Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Note: A big thank goes out to my fabulous beta, Skyrose.
Chapter Fifteen
There were some days that Maggie Mullen wondered why she even bothered. Not that living a life of misery comparable to what would be found in Russian literature wasn’t bad enough, but she just felt so useless. So alone.
At least when she was traveling with Scott, with Jim, with Matthew and the others, she could talk herself into believing she was part of something important. She and the others had played the role of Marines with aplomb and offered hope to those they encountered. The food and supplies that people imparted on them surely was a small price to pay for such an elusive thing these days: hope.
But they’d grown careless. Maybe they’d even come to believe their own lines because they’d said them so much. Regardless, the gig was up, and they were sent packing out of Jericho. They eventually disbanded (the tank really did make a difference), and she’d wound up in New Bern.
Not every visitor comes through the front door. Her mother’s words came back to her then, and instead, she found another way into the city. After days of walking to reach New Bern—of wandering, really—she was hungry, bone-tired, and desperate. How she wished she would’ve heeded the men at the roadblock and gone the other way. Hindsight.
Instead, she’d found a way around.
She came across a cabin built under a canopy of trees. It looked abandoned, and she let herself in. The amount of food she found was the most she’d seen since before the bombs. She spotted Chicken of the Sea, which would give her some much needed protein, but it was the Oreo Cookies that caused her to weep with joy. Literally. She tore into the package and gorged herself.
Later, she built a small fire and boiled a bucket full of water from a nearby creek. Combining the boiling water with the cool, creek water in the bathtub enabled her to finally wash the layer of grime and stench from her body. She discarded her Marine costume and settled into women’s clothes that she found in a closet which, luckily, fit her perfectly.
Just what she needed.
It was so good.
And too good to be true.
She should’ve known better. With things being as they were, no way would a cabin full of food be left without someone coming to check on it.
The son of the cabin’s owner found her the next morning after she’d curled up on the bed. She couldn’t be sure of everything that had led up to that moment, but when she awoke by the crush of a body atop hers, she was reminded that this was not the same world.
He was due payment for what she’d taken, he informed her. If she cooperated, he would let her go on her way afterward.
At one point, Maggie would have prided herself on never giving up. The half marathons she used to run to challenge her mind and body, the countless hours of research—much of it dead end—for her dissertation, provided more of a challenge than most people would ever take on, but she had persevered. For that matter, she always thought that she would have that same fight in her directed toward any man who tried to rape her. In this moment, though, feeling the crush of him, she made a choice that set in motion so much that happened thereafter. She ‘cooperated.’ When he was done, he gave her a towel for cleanup, made breakfast, drew her story from her, walked her to town, and turned her in to the sheriff for trespassing.
Sheriff Phil Constantino.
His name alone made Maggie think of Constantine, the Roman emperor. But whereas Constantine’s power as emperor was slipping during his time, Constantino’s grew before her very eyes. She witnessed the dissolution of the town’s governing council in favor of Constantino’s version of martial law. Maggie watched—outsider that she was, she felt she could see it more clearly—as the townspeople gave up their freedoms in favor of security.
Constantino had hardly seemed interested in her and had told his man Travers to put her with the others until he realized that she had been in Jericho. The young man with whom she’d ‘cooperated’ informed Constantino, and Maggie could see hunger in the sheriff’s eyes. Not the type of hunger that could be sated by food, but the type of the hunger that could be sated by power. This man wanted to be an emperor.
Maggie remembered the moment as though it was yesterday. She looked from Constantino, to Travers, to the young man. Compared to the other two men, Constantino looked the part of emperor. Every air about him bespoke his authority. Travers kowtowed to him, and the young man, whom they called Nate, also deferred to him. And so Maggie found herself talking about Jericho to him, with each day that passed trying to make herself in some way useful so that she would not go with the others.
