Maybe things would work out, and one day her mother would get to meet Jake and feel his warmth and charm. It wasn’t that hard to imagine Jake at a family meal, telling stories the way her father often did. But not right away. He had a lot to prove first.
She walked toward her silver Nissan in the parking lot, taking long strides as Rick had suggested. Much as she loved Girls’ Night Out with Mom and Aunt G, she was glad it had been canceled tonight—she’d needed to start this new gym program. It was time to make a comeback, physically at least.
The Nissan’s Texas plates, with the state flag waving in the top right corner, stood out even at a distance. Another thing she’d have to take care of soon. She nearly tripped on a crack in the asphalt; she hated that it got dark so early these days. There were few cars in the Windside lot at six-forty-five, and she pictured every other woman her age eating pot roast at a polished dining room table, with a Hallmark husband, and two well-behaved little kids, a boy and a girl.
Or, as Aunt G would say, picture a woman with a lab of her own, making a difference through science and engineering. She smiled at the sound of Aunt G’s voice in her head. She couldn’t believe how rude she’d been, when Aunt G was only trying to help. She’d call her tonight and beg forgiveness. She’d chalk it up to stress, which was totally true. She’d set a new date to look at the emails, and maybe even cook dinner for Aunt G and Matt for a change. Wayne stalking her, Mary/Nina murdered, Jake showing up. Aunt G would understand and forgive her.
She dug her keys out of the new Red Sox duffel bag Robert had given her to welcome her home.
“Time to forget those Astros,” he’d said.
She thought of Robert coming to her rescue the other night, though it turned out to be unnecessary, and uttered a long-distance thank-you to her family. Sure, they could be overbearing at times, but all in all she knew they loved her and wanted the best for her. If only she knew what that was. Uh-oh. More stress.
MC took a deep breath of cool, salty air. Maybe she’d get an apartment here in Winthrop once she had a job. It was on the ocean—she’d never leave the ocean again—adjacent to Revere on the south side, but had no Galiganis. Close, but not too close. MC punched the remote, opened her car door, and tossed her duffel bag over to the passenger seat.
Her heart skipped when she heard a shuffling noise. When nothing threatening appeared, she imagined there’d been an animal in the clump of trees near her car. She started to climb into the Nissan—except a hand grabbed her left arm and held her tight.
She gasped and winced in pain. She tried to kick, but she was locked in place, her legs pressed against the bottom edge of the car. Whoever it was reached down and pushed the button to unlock the other doors. Then he opened the back door and pushed her onto the backseat.
“Shhh,” she heard. “It’s just me, MC.” A familiar voice.
Wayne Gallen slipped in beside her, and grabbed her arm again.
“Wayne!” MC’s heart still beat wildly; she looked in confusion at Wayne’s grip.
“I’m sorry if I scared you, MC,” he said. He let go of her arm, and patted it gently where he’d held it, as if to restore her body to normal. Wayne Gallen was Texas born and bred, and in his pronounced drawl, MC sounded like Eee-em Say. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just didn’t want you to shout out my name or anything.”
Inythin. Wayne was starting to annoy her. Harmless as he was, this was the second time he’d caused a panic attack. And he smelled. Not that she was proud of it, but she and her friends had often talked about how Wayne wore the same shirt all week, a clean one only on Mondays. Typical bachelor, they’d said, but Jake was as well-groomed as her own father, even when he lived alone.
MC’s breathing finally slowed down. “What’s going on, Wayne? Where have you been?” She rubbed her arm through her sweatshirt, then massaged her lower calf where the metal ridge of the Nissan had dug in.
Wayne turned to face her, his knees now on the floor of the car, surrounded by empty water bottles and magazines on their way to recycling.
“Come away with me, MC.”
MC gave him an incredulous look. “What? What are you talking about?”
She really wanted to ask, “Are you crazy?” but forced something less offensive out of her mouth, not to be too rude, and just in case he had gone off the deep end. Wayne Gallen was a good chemist, everyone agreed, but also a little strange. Although he must have earned the same good salary as all the other program chemists, he lived in a trailer park outside town, brought his own lunch every day in what looked like the same paper sack, and gave no visible sign of spending his money elsewhere. And his long, red handlebar mustache alone was enough to qualify him as weird, MC thought.