Maggie was about to text her goodbye when a shadow fell across her phone.
“Hi,” a gravelly voice said.
Maggie started and looked up. Miles stood over her.
“Oh, hey.” Maggie stuffed the phone in her pocket. “I didn’t know you were there.”
Miles smiled. “I’m sneaky that way.” He doffed his baseball cap to swat at a wasp, exposing a naked patch of scalp that looked like a pink yarmulke. He replaced the cap, pulling it low to hood his eyes.
“Out for some exercise?” she asked.
“Actually, I wanted to talk to you.”
“Oh?”
“I feel like we didn’t get off on the right foot last week,” he said. “I wanted to offer you a proper welcome.”
Her first impression of him as a snob had been dead wrong. He was probably just shy. She could understand that. She was fluent in introversion. “That’s so nice. I really appreciate that, Miles.”
Miles crouched to the right of Maggie’s makeshift seat. “So tell me about yourself.”
“Um, not much to tell, really. Grew up in Greenville, just graduated from the U with a master’s, more of a dog person than a cat person.”
Miles laughed. “Yeah, me, too.” He squinted across the campus yard. “This is great, isn’t it? Us talking together.” He turned to her, his eyes locking onto hers. “I really hope we can get to know each other better.”
Maggie shifted on the log and gave a half-smile. “Uh, yeah. Me, too.”
“Great. How about drinks after work?”
Maggie blinked. “Drinks?”
“Don’t tell me you don’t drink.” He tut-tutted. “I saw you a couple of weeks ago at The Office with Zartar and that other girl. The fat one who wears brown.”
Maggie could feel her cheeks flame. The fat one? “Hey, now—”
Miles cut her off. “Three vodka Collins in two hours. Impressive.”
Maggie’s mouth hung open. He’d watched her? Made notes on what she consumed? Maggie felt her mental warning flag unfurl. “Oh, I don’t date coworkers,” she said lightly.
“Every rule has an exception,” Miles said. His thin lips spread into a grin. Calculating. Hungry. Almost predatory. “Besides, who said anything about a date? I distinctly remember saying ‘drinks.’”
Maggie licked her lips. The office suddenly seemed very far away. Miles stood, his wide form blocking her view of Rxcellance. The mental warning flag fluttered. Her heart thudded thickly in her chest. Maggie pulled her phone from her pocket and gave an exaggerated look at the time. “Oh, man. I’m going to be late. I’ll see you later, okay?” She brushed brusquely past Miles, giving him a wide berth, and walked quickly toward the building. “Talk to you in the lab,” she said over her shoulder.
Miles called after her or shouted. She couldn’t tell which. She turned her head and saw him step from the little green alcove, fists balled against his legs. He called to her again, but she couldn’t make out the words, couldn’t hear anything over the thwap thwap of the warning flag. Get out, get out, get out it seemed to whisper in the wind.
She bit her lip, forcing herself not to turn around again.
Walking became speed-walking. She burst through the entrance, her heart hammering wildly in her chest. Flushed, sweaty and shaking, Maggie darted into the ladies’ room.
She ran the faucet and splashed her face with water, then pressed brown paper towels against her face, imagining what Fiona would say about scratchy paper products and the delicate skin beneath her eyes. Maggie leaned against a diaper changing station that looked like a tiny Murphy bed.
She took two deep, cleansing breaths. What was wrong with her? She’d run away from Miles like he was an axe murderer. He didn’t do anything except act a bit weird. A little pushy.
But another, quieter voice, the one that came from some ancient part of her brain, told her that she was right to get away from Miles. Right to run.
Maggie dampened a few paper towels and patted beneath her arms. She looked in the mirror and released her hair from its makeshift bun, then dragged her fingers through it. Satisfied she looked normal, or normalish, she exited the restroom to join the flight pattern of workers en route to labs, cubicles or lunch.
Maggie headed toward her desk. She wondered where Miles sat, whether she’d run into him as she made her way through the cubicle farm. Her stomach went oily. He was probably harmless, but she didn’t need any more awkward encounters. She’d just try to stay out of his way when she could—and pivot and cajole and pretend it didn’t bother her when she couldn’t. She’d find a way to get along. She had to.