She wasn’t exactly sure what would happen if she went with the others, but she’d come to suspect that going with the others was tantamount to signing on for a fate worse than death. Or else it would make her ‘cooperation’ seem comparatively pleasant. And she was nothing if not practical. After all, didn’t the old Russian proverb go ‘A wooden bed is better than a golden coffin’?
A few weeks later, she heard that a group from Jericho had arrived.
Once when Nate checked her out of her jail cell for more ‘cooperation,’ Maggie spotted Stanley Richmond. She didn’t really know him by name at the time, just that he was from Jericho. As Nate slept, Maggie snuck out, went to the barracks where the men working on the turbines stayed, and approached Stanley. She tried to warn him that he was in danger, but he recognized her, and was adamant that she was not trustworthy.
And perhaps she wasn’t. Nate found her and returned her to the jail, though not before Travers, whom Maggie learned was Nate’s father, gave him hell over thinking with a part of his anatomy that was far south of his brain.
Maggie had another iron in the fire, though. When Jake showed up, Phil Constantino promised her a place in New Bern, the opportunity to be part of the community, without the incarceration.
In retrospect, it seemed like it had all happened to another person.
But Maggie Mullen would have done anything to survive, and the time came when she could no longer ride the fence. She threw in with the group from Jericho, helping Eric and Jake Green escape from their holding cell, and getting shot in the process.
When she came back to Jericho, she entertained the notion that perhaps she and Jake could come to some sort of understanding. There had been an attraction there before, though she didn’t really want the whole love, marriage, etc. route. No, she would’ve settled for a warm body and some security. Maggie never stood a chance. Not really. Any time she got within the vicinity of Jake, that blonde would intercept her. It reminded her of kids playing a game of keep away with Jake as the prize, and with her own injuries, she truly didn’t have the energy to fight fair, let alone dirty.
Maggie finally gave up.
Surely there was some other way to get by.
How? She didn’t know. There wasn’t much demand for doctoral students these days. And Russian literature? Not exactly a coveted knowledge set. She planned to see Dale Turner. Surely there was something, some type of skill she could offer that didn’t involve being ‘cooperative.’
The morning yet early, Maggie, who was staying in the basement of the church, began to walk to Dale’s store. She had watched him enough to know that he was always there early. Maybe she would be able to catch him without his little girlfriend around. She found herself shuffling a bit as she walked, the effects of the bullet still making her leg sore, but she had no trouble getting from point A to point B anymore.
Yet what Maggie saw nearly made her legs collapse under her.
Dressed in an Army uniform and speaking to a red-haired woman was the young man called Nate. Panic rose within her. What was he doing there? As quickly as her legs would carry her, she moved in the opposite direction toward town hall.
The trip to see Dale Turner was forgotten.
When Heather awoke, she was surprised to realize that she was on the sofa in the living room, but even more surprised to see that Jake was sleeping in the chair. The sun was streaming through the windows, illuminating the room with cheer that only a new day and hope for the future could bring. It occurred to Heather that upon falling back asleep—which she completely had not intended to do—she’d not returned to the dreams that had troubled her earlier.
She sat up, allowing the afghan to slide down her arms, and stretched. Jake stirred in his chair.
“Mmm. Good morning.” Her voice was hoarse, as it typically was when she first awakened. Nevertheless, it was music to Jake’s ears.
“Good morning.” He straightened, rubbing his neck where he had slept at a strange angle.
“We’re making a habit of this.”
Jake yawned. “We’re going to have to make a new habit. Or at least get a new location.”
Jake’s words stole away her leftover sleepiness. A new habit? A new location? Was he suggesting…? Stop, she warned herself. Stop overanalyzing. Just enjoy this. And what wasn’t there to enjoy? They had finally opened up to one another about how they truly felt, agreed that they wanted to explore those feelings, and they had almost kissed.
Almost being the operative word.
Heather ran her hands through her hair, eliciting a half-smile from Jake as she did. Her hair was sticking out in various directions, and no amount of brushing it with her fingers was going to tame it. She seemed to realize the same thing, for she gave up on her hair, stood, and tugged at the waist of the too-loose sweat pants she wore. “I’m sorry I fell asleep on you last night. I can’t believe I did that.”
