is,” Athen said dryly. The full import of the unsavory news made her almost nauseated. With shaking hands, she unceremoniously dumped the copy of the automobile file into her bottom drawer. “Thank you, Veronica. You can go back to your office now.”

  “But, Mrs. Moran, you won’t tell anyone that I told you?”

  “Of course not,” Athen assured her. “It’ll be our secret.”

  “Thanks, Mrs. Moran.” Veronica sighed with genuine relief. “I really need this job. At least until Sal—that’s my husband, Salvatore Spicata (don’t you just love alliterative names?)—till he finishes college.” The sound of tiny bells followed her as she headed for the door, the original file tucked under her arm.

  “Veronica,” Athen called to her. “How old is Mary Jo?”

  “I think she’s about three years younger than me, so she’d be about twenty-one.”

  “Do you know if she’s related to the Theresa Dolan who lives on Prospect Avenue?”

  “Mary Jo’s her daughter. I heard Mrs. Fulton talking about her being sick.”

  “Mrs. Dolan is sick?”

  “She has cancer. They said it’s real bad—like, not- going-to-make-it bad.”

  Athen nodded her thanks and motioned for Veronica to close the door.

  She walked to the big window, drew open the curtains, and stared at the world outside. Somewhere out there a young woman is being paid by the city for work she doesn’t do, driving a city-owned car that the city is insuring. She has been collecting a paycheck and driving the car since she was seventeen. And she is Dan Rossi’s mistress.

  Athen’s stomach turned at the thought. She thought for a moment that she was going to be sick.

  What to do with the worms, she wondered, now that the can has been opened?

  12

  Athen, Hal Brader from Channel Eight is on line three.” Edie spoke to her through the intercom.

  “Tell him I’m in a meeting,” she grumbled. “Then get Dan on the phone.”

  It was a given that she’d started the day in a state of agitation. She’d barely slept for the past several nights. The Mary Jo Dolan affair nagged at her continuously. She knew she had to do something about it, but what? To ignore it was to condone it, and she could not do that. On the other hand, she had no idea how she could put an end to it. She’d gotten over the fact that Rossi was having an affair with a city worker. She hated that he’d started the relationship when the girl was under age, but she was now over eighteen, and Athen had no way of proving that anything had gone on before Mary Jo had reached the legal age of consent. So as far as the relationship was concerned, there was little she could do. But the fact that this girl was using expensive city property and had been for several years—well, Athen could do something about that. What, how, and when remained to be seen.

  That the spring rain had continued for four days without ceasing did little to improve her disposition. March had indeed come in like a lion, the temperatures holding just above freezing, the wind blustering down sharply from the north. She’d had enough of rain and cold and didn’t really care who knew it. To top it off, the city’s churches had banded together in a show of solidarity to attempt to force City Council to hand over the keys to several vacant houses for the homeless to use.

  “How are you, Athen?” Dan was obviously in a better frame of mind than she was.

  “How do you think I am? Every reporter in the city is on my case over this standoff with the United Council of Churches. Dan, why can’t we just let these people stay in those houses up on Fourth Street? I don’t see any harm in turning those buildings over for a good cause. The city isn’t using them, and since the UCC is offering to do the renovations at no cost to the city, I just don’t understand …”

  “You don’t have to understand,” he snapped abruptly. “You just stay out of it, do you hear me? No comments to the press. No meeting with these self-appointed do-gooders. Hear me? Athen, do you hear me?” he demanded impatiently.

  “Yes, of course, I hear you.” She bit her lip, taken aback by his outburst. “But I can’t continue to avoid this issue and to dodge the reporters.”

  “Yes, Athen, you can. And you will. Do you understand?”

  “No. No, I don’t. There are people in my face every time I open my office door. They want answers. Why is the city refusing to talk to these people? Why am I taking so long to review a sixty-page proposal? And I have no rational answer, Dan. I have no explanation for it. The newspapers are crucifying me.”

  She could still see Quentin Forbes’s icy blue eyes as he challenged her two days ago, demanding to know just when Her Honor would complete her review of the Council of Churches’ request that the city turn over three old twin houses—confiscated by the city three years ago for nonpayment of taxes—for use as shelters for the homeless who, in ever-increasing numbers, lined the streets of Woodside Heights. That she’d had no answer had been humiliating, and played into his worst opinion of her. She wasn’t sure why it still mattered what he thought, but it did.

  “Let them,” he told her coldly. “Let them do whatever they want. But you are to continue to ignore it. You are not to get involved in this issue. When asked, you say the citizens of Woodside Heights are already overburdened with taxes. You say that the hardworking citizens are having a tough enough time supporting themselves without having to support a bunch of freeloaders.”

  “These aren’t freeloaders,” she snapped. “That’s the point! Not so long ago, most of these people were hardworking taxpayers themselves—people who lost their jobs when the mills cut back or closed down. I will not insult them by calling them names and pretending they don’t count.”

  “Then you say, ‘No comment,’” he growled into the phone. “But you do not meet with them and you do not get involved. Period.”

  “But I want to meet with them. I want to help them, and I don’t understand …”

  “It doesn’t matter whether you understand or not. This is none of your business.”