She plopped into her chair and guzzled water then cold coffee.
“That doesn’t look like a very balanced lunch.”
Zartar stood outside her cubicle, nodding at Maggie’s cup. Roselyn stood beside her, her hair blending into the cubicle’s beige fabric.
Maggie smiled. “It goes with the peanut butter sandwich I brought from home.” Maggie opened the paisley tote Fiona had given her as a graduation gift and produced a plastic-wrapped sandwich as evidence. It looked like a tan hockey puck. “Oh. I guess it got squished under my running shoes.”
“We came by to see if you wanted to have lunch with us in the cafeteria,” Zartar said. She looked at the crushed sandwich. “Looks like all signs point to yes.”
Maggie opened her mouth to decline because that’s what she did. Turn down dates. Say no to concerts. Beg off dinner parties. Then she stopped herself.
Right. New job. New life. New outlook. Besides, the walk hadn’t exactly calmed her nerves. Maybe a dose of camaraderie would. “Sounds great,” she said.
The three trekked to the company cafeteria, a large butter-colored room flanked by floor-to-ceiling windows and two buffets complete with plastic sneeze guards. The room was polka-dotted with dozens of round plastic tables and smelled of French fries, fried fish and industrial cleaner.
Zartar found a table in the corner opposite the entrance. Roselyn shrugged out of her lab coat, revealing a shirt in a shade of brown that Maggie thought could only be called old Band-Aid, and opened a soft-sided black lunch bag. She extracted a cloth napkin and an assortment of Tupperware containers, which she began arranging by size.
Maggie was so mesmerized by the organizational process she didn’t realize Roselyn was talking to her. “And she was folding the clothes over the clothesline and then pinning them,” Roselyn said as she uncapped a cylinder of melon balls. “Can you imagine? Everything had creases.”
Zartar gave Maggie a look. Maggie covered her smile with a hand.
“This is my first time here,” Maggie said. She looked across the room, eyeing a pile of sandwiches lying helplessly on mountains of ice chips. “Is the food here good?”
“Define ‘good,’” Roselyn said.
“Define ‘food,’” Zartar said, popping open a can of Diet Coke.
Maggie weighed hunger against a slab of meat that leered at her from the deli case. She pushed herself back from the table and stood. “How bad can it be?”
Twenty minutes later, the orange Joe Joe’s and defeated club sandwich she had consumed sat in her stomach like a brick. “Ugh. I’d get some more exercise, but I don’t think I have time.”
“How was your walk?” Zartar said “walk” the way most people say “hemorrhoid.”
Maggie hesitated then cleared her throat. “It was fine.”
Zartar arched a brow. “Doesn’t sound very fine.”
“Well, I…I ran into Miles on the trail.” Maggie put her hands in her lap so they wouldn’t notice them shaking. “He’s kind of…um…different, isn’t he?”
The two women exchanged a look. Zartar folded her arms. “You could say that, yeah.”
“What’s his deal?” Maggie allowed one hand to escape, grabbed her water bottle and drank deeply, hoping to dro
wn the feeling of unease that churned with the fried potatoes in her belly.
“His deal,” said Roselyn, “is that his father is Mr. James Montgomery, president of Rxcellance.”
Maggie choked on her water. “His dad is the president of Rx?”
“Yep,” Roselyn said, “and he has a serious case of affluenza. Ironically, the nepotism is sort of a double-edged sword. Daddy Big Bucks treats Junior like absolute crap. He can’t do anything right. His work is never good enough.” She shook her head. “Poor guy.”
“Poor us.” Zartar examined a long crimson nail on her right hand, rubbed an imaginary bit of dust from its mirror-like surface. “My advice to you: watch your ass. He’ll certainly be watching it.”
Roselyn pulled at Zartar. “It’s almost one thirty. We’d better get to the lab.”
Zartar rolled her eyes. “Yes, we wouldn’t want management to give us a tardy, would we?” She looked at Maggie. “You coming?”