Jake had been disappointed, too, but more so because his mom had interrupted a rather crucial moment. “There’ll be other nights.” He watched her smile shyly before she looked away and walked toward the windows. “So what are you doing today?”
“Whatever needs doing. I started getting the backyard prepared for a vegetable garden.”
“Danger of frost should be over soon.” Jake rose from the chair and walked over to her.
Heather looked at him sideways. “Yeah. I talked with your mom about it a few days ago. I’m going to take some of the old seeds, see if I can get them to germinate, and then transplant them when they get sturdy enough and it stays consistently warm outside.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“Mmhmmm. So I’ll probably work on the yard more today. Maybe see if…” she sighed slightly. “I don’t even know. It’s April, and I should be at school with the kids counting down the weeks until summer break, but there is no school anymore.”
“Emily said,” Jake hesitated, wishing he would have left her name out of it. “Emily said school would be reopening soon.”
What would they be opening the school to do? Teach the students or indoctrinate them according to the A.S.A.’s revisionist curriculum? If the high school history books were as off-base as Emily had suggested they were and any indication about the changes that were in store for the school, Heather knew there was no way she could participate. It was too reminiscent of Nazi Germany for her taste. And then there was the matter of her role in the whole New Bern debacle. Would parents really want their children in her class when she had inadvertently aided their enemy?
“I don’t think I’ll be going back. I’ll just have to see what else the post-Apocalyptic job market holds.” She shrugged trying to force the glumness from her voice. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll become a carpenter. I hear Michael Flaherty’s a teddy bear.” Jake chuckled, remembering all-too-well Eric’s horror stories from having worked construction with that man. “Or,” she added with a waggle of her eyebrows, “maybe I’ll smuggle goods with Dale.”
“Great, great,” Jake replied with a laugh. “Are you going to make me arrest you?”
With mock indignation, Heather placed her hand on her hips. “So the law isn’t willing to look the other way?”
Jake tweaked one of her elbows. “Don’t think I could look away from you if I tried.”
Heather’s eyes widened slightly. “Whew. For a guy who says he’s not good with words, you sure are good with them.”
“Only when I’m properly motivated.”
“Oh? And what’s your motivation?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
Heather chewed at her bottom lip, and fanned herself with an exaggerated motion. “On that note, I’m going upstairs for a few minutes to change clothes.” Maybe brush my teeth, she thought to herself.
“I thought I would eat some breakfast and then go out to the ranch before heading to work. Check on the horses. Want to come?”
She nodded. “Yeah, I would.” She smiled at the thought of seeing the horses and having a few uninterrupted minutes with Jake.
“Good.”
“Good,” she echoed.
Dale Turner looked up when he heard the bells clang on the door of the market. A young woman he guessed to be only a few years older than himself walked in. She was scanning for something, but Dale was doing his own scanning. He immediately zeroed in on the fact that she wore a light blue polo shirt and khaki skirt. Great. The vultures are back. What would J&R want now?
They’d been involved in a slow dance for the last month, ever since Jennings & Rall established themselves in Jericho. One of the first things they did was institute official channels for receiving goods. If Dale played nice, they would be more than happy to let his store serve as one of the recipients of their official channels. The problem with that was that by playing nice, they were undercutting him so much, he couldn’t make a living. Well, that wasn’t true. They offered him a stipend to use his store, all in buffalo dollars, but as best as he and Skylar could tell, it was comparatively far less than what he could get through bartering goods and services.
No, Dale liked the fact that he didn’t have to struggle for much these days. Certainly less than the average person. He had grown wealthy. Who would’ve thought? Dale Turner, whose mom didn’t even own the burned out singlewide in which they used to live, was a respected business owner with employees who heeded his every word.
At least, that had been the case before J&R. Now Dale wasn’t so sure. They were in a dance, sure, but Dale suspected that one of them would have to leave the dance floor. For now, though, he’d have to play along.