  “None of my business? Are you serious?”

  It took her a long moment to realize that he had hung up on her. She quietly replaced the receiver and sat at her desk, turning a pen over and over in her hands, her cheeks burning. Rossi had completely disregarded her concerns over the untenable position he was putting her in, he’d ordered her to do something she did not believe in, and then, to top it off, he’d made it clear that she was not to publicly address the issue.

  His last words—“This is none of your business”—had stung the most deeply. She was the elected mayor but the most vital concerns of the people who had elected her were none of her business?

  Shattered and shamefaced, Athen sat motionless at her desk. She had no one to blame but herself for the way this was playing out. She’d allowed herself to get caught up in this and she was beginning to hate it. She was stuck here for another eighteen months, trapped in this office. Her palms began to sweat and the room grew smaller around her. She went to the window and opened it, letting the cold rain blow in on her. When she’d had enough, she closed the window and brushed the rain from her face.

  Why are those three houses so important to Dan that he would risk making her an object of scorn not just to the press, but to the growing number of citizens who appeared to be supporting the idea of a shelter? The city had no use for the properties. Two blocks from City Hall—a block from a series of abandoned warehouses—of what possible value could they be to Rossi?

  “Damn it, it is my business.” The anger grew hotter inside her chest. “A
nd he had no cause to speak to me like that, as if I have no right to an opinion of my own, no right to question his orders …”

  His orders. Of course, she had no right to question his orders. He had made that perfectly clear in the beginning, although she hadn’t realized it at the time. He would tell her what to do and she would do it. She had forgotten the rules and Dan had put her back in her place. Whether or not she would stay there was another matter.

  Athen reminded herself that fate had handed her one trump card. Several times during her conversation with Rossi, the name had almost slipped from her lips. But given only one weapon, she’d have to be very judicious in choosing where, when, and how to use it.

  Depending on how Athen played it, that card could prove to be an ace … or a joker.

  “THAT WAS MR. LOWRY ON the phone, Callie.” Athen poked her head into the living room. “Softball practice has been called off again tonight because of the rain.”

  Callie barely nodded.

  “Callie?” Athen poked in a little farther. “What are you watching?”

  Athen came into the room and stood behind the chair where her daughter sat, riveted to the television screen.

  “Oh …” whispered Athen.

  “Is that all you can say?” Callie demanded angrily. “People are standing out in the freezing rain because you won’t unlock the door so they go inside that house to get warm and dry and all you say is ‘Oh’?”

  “Callie, it’s not that simple.”

  “It is that simple.” Callie spun around in her seat, eyes crackling with accusation. “The city owns that house—it said so on the news—and you are the mayor of the city. You can open up that house, Mom. You know it and I know it. I just don’t know why you won’t.”

  Callie got up and rushed from the room, yelling over her shoulder, “Sometimes I wish you weren’t my mother.”

  Stung to her very core, Athen lowered herself onto the chair Callie had vacated. She had never felt so small, so humiliated, as she did at that moment. Nothing Dan had said to belittle her and remind her of her place, nothing the press had said about her, none of Quentin’s jabs had dug as deeply into her soul as her daughter’s words.

  “It’s not worth it,” she whispered aloud.

  She picked up the remote to turn off the TV, but the scene on the screen held her motionless. The United Council of Churches had organized a sit-in, and for the past four days the news had been filled with the stories of the individuals who had kept the vigil in spite of the storm. She leaned forward to study the faces, old and young, men and women, black and white and Hispanic.

  “Yes, ma’am.” An elderly gentleman was responding to the question posed by the young reporter who was wrapped in a heavy parka. “We will stay here until the city agrees to talk with us. That’s all we’re asking for. We just want them to listen …”

  “I hear you,” Athen replied aloud to the nameless, weathered face on the screen. “I hear you. …”

  I HAVE TO TELL HIM, Athen repeated over and over to herself as she drove into her office the next day. She could not stand the way Callie looked at her, as if she’d betrayed her.

  I have betrayed her. I’ve always taught her to do what’s right, and here I’m going against everything I know is right and I can’t even give her a reason why. It has to stop. We have to talk, Dan and I. And he will have to listen. He has to let me follow my conscience.

  She stepped into the elevator, grateful that no reporters awaited her at this earlier-than-usual hour. Callie’s anger had gnawed at her all night. Her daughter’s words opened the door for her conscience to nag, and her inner voice refused to let her sleep until she accepted that she would have to take the initiative. It was time to cut the strings that tied her hands.

  As soon as she got to the office, she would call Dan and tell him. What was the worst he could do, force her out of office? Judging from Dan’s reaction yesterday, he might be just as happy to have someone else—Wolmar? Justis?—step in for her. At least Rossi would feel fairly certain that neither of them would actively defy him, and while he might find himself in a fight to get the office back when the term ended, Dan might think it was worth it to get rid of her.

  The doors slid open and she fished in her pockets for the key to her door. Raising her eyes as she crossed the lobby, she noticed a slight figure wrapped in a red raincoat just outside her office.

  “Ms. Evelyn? Is that you?” she asked.