Maggie coughed into her elbow. “You guys go ahead. I’ll be right there.”
“Okay,” Zartar said. “See you in Hell—a.k.a Lab 3.”
Maggie watched the women disappear through the cafeteria door, then sank into her chair.
So Miles was the son of the company’s president. Fantastic. Now she’d have to double up on the kid gloves when she turned down overtures. She had a feeling Miles wasn’t used to hearing no.
She pulled her phone from her pocket. She could do a quick check-in with Pop before she headed to the lab. In her peripheral vision, she saw something flicker on the tiny screen. A tiny shift of shadow and light. A reflection. She turned.
Miles stood at the cafeteria door, staring at her. Maggie’s breath caught. How long had he been standing there? How much had he heard?
Miles grinned at her, teeth glistening beneath the cafeteria’s fluorescent glow. He wriggled his fingers at her in a childlike wave, then stepped back through the door. Disappearing as if swallowed whole.
Chapter 6
The van door slid open and Charlene climbed in, her long, tattered shirt billowing commodiously around her stooped frame. The backseats had been excised like rotted teeth, a stack of moving blankets acting as seating stand-ins. Charlene plunked down on the pile of scratchy blue blankets and stared out the window into the nothingness of night and the somethingness of her own reflection.
Charlene considered her image in the window. Smiled to see if it would smile back. It did. That seemed like a good sign.
She closed her eyes. It felt good to sit. Luxurious even after years on the streets spent standing or walking or lying or squatting. But Charlene knew that the extravagance of sitting would soon be replaced by the freedom of flying.
Her shoulder blades were tingling again. The wings would be growing fast now, fueled by elixirs the archangels had given her over the past few months.
It was providence, the way they had found her. Clad in the star-white purity of the highest order of heavenly hosts, they had come while she was sleeping. God had already been talking to her, His mighty voice rising above the din of the squabbles that filled her head. And when the archangels appeared in their bright-white chariot, promising transformation and everlastingness, she knew His prophecies were coming to pass. It was time for her destiny to be fulfilled.
The van door screamed shut. Charlene started at the noise, but kept her eyes closed. She felt a presence at her side, the sensation of eyes watching as she meditated. A smooth, gloved hand touched her forearm. Reassuring yet insistent. Charlene opened her mouth and emptied her mind. Communion was about to begin.
The next morning’s reveille was the ring of Maggie’s phone. She turned over, pulling her new sheet, still stiff and scratchy, over her head. The phone stopped ringing. Then began again. Maggie yanked the sheet down to her chin and squinted at the Scooby-Doo clock her dad had given her for her eighth birthday. Seven forty-five a.m. Crap.
Maggie reached across the mountain of unfolded laundry that occupied the other half of her queen-size bed, plucked the phone from the nightstand and checked the screen. Fiona.
“Oh, hello, dear.” Fiona sounded surprised, as if Maggie had called her. “How are you?”
Maggie threw back the sheets and ran to the bathroom. “I’m actually running late.” She kicked off her shorts and slid deodorant under each arm. She stopped. “Is everything okay? This is early for you, isn’t it?”
A pause. “Oh, everything’s fine, dear. Sounds like you need to run. I’ll call you tonight.”
Maggie pulled on a cream-colored skirt and shimmied into a sleeveless silk button-up that Zartar insisted she buy during their lunchtime shopping excursion.
“You’re sure everything’s okay?”
“Yes, everything’s great. I’ll talk to you later.”
Fiona signed off. Maggie had the distinct feeling she was lying. She’d have to think about that later. Right now, she barely had time to breathe.
Maggie splashed her face with cold water, showed her teeth the toothbrush, then raked her hair into a ponytail. She flew out the door and into the Studebaker and cranked the ignition, feeling the same panic that clawed at her when she was stuck in traffic.
She couldn’t be late. She couldn’t screw this up.
Her floor was deserted when she arrived. She checked the clock on her phone. 8:05. Where was everybody?
She walked slowly to her cubicle and snatched the note that had been affixed to her computer monitor.