“Could I help you with something?”
The woman’s flaming red hair was pulled back in an upswept style, but a few corkscrew curls had fallen from her clip. She nearly jumped when Dale spoke to her, but she quickly tried to mask her apprehension. Still, Dale had been around enough people to know when they were affecting a persona. And this young woman, she wasn’t the typical J&R suit.
“I’m hoping you can. I’m looking for someone.”
Dale had to fight back a sneer. “What? Your computer database doesn’t have what you need?”
She lowered her voice conspiratorially and smiled. “Even Jennings & Rall has its drawbacks. You’re local, though, right?”
“Yeah.” The hair on the back of Dale’s neck stood on end. Something about this didn’t feel right. Her smile was forced. She was trying hard. Too hard.
The woman remained seemingly oblivious to Dale’s doubts about her, though. “I’m looking for someone. Last I heard, she was living here. Heather Lisinski. Does that ring a bell?”
What did some Jennings & Rall woman want with Heather? Dale didn’t know, but he sure as hell wasn’t about to make her job easier. “Sorry. Can’t help you.”
“If you can’t help, maybe Gracie Leigh can?” Her tone remained saccharine sweet, but the underlying threat was not lost upon him. The woman must’ve thought he was a stock boy or clerk and was trying to go over his head.
Dale squared his shoulders. “Gracie Leigh is dead. Has been since Thanksgiving. You folks over at J&R have been breathing down my neck since you got here. How could you not know this?”
“I’m sorry. I just transferred here, Mister….”
“Turner. Dale Turner. This is my operation. Surely you know that, Miss….”
“I see now that you don’t have what I need.”
“No, I don’t.” Dale watched as the woman left the store. He looked over at one of his bodyguards, a burly man from Omaha who had arrived a few months ago. “Get a good look at her?” Dale asked.
“Yes, Mr. Turner.”
“Good,” Dale crossed his arms. “If she steps foot in this store again, I want to know.”
“You think she’s up to something?”
His blue eyes surveyed her coolly through the glass wall. “I know she is.”
The day was too damn sunny, Emily decided as she made her way down Main Street heading toward the Jennings & Rall tent. She could see the blue tent in the distance, but heard the construction on the Jennings & Rall local headquarters that was taking place behind the tent before she ever came within eyeshot. Life was going on around her. She saw a few customers milling about outside of Gracie Leigh’s Market, noticed the soldiers walking on the opposite sidewalk. Life as usual. Or as usual as could be expected.
She wasn’t entirely convinced that it should go on. At least, this was not how she would have it. Yesterday had been beyond what she predicted. She figured that she and Jake would hash things out and fall into bed. They’d always been compatible there if nowhere else. But no. Jake was…Jake was…
She swallowed hard and fought down the tears that threatened to form in her eyes. No. She wouldn’t do this. Not again. She’d wasted too many tears on him.
But were the tears a waste? Was it really, irretrievably over? If she could get him to see…
Stop it! Her mind screamed. Maybe there was some vicious cycle. Maybe he was right about that. Maybe they did need to break out of it.
But she couldn’t help but long for him still. His strength, his daring, his hands on her bare skin.
No. No! She deserved more than to step aside and wait for him to scratch whatever itch he had with Heather. She would not be like her mother, always standing by, panting for whatever scraps Jonah threw her way.
But how did she move forward when she felt so many things pulling her back? She continued to walk forward, her body a direct contradiction to how she felt.
Her hand throbbed as it grazed her leg.
It was easy to remember why. She’d broken a vase that had belonged to Roger, having thrown it at the door that Jake had stormed through. In her haste of picking up the pieces through her tears, she had cut her hand. She almost didn’t realize it until she looked down and saw the blood dripping.
It reminded her too much of her mother.
So many reminders of her mother lately. And Jonah. Too many things she didn’t want to recollect.
