Her phone rings. Fearing it’s Michele—or worse, Charlotte—she flips it over. But it’s neither of them. It’s Gene Soboleski, Michele’s half brother. Hank’s best friend. Come on, T-Mobile and USPS. I need that new SIM card. She almost doesn’t answer it, but then changes her mind. Gene is her friend, too.
She jumps up, finger in her other ear to block the clank of glasses and silverware. She presses accept with the thumb of the hand holding the phone. “Hello?”
“Maggie May, it’s Gene.”
“So I see and hear.” Using her tush, she opens the door and steps outside, into the dusk of an early fall evening in Texas.
“It’s kind of an emergency.”
Her breath exits her lungs in a whoosh. Hank. She drops onto Bess’s bumper, a poor excuse for a seat, but all she has between her and the ground as her legs go wobbly. “What’s wrong?”
“Hank’s been out of sorts since he got out of the hospital. About you.”
Not the kind of emergency she’d feared. She draws in a deep breath and gets a snoot full of the pain of Hank’s baby and engagement. “Not my problem.”
“He disappeared yesterday afternoon. His truck’s gone. Sheila’s on my ass. I haven’t heard from him.”
She grabs hold of his words like a life preserver. He and Sheila are fighting. “Sounds like she’s having trouble keeping him on the leash.”
“Help me out here. Have you seen him? Talked to him? Heard from him?”
“Not in a few days. And, Gene, I’m in the process of changing my phone number so that I won’t hear from him.”
“I was hoping he came chasing after you.”
You and me both. “Sorry to disappoint you and Sheila.”
“Maggie—”
“I have to go. I’m headed to your father’s wedding reception.”
“What?”
“Yes, Edward married last week.”
“Married who?”
“My mother. Which makes you my stepbrother now.”
“Damn. Maybe that’s why Michele called me so many times. Guess I should have answered. And now I have another new sister.”
“Lucky you. So as much as I’d love to keep talking about Hank and his pregnant fiancée, I have to go.”
She presses end call. Enough wallowing. So Hank has cold feet and is drunk somewhere, maybe riding a bull for old times’ sake. That’s Sheila’s problem, not hers.
And thinking about it could just break her heart.
Eighteen
Sober enough. That’s how Maggie thinks of herself. She puts one foot in front of the other as she tightrope walks into the church, ever so carefully. She doesn’t stretch too hard, but she gives herself a little pat on the back. She’s not even late for the service. A small miracle, given the monumental setbacks she’d endured at Los Patrones. Learning she has a traitor amongst her new friends. Reading the lies being spread about her. Running into Thorn. And getting the call from Gene. Gene, about Hank.
Damn Hank Sibley and damn Gene for calling. She can pretend to Gene that she doesn’t care where Hank is and call it Sheila’s problem, but she can’t lie to herself. She craves Hank, longs to see his name on her caller ID. His face at her door. He’s like a sickness, sapping her strength, leaving her weak and vulnerable. But she’s going to protect herself from him. She’s changing her phone number, soon. And she won’t even be in her home until tomorrow when Leslie leaves, and Maggie’s homelessness ends. If he shows up—which he won’t—she’s safely tucked away at Michele’s.
In the meantime, she can call Hank and hang up. Just to see if he’ll answer for her. To reassure herself he’s all right.
Or she could if she had no pride or spine left.
“Shit.”
Heads turn inside the vestibule. She rolls her lips inward. Must not curse aloud. Talking to herself in general is a negative in church, even more so when she’s drunk enough to swear, too. And—oh hell. All right. Yes, she’s drunk. How else is she supposed to handle all this? People staring, asking about Gary and everything they’ve read online—and yes, she’s upset about what’s going on and sad about Gary, but he’s gone, and he isn’t who she loves.
She loves Hank. She fucking loves Hank. She doesn’t want to, but she does, and it makes her want to scream and tear at her hair. Instead, she keeps advancing into the church to witness yet another union of happy lovers. Insult to injury, even if it is her own mother and she should just be happy for her.