Maggie—
Where are you? The chief called a big meeting. All hands on deck. Get your ass (and whatever else you want to bring) to the cafeteria.
— Zartar
Maggie rummaged through her desk drawer and retrieved her iPad. She pounded on the elevator’s down button and spent the journey to the first floor trying to mop up the sweat accumulating under her arms, between her breasts and behind her knees. The building was air conditioned; her endocrine system didn’t seem to notice.
The elevator door slid open. She emerged slowly and walked to the cafeteria on tiptoe.
The entire staff of Rx was seated at small round tables, coffees growing cold on plastic slabs that usually supported insulated lunch sacks and cardboard fry baskets. A man stood at the center of the room, his arms jutting spasmodically from his jacket. His face was beet-red, his white hair an untidy corona that danced with each gesture.
James Montgomery, president of Rxcellance. It was the first time she’d seen the company’s leader in person. Clad entirely in gray wool gabardine, he reminded Maggie of the great white in Jaws.
You’re gonna need a bigger boat.
Maggie tried to slide in behind Roselyn, who was seated near the entrance. She bumped the display of individual cereal boxes perched beside the cash register with her iPad and watched in horror as tiny boxes of Special K and Honey Smacks cascaded onto the floor.
All heads turned toward her with marching band unison. James Montgomery glowered, the bones beneath his jowls sliding as he ground his teeth. Maggie sank beside Roselyn and pretended to look at something interesting on her pants.
James Montgomery had wound himself back up into speech mode. “As I was saying…” He looked pointedly at Maggie. “…Rxcellance is on the brink of greatness. We’ve had tremendous success with landmark developments, such as our pneumonia and herpes drugs. They’ve not only bettered our position in the market, they’ve bettered the world.” He paused for effect. “And we have new miracles in the queue. We’re developing something revolutionary that will eradicate disease and save millions of lives.”
A murmur of surprise and excitement rippled through the room. James Montgomery held up a meaty palm. “Now, I’m not going to reveal that development today,” he said over the muffled voices. “But I will tell you the reason I’ve brought you here.” The room went still. Montgomery smiled. “I’m pleased to announce that Rxcellance, Inc. has
filed a registration statement with the Securities and Exchange Commission for an IPO—and we’re giving each employee stock in the company.”
The room exploded in applause. People high-fived. Roselyn hugged Maggie’s shoulders. Maggie spotted Miles sitting toward the front of the room. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back, a look of self-satisfaction crawling across his face like a New York Stock Exchange ticker.
James Montgomery raised his hand for attention and the room quieted again. “We haven’t set terms for the IPO yet. But we do believe that performance for the shares will be impressive. Naturally, all this depends on our ability to raise the funds to carry this plan through. It’s essential that we continue to do the best work we can and keep our endeavors confidential.”
He turned, rocking back on his heels like a Weeble-Wobble, and paced slowly from table to table. “We’ve had some problems recently, some lapses in confidentiality.” The light caught silver tufts of hair that peeped out from his nose and ears. He scowled at the pale faces that turned toward him like a hundred tiny moons. “We don’t take the precautions we take, we don’t work the hours we work, to give our compounds to the competition. So I remind you: be ever vigilant against the specter of corporate espionage.”
The Pollonexe report that had been printed from her computer leapt to her mind. Roy’s words about confidentiality and minding her own business rang in her ears. Was she the breach Montgomery was talking about? Had Roy reported her? She couldn’t afford to lose this job. The future of her family—what was left of it—was in her hands.
Montgomery rocked back and forth on his heels, his eyes roaming the room. His gaze settled on Maggie, his piercing eyes holding hers. “I thank you for your attention, and I congratulate you on this exciting new journey we’re about to embark on.”
He looked around the room expectantly, as if waiting for the pop of camera flashes. When none materialized, he gave a Nixonesque wave, then left the room with the self-generated fanfare and glad-handing of a presidential candidate.
Maggie got to her feet and looked at Roselyn. “Corporate espionage?” Maggie imagined men in trench coats handcuffed to briefcases containing the recipe for Coca-Cola. “That’s a problem here?”
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