Emily remembered how Jonah used to tell her that if one thing hurt, the way to get it off her mind would be to hurt something else. At the time she thought he meant that if she had a headache, stubbing her toe would make the headache go away. Now she wasn’t so convinced that was what he meant at all. She wished Jake could be the one hurting. But she was hurting instead. The pain of her hand hadn’t taken away the pain in her heart.
Would it make her feel better if Jake hurt? If Heather hurt? Maybe it would. Maybe it wouldn’t. But then at least she could know. And then they could have a taste.
Jake and Heather. Their names didn’t even go together!
They were probably laughing at her. Stupid Emily. She didn’t even see it coming.
But she did see it coming.
Months ago, when Heather had a crush on Jake, it really hadn’t bothered Emily all that much. It was cute in a silly, mildly pathetic, school girl way. Nothing would come of it anyway. Heather was not Jake’s type. And then Emily watched, saw how Jake was intrigued by Heather’s industriousness, her eagerness to help, her joie de vivre. Then he avoided her, and Emily thought it was over, until word came from Eric that Heather was dead. Then Emily knew it was over, and she mourned her friend in her own way. No body. But plenty of other bodies to bury. Grief was a luxury, and she moved on. And then the past came back. The past with bright blue eyes under rose colored glasses, someone who needed to be rescued, her dear friend who felt like a stranger.
Yeah. The joke was definitely on her. Pretty soon everyone would know it. Jake dumped her for her best friend. Her mousy best friend. Make that mousy former best friend. All the old ladies would cluck about it while having the quilting bees. Did you hear? Jake and Emily broke up again. What do you expect? Emily might be a pretty girl, but with her history, it was bound to happen... The patrons at Bailey’s would start a drinking game. Take a shot every time Jake and Heather kiss, or every time someone praises Heather for fixing this or that, or every time Jake rescues another stray.
She was getting carried away. Logically, she knew that. But emotionally? It just didn’t seem real. Especially not now. Not with the changes coming in their lives. Could she really do this? Yes, she could. She’d done it before, and she would do it again. But was it too much to ask to have someone in her life to make her happy?
Her conversation with Gail intruded upon her mind. Gail wouldn’t approve of her wanting someone to make her happy. But what else was new? Gail disapproved of so much where she was concerned. Sure, they had been cordial for several years, and at times even close. It was Gail who helped Emily make arrangements for her mother. It was Gail who gave her advice on how to deal with Chris when he started rebelling. It was Gail who stayed with her after her miscarriage. But it was also Gail who blamed her for Jake getting involved with Jonah, for Jake leaving town, for Jake staying away.
Despite times of closeness, there would always be a divide. Gail would probably be happy for Jake to be through with her, for him to move on to someone less complicated. Emily saw it when she went into the med center the night before to have her hand stitched. Gail thought she was weak. Yes, Emily could see it in her eyes.
Gail thought she was like her mother.
“Emily! Didn’t you hear me calling your name?”
The British accent cut through Emily’s fog as she realized that she hadn’t been hearing much of anything for the last few moments. Not even the construction that, not long ago, seemed painfully intrusive. She looked at her roommate, still dressed in his scrubs, having just left his shift at the med center. “I have a lot on my mind.”
Kenchy Dhuwalia stilled her movements by placing his hands on her arms. “Where are you going?” Concern was evident in his voice.
Emily’s eyes narrowed as she shook off his hands and his worry. “Stop feeling sorry for me.”
“Who said anything about feeling sorry for you? Looks like you’re doing enough of that for both of us. You think you’re the only one who’s ever been dumped?”
Emily exhaled loudly. “Your bedside manner really sucks, you know that?”
Kenchy’s brown eyes sought her blue ones. “I’m not your doctor right now. I’m your friend. And from the sound of it, you could use all the friends you can get.”
“True. I’m down by two.” She crossed her arms, hugging herself, an unconscious habit.
“So where are you going?”
“I have a meeting with Chet Rawley.”
“Who?”
“The fussy little guy from Jennings & Rall. He said he wanted to meet with me about some big plans for the high school.”