“Maggie.” She turns to a tall, distinguished man with thick salt-and-pepper hair. His suit is custom-made. His shoes are Italian leather, bought in Milan, or so he claims. This is the man she’s come to know as her birth father in the last two years.
“Boyd.”
He kisses her forehead and hugs her to his side. Then he chuckles. “Don’t let anyone strike a match near your mouth, honey.”
“What are you doing here?”
“It’s your mother’s wedding and reception. Of course I’m here.”
“Were you invited?”
He busts out a laugh. “Your mother and I share a common interest. You.”
“So you’re saying you were invited?”
“Yes.” He grins. “When I called and asked if I could come.”
“I knew it.”
Two church ladies appear on Maggie’s near horizon. Tonight they’ll lecture her about the impact of her week-long absence and recent notoriety on her mother, along with suggestions about how much good it would do Maggie to have more Jesus in her life. These are the women who have prayed for Maggie since her infancy, and it hasn’t done any good so far. She has no misconceptions it will start working for her now.
But whether she likes it or not, she braves them and the “church of the Wends” once a month with her mother. Maggie isn’t a churchy person, but even she can admit there’s something special about St. Paul Lutheran. A plain white wrapper on the outside, a come-to-Jesus organ inside, with color, color everywhere, the most amazing of which is the stained glass and the brilliant Wendish-blue walls.
A woman whose hair blends right in with those walls zeroes in on Maggie. “You’re here for your mother. God bless you.”
“Of course I am.” Maggie moves closer to Boyd.
A stylish-circa-1970 woman with a gray bob takes the next go at Maggie. “We pray for you all the time. The power of prayer triumphs again. Praise God.”
“You didn’t get me here by praying. I came because it’s my mother’s wedding and reception.”
Blue Hair turns to Boyd. “Senator Herrington, what a blessing to have you joining our congregation to celebrate sister Charlotte’s marriage.”
Gray Bob adds, “We’ll pray for you, too.”
Maggie grins as Blue Hair takes one of Boyd’s arms and Gray Bob grabs the other. He looks like he’s facing his personal judgment day. She uses their interest in an even bigger sinner than her to slip away and sit with Rashidi and Michele.
The short ceremony is a beautiful blur. When it’s over, Maggie’s drunk has worn down to a weary buzz. She walks from the nave toward the school with her expanded family, everyone chattering but her. Suddenly, Charlotte stops and hugs a woman with a killer bod whose back is to Maggie. “Leslie, so good to see you.”
“And you, Charlotte.”
“Let me introduce you to my daughter. Or daughters, I guess, now that Edward and I are married.”
The woman turns. It’s Maggie’s squatter, her face as overly made-up and immobile as ever. Maggie is starting to wonder if she’s on the autism spectrum or has had a stroke. “I know Michele. Good evening.”
Michele smiles. “Hi, Leslie.”
“And this is Maggie,” Charlotte says. “Have the two of you met face-to-face yet?”
“Maggie.” Leslie makes a face like she’s sucking a raw turnip.
Maggie returns a bared-fang smile. “Leslie. Are you packed up to go yet?”
Leslie stares into her eyes without a flicker of response.
Edward e
nds the awkward moment. “My dearest, we’re the guests of honor.”
Charlotte takes Edward’s arm. “Of course.”
The two continue to the school, the site of their reception.
Leslie turns away, shaking a cigarette out of a pack as she walks to the parking area.
Maggie whispers to Michele. “Crazy-ass bitch.”
“You’ve had a contractual misunderstanding. This is why it’s worth it to pay those online VRBO sites their cut. It’s a little something we savvy folks call ‘arms-length transactions.’”
“Bite me. I’ve got to get out of here.”
“No way, new sis. We’re going to celebrate the union of our families.”
Rashidi steps between them. “Give me the honor of escorting the two most beautiful women in Lee County.”
“I’ll take my daughter. You take her sister,” Boyd suggests.
“Perfect,” Rashidi replies.
Maggie grumbles but takes Boyd’s arm and allows herself to be pulled along. Inside the school, they stop for punch and a cookie. Sugar to mask her breath, and damnation to Boyd for pointing it out.