  “Yes, Athen.” The woman turned to her.

  “What are you doing here?” Athen shook the water from her raincoat as she slipped it off.

  “I wanted to speak with you, if you have a moment to spare.” The woman looked at her with weary eyes.

  “Of course. Please, come in.” Athen unlocked the office and gestured for Ms. Evelyn to follow her inside. She hung her coat up and motioned for the woman to hand over her own.

  “Why, you’re wet clear through!” Athen shook some of the water from Ms. Evelyn’s coat and hung it over a chair.

  “Well, yes, I suppose I am.” Ms. Evelyn appeared neither concerned nor surprised as she looked down on her sopping-wet trousers.

  “Here, put this on.” Athen handed her a sweater that she kept in the office. “Let me get you some coffee. Sit down, please.” She gestured toward the sofa. “I’ll just be a minute.”

  Moments later, Athen placed a mug of steaming coffee on the table in front of her unexpected visitor. “What brings you down here so early on such a terrible morning?” she asked.

  “Well, it’s the people …”

  Ah, yes. Athen nodded slowly. Somehow she had known this had been the woman’s mission.

  “There are just so many of them. Good, hardworking people, just like you and me, on the streets for the first time in their lives. People who have held jobs from the time they were seventeen, eighteen years old, losing those jobs, losing their homes, through no fault of their own.” Ms. Evelyn’s voice was soft, devoid of anger or accusation. Just the facts. “Jobs moving out of town, banks foreclosing on mortgages, people with no place to go till they can get back on their feet again. It would break your heart as surely as it breaks mine. I’m asking for twenty minutes of your time, Athen, to come down and see for yourself.”

  The lump in Athen’s throat was enormous. She wanted to tell Ms. Evelyn everything: that she wanted to help but she’d been forbidden to intervene, but the words stuck in her throat.

  “All we’re asking for is a place for folks to stay while they figure out where to go next.” Ms. Evelyn’s voice was hypnotically gentle. “We need a place where they can get out of the cold and have a warm shower, sleep in a warm bed. The churches will take care of the expenses. It won’t cost the city a dime. We’ve raised the money. We’ve had beds, food, and clothing donated. But we need a place to shelter these souls. And I knew if I explained it to you, you’d do the right thing.”

  Ms. Evelyn took a long, slow sip from the mug, wrapping her fingers around it to warm them.

  “I knew you’d hear me out, Athen. Now, some folks say I’m wasting my time, that you’re just a cog in the wheel, but I tell them that I know you. I knew your daddy, and I knew your John. I know your child. I know that if you could just see for yourself …” Ms. Evelyn shook her head. “Well, I know your heart is just too good to let this go on.”

  The simple words, their sheer sincerity, humbled Athen, who sat in humiliated silence, knowing that entire families had suffered—continued to suffer—because of her inability to defy the command of the man who pulled her strings.

  She glanced around the well-appointed room, the office of the mayor of Woodside Heights. Where was the power? she asked herself. Was it in this office, or did it still rest with the man who had once occupied it?

  Perhaps it was time to find out.

  “It looks like the rain has stopped.” Athen rose and reached for her coat.

  She handed Ms. Evelyn her still-wet overcoat, and met the woman’s eyes without shame for the first time sin
ce she’d arrived.

  “Come on, Ms. Evelyn. Let’s take a walk. …”

  EVEN AFTER HAVING SEEN THE news coverage, Athen hadn’t expected the crowd to be quite so large. The wet, shivering mass of men, women, and small children extended from the corner of Fourth and Sycamore all the way up the sidewalk past the third of the big twin houses that were at the center of the dispute. Word of her arrival spread quickly, so that by the time she’d gone less than twenty feet a path opened before her.

  The anonymous faces from the news reports were suddenly flesh and blood. Patiently expectant eyes followed her as she passed, but no one spoke to her. But she knew they were all carefully watching to see what she would do.

  Those huddled closest to the front of the first house parted ranks silently to permit her access to the building. Police guards stood on the porch, arms folded impassively across their chests.

  “Good morning, officers.” Smiling as she climbed the steps, Athen assumed an air of confidence she did not feel.

  “Morning, Mayor.” The officer blocking the door returned her greeting pleasantly. Harry Stillman had gone to school with John, and the two had remained friends. The two younger men, however, shuffled uncomfortably, unsure as to what, if any, action they should be prepared to take.

  “I’d like to go inside, Harry,” Athen told him without breaking stride as she crossed the porch.

  “Chief said no one’s to go in,” the officer said apologetically.

  “Harry, I’m the mayor,” she whispered. “Chief Tate works for me.”

  He appeared to mentally debate for a very long moment, then asked, “Do you have the key?”

  The key. Of course she had no key. She shook her head, no.

  “I can probably get it open for you.” He grinned nonchalantly, assuring her that a locked door was no obstacle for the former center of the Woodside Heights football team.

  Athen hesitated, thinking through the unexpected dilemma that she faced. Breaking into the building had certain implications. But who would have the key? She tapped a foot in agitation. She couldn’t very well call City Hall and inquire as to its keeper. Besides, she knew Rossi would know within minutes, and then the door would never be opened.