“Why you?”
“Why not me?”
“Last I heard, you weren’t fully on board.”
She shrugged. “I’m still not, but I figured what the hell. Something to pass the time. I’ve got plenty of that on my hands. For a while, at least.”
“There will be other men, you know. Men who will worship at your feet. Men who will satisfy you sexually, emotionally. In fact, I’d be happy to stand in. On a temporary basis, naturally.”
Propositioned at 9:00 A.M. in the morning. Kenchy was an attractive man, though Emily couldn’t say that she particularly attracted to him. Some good, old-fashioned, no-strings-attached sex might get her mind off things for a while. But then what? She didn’t want to be a stand-in for the woman Kenchy really wanted, anymore than she wanted Kenchy as a stand-in for Jake. “Oh, naturally,” Emily replied as the smallest of smiles crept onto her face. “Until a beautiful redhead comes along or else you find the bottom of your bottle.”
“There is that.”
Emily looked down at her bandaged hand, brushing aside the topic. “Think it’ll leave a scar?”
“You happen to be looking at the best plastic surgeon in Jericho, Kansas.”
“I’ll take that as a yes then. There are some miracles that even you can’t perform.” Her eyes scanned the area looking for that familiar figure. Dark hair, jeans, a t-shirt, exuding assurance. He was nowhere to be seen, and she silently chided herself for even looking, even hoping, but she did spot a red-headed women emerge from Gracie Leigh’s. “Though speaking of miracles…” she angled her head in the direction of the woman she did not recognize.
Kenchy’s mouth went dry. Corkscrew red curls fell from the woman’s upswept do, which was the first thing he noticed, but he was more than pleased to see that she had the face of an angel and the body of a temptress. At least, as far as he could tell. But there were certain things that Kenchy Dhuwalia prided himself upon, and being a connoisseur of the female body was one of them. That was part of why he had chosen Las Vegas as the locale for what he had hoped would be his plastic surgery empire: the thought of being surrounded by exquisitely beautiful, exquisitely voluptuous show girls. “She’s…”
“Your type,” Emily finished. “And she’s walking this way.”
“How do I look?”
Emily smirked at her friend, whose boldness of thirty seconds ago was replaced by the nervousness of a high school freshman. “Like you’ve stayed up all night.”
Kenchy looked dourly at his roommate. “Then we’re even. So do you.”
The young woman smiled tentatively as she approached the duo. “Hi. Are you from around here?”
“I am. He’s not,” Emily pointed to Kenchy. “I’m Emily.”
“I’m Wilma.”
Emily furrowed her brows slightly. “I don’t meet too many Wilmas.”
“Yes, well, my mother apparently had a sense of humor. Wilma Flintstone had red hair, too.”
Kenchy stepped forward and extended his hand. “I’m Kenchy. You’re new here?”
The young woman took it, and the fact that Kenchy’s hold lingered a moment longer than necessary was not lost upon her. “Just arrived. Jennings & Rall has been recruiting heavily.”
“We’ve noticed,” Emily replied wryly.
‘Wilma’ debated internally whether to press for information now or conduct more small talk. No, small talk took time, and time was not something she or Nathan had. “I’m new in town, but there is someone I know, and I’d like to get in touch with her. I’m just not quite sure how to find her.”
“Oh? Who’s that?” Kenchy asked, relieved that the friend was a female.
“Heather Lisinski. You don’t happen to know her by any chance, do you?”
The smile Emily had planted on her face dropped. “Yeah, I know her.”
“Oh good! Could you tell me how to find her? I owe her so much, and I can hardly wait to repay her for all she’s done.”
“That’s our Heather. Always doing for others.”
Kenchy shot a look at Emily. She was speaking with clenched teeth and ample sarcasm. “I think what Emily is trying to say is that we do know Heather. So, Wilma, how exactly do you know her?”
‘Wilma’ brushed aside his question. “That is a very nice accent, Kenchy. You aren’t from around here originally, are you?”