Chewing a snickerdoodle, she looks across the room. The pastor is holding court with Charlotte and Edward. The look on Edward’s face as he gazes down at her mother stops her heart. Dead stop. No beats for three seconds, she’d swear it. Edward loves her mother. And her mom? She’s lit up like a supernova, leaving a trail of sparkles in the wake of her every movement, her face ethereal.
“They’re happy.” Michele bumps a shoulder against Maggie’s bicep. Punch sloshes out of Maggie’s cup.
Maggie holds her punch higher, dodging the spill. She smiles at her best friend and new sister. “They are. Like you are.”
And like I pray I’ll be someday, dammit. If it’s not sacrilegious to pray drunk. In a church. With profanity.
As if she can read Maggie’s mind, Michele says, “You will be, too.”
“May not be in the cards for me.”
Michele gives her head a stubborn shake. “You’re a treasure. As soon as you realize that, good things are coming your way. Believe it.”
“From your mouth past Satan’s ears.”
“Stop it.”
Maggie scans the room. “Hey, I don’t see Lumpy.” And she hadn’t seen him at his house that morning when she picked up the goats and fixed his fence. He and her mother are friends. No way he wouldn’t come to this if he’s in town.
“I haven’t talked to him in a couple of days either.” Michele leans closer to Maggie to whisper. “I got your texts. We’ll talk lawsuit later. You have plenty of time to think about it. Right now I’m more troubled about the source for the TMZ story.”
“My new friends aren’t so friendly.”
“Could it be anyone else?”
“Zero chance.”
“Have any of them fessed up?”
Maggie looks at her phone and scrolls through the new texts in the string.
Wallace: OMG!
Ethan: So sorry, Maggie.
Michele: We’ll talk.
Emily: Oh, Mags, that’s terrible.
Maggie almost laughs. Mags. The name of her favorite bad gal in her favorite TV show. Justified. She misses Timothy Olyphant, who looks more like Hank than any person she’s ever seen. Only Hank, unfortunately for her, is even sexier and harder to wash from her mind. “Nope.”
“What do you want to do about it?”
“Nothing, I guess. Except be more careful about who I open up to in the future. I’m not interested in facilitating someone’s fifteen minutes of fame by association.”
“I’m really sorry. I’ll let you know if I hear who did it.”
Maggie downs her punch and sets the cup on an empty table. “Ready to go congratulate the crazy kids?”
Michele nods. They get in the long line behind Boyd and Rashidi to hug and kiss each parent and new stepparent. Charlotte smushes Michele and Maggie together in a group hug with her.
She draws back. “Do I smell alcohol?”
Michele shakes her head. “Listerine. Sorry. I have a toothache and didn’t want to have bad breath.”
Maggie pats her mother’s back. “You guys have fun. We’re going to get out of the way of your admirers.”
Charlotte releases them, and Edward beams at the women. Maggie blows her mother a kiss.
As Maggie walks away, she talks out of the side of her mouth to Michele. “Thanks for the save.”
“Don’t get used to it. I’m cutting you a break because you’re going through tough times, but I’m about to be all over your ass if this keeps up.”
Maggie stiffens. “I’ve got me under control.”
“It would be a first.”
Stopping, Maggie scowls at her friend. “I’ll slow down. On my terms. Soon.”
“I’m holding you to it.” Michele rolls her eyes. “Loving you is hard work.”
Maggie’s short snit breaks apart. She smiles, until her phone rings with an incoming call from the Lee County Sheriff’s Department.
Nineteen
It’s a miracle Maggie makes it to Flown the Coop alive after the call from Junior.
Her shop is on fire. Completely ablaze. Her barn is burning, too. The house is safe at this point, but that’s small consolation. According to Junior, firefighters are on scene, trying to salvage something, anything, but there are no guarantees.
Her entire livelihood is burning to the ground. Her entire identity, since she gave up the music world.