“I grew up in Great Britain. Went to Las Vegas to practice medicine. And then…”
“And then you entered through the gates of hell. I’d like to hear about your experiences sometime. We could compare notes. Perhaps over coffee.”
“Or something stronger,” Kenchy suggested.
“Perhaps,” ‘Wilma’ replied coyly. “About Heather…”
Kenchy met the young woman’s gaze, and found himself wanting to know more about her. It was his curse. The greater the challenge, the greater the want. There was, of course, the possibility that she was no friend of Heather’s, in which case it made sense to withhold the information. Perhaps he could kill two birds with one stone: protect Heather and find out more about this gorgeous creature. “Maybe you should tell us where you’re staying. We could tell Heather you’re looking for her and where to find you.”
Emily rolled her eyes and pursed her lips before replying, “She’s living on Washington Street. Turn right on Jefferson, left on Madison, and you’ll run into Washington. Take a right. It’ll be the fourth house on the left.”
“Right-left-right. Follow the presidents. Thank you, Emily. You’ve been very helpful.”
Kenchy rubbed his chin. “How did you say you know Heather?”
‘Wilma’ paused for a half a beat, formulating an answer. “College. We went to college together. Actually, I hope you won’t mention to her or anyone else that I was asking about her. I’d like it to be a surprise—and you know how small towns are. We’ve not seen each other in ages.”
Emily nearly snorted. “Oh, if I see Heather, I doubt this will come up. We have some other things to discuss.”
“Is she still living by herself, by any chance?”
“No, she lives with my… she lives with Jake Green and Gail Green.” Emily paused, studying the other woman. “That’s an odd question.”
“Not so strange, Emily,” Wilma replied. “I would just hate to intrude at an inopportune time.”
“Oh no. We mustn’t have that.”
Wilma’s eyes narrowed slightly. Evidently, Heather Lisinski had upset this Emily person in some way. Perhaps she would be doing Emily a favor. Wilma glanced at her watch. “I really must be going. It was nice to meet you both.” She inclined her head politely and began to walk on.
Seeing his opportunity slip away from him, Kenchy called after her, “About that drink…”
“I’d like that. Soon,” Wilma replied as she continued to walk away.
Emily rolled her eyes. “Reel the tongue back in or it’s going to drag the sidewalk.”
“She looks like a goddess,” he said with a sigh. “Think it was smart to tell her where Heather is staying?”
Emily groaned. “Heather doesn’t need another hero.”
“I suppose not,” Kenchy agreed. “I need a drink.”
“It’s too early,” Emily reminded him.
“It’s never too early. Must do my part for the food service industry.”
Emily was about to fire back a rebuttal when Chet Rawley’s high pitched voice pierced the air. “Ms. Sullivan! Ms. Sullivan!”
Kenchy chuckled. “Lucky you.”
“Shut up,” Emily hissed.
“See you at home.”
Emily watched as Kenchy walked away and turned to greet the Jennings & Rall rep who had approached her. “Hi, Chet. I was just on my way to see you.”
“I was concerned,” he replied with a tap of his foot and a shaking of his finger. “You, young lady, are late. Must be because you didn’t have the school bell to warn you.”
Whether it was because of her own pitiful mood or the incredibly lame joke, Emily couldn’t be sure; all she knew was that she could not muster a smile for this man for anything. “I was talking to one of J&R’s newest recruits.”
“Who?”
“Wilma. Didn’t catch her last name.”
“Never heard of her,” Chet replied with a shrug, “and with a name like Wilma, I would’ve remembered that.”
Emily frowned as she turned her gaze to the direction in which Wilma had walked a few moments earlier. She was nowhere in sight. “Well, she is new.”
“Speaking of new,” Chet interjected, clasping his hands together, “I have some fabulous new ideas that I want to run by you. They should make school more meaningful for your students when we reopen soon, and they’ll also help promote an active citizenry…”
To Be Continued in Chapter 16...