She smells smoke and hears sirens and the roar of the fire beast before she clears the last corner to the house. Turning into her parking lot, she drives helter-skelter through a barricade, jerking Bess to a stop beside Junior. She jumps out, but forgets to take the truck out of gear. Bess lurches and jerks to a halt, then stalls bare inches short of a big red fire truck with an enormous hose snaking from it. Two firefighters in full battle gear wrestle the hose like an anaconda as it spits a thick spray of hissing water at the shop. Junior leaps into Bess and sets the brake.
“Ring of Fire” loops in Maggie’s head as she runs toward her Coop. Her heart seizes. Her father—she doesn’t remember him fondly most of the time, but does now. Overspray and ash rain down on her. Visions of the burning woman return to her. Her eyes comb the windows, afraid of what they’ll find there.
Strong arms arrest her flight. “Ma’am. No.”
She struggles to break free. “My store. My stuff. All of it.”
“I understand.”
She continues fighting. “You don’t.”
Junior arrives and helps restrain her. “Maggie. Listen to me. Stop it. You can’t do anything but hurt yourself. Let them do their job.”
Maggie’s knees buckle. Only Junior’s grip on her arms keeps her from puddling on the ground.
“I don’t understand. I don’t understand. I don’t understand. Two times in three days. I don’t understand.”
Junior hauls her up and shakes her gently. “Come on. Let’s go talk.”
Somewhere in the back of her brain she knows she should resist. Michele would tell her this conversation should wait for her to get there. And she’ll be here soon, Maggie knows. Michele ran fast as a NASCAR pit crew to get Rashidi after Maggie repeated Junior’s horrible news. They can’t be far behind her.
But Maggie follows Junior anyway. She’s too defeated to resist. He leads her to his Tahoe, parked perpendicular to the yellow tape barrier she’d run over with Bess. They pass county employees restringing the tape from sawhorses.
“Sit inside.” He opens the back door of the Tahoe.
She crosses her arms, cradling herself. “N-no. Outside. I need to see. I need to hear.”
“I think you’ll be happier inside.”
She shivers. “I’m c-c-cold.”
“Shit. Okay, yeah, shock. Let’s get you to the EMTs.”
At the ambulance, they take Maggie through the familiar drill. Shock blanket. Loosening her clothes. Getting her to lie down. Junior kee
ps stealing glances at an unmarked vehicle next to the fire truck. It’s an SUV with a light on top. Maggie follows Junior’s gaze to Karen, the fire marshal, and the tall Fayette County sheriff. They’re leaning against the SUV, watching her.
“Oh no. No, no, no.” She stands, dropping the blanket. “No way.”
Junior puts a hand on her forearm. “Maggie, wait.”
But she takes off toward the fire, not listening to Junior. Junior isn’t her friend. He’s a deputy. This isn’t the same young man she’s known since before he joined the Lee County Sheriff’s Department, back when he was just a local boy trying to find a decent job in a small town. Who she has always treated kindly—for her, at least—because of his not-so-secret crush on her. Either he’s in on it, or he’s being used. Either way, Fayette County thought they’d catch her with her guard down with her store burning before her eyes. Get her to incriminate herself while she’s vulnerable.
Like that would make a difference. She’s the victim here. The victim.
When she reaches the reconstructed barrier, there’s a cluster of official personnel ten feet past it. Beyond them, the Coop is still ablaze, but the barn is only smoldering. Flames are no longer leaping for the sky and lunging out the windows.
She calls out. “Excuse me. I’m the owner. Can I get a status update?”
A female Lee County deputy looks over her shoulder. She walks to the barrier and faces Maggie across it. “Long way to go.”
“Did they catch it in time?”
“If you mean in time to save the building or the contents, I’m afraid not. Most of the roof fell in before the firefighters got here. Not sure if there will be anything salvageable inside.”
Maggie sucks in a breath, long and whistly.
“I’m sorry, ma’am.”
“What about out back? The barn.”
“Give me a minute. I’ll ask.”
The deputy works her way over to a firefighter. Maggie watches the two converse, the firefighter removing his helmet and unzipping the neck of his jacket while they speak. The deputy returns to Maggie.
Sick Puppy (Maggie #2) Page 12