“Yeah, well, a girl went missing Monday night and there’s still no sign of her. She was jogging not far from Route Twenty, and until I know more about what happened, I want you to be extra careful, okay?”
My heart dropped into the pit of my stomach. The moment I closed my eyes, I could feel that hand clamp over my mouth, but I wasn’t the one who vanished. I was . . . I was. . .
“Not so rough, you idiot. She’s the chosen one!”
“I never thought anything like that would happen around here,” I whispered numbly.
He gave me a reassuring smile. “She probably just ran off with a boy. Or a girl. I don’t judge. Even if not, you know I’d never let anything hurt you, kiddo. Not on my watch.”
“I should probably finish these pancakes and get ready for the gym,” I said, making sure he got a thank you in the form of a big hug.
After a scramble to get dressed, I met Dad at his truck. The next-door neighbors gave us their standard-issue plastic smiles, and the soon-to-be former Mrs. Whitman across the way threw in an extra wink toward my father. He tipped his cap at her and she all but swooned.
“I think she’s fishing, Dad,” I teased as the engine roared to life.
“Yeah, well, this fish isn’t interested in being caught by a cougar.”
After a while of boring traffic and nothing good on the radio, I offered up, “If you’re worried about me walking after dark, I might have a friend who can give me a lift.”
“You have a friend? Err . . . a friend with a car? What’s she like?”
“He’s a transfer student, and he’s like me, but more into Harry Potter than comics. Not that I judge.”
“He?” Oh boy. Lucky for me, I had time between lights to gather my composure. “Oh, it’s a he, is it? Is it the kind of he that I would approve of?”
“He’s just a friend, Dad.”
“So you say now, kiddo. You know, come to think of it, he’s probably the kind of friend that I’d love to meet. Why don’t you bring him ’round for Sunday barbecue? I’m sure Jimmy and Camilla would love some fresh meat to grill.”
“Please don’t put me on the spot like this. He’s only been at school for a week.”
“A week and you already want to get in his car?”
“It’s better than walking home alone at night.”
“Bring him to the cookout, kiddo.” I knew that voice. It would be the worst idea in history not to invite Gary over. Sadly, the second worst idea was to let him meet the inmates of the Flores Asylum. Poor Gary. Dad was big, intimidating, and a cop. Meeting him was usually enough to strike fear in the hearts of mere mortals. Add in the rest of my family and it was nothing short of insanity.
Luckily, I had Saturday morning chaos to distract me from Gary’s soon-to-be woes. Weekends at the gym were filled with rambunctious children, ropes, foam blocks, and overly excited parents. Once that was over, I was able to turn my attention toward my cousins and the other teachers running drills with the bread and butter of the gym—aspiring MMA fighters.
“Hey, Flores!” one of the testosterone terrors called to me. Mayday! I knew what was coming. Gary had no clue what a true meathead was. “Did the half pints wear you out?”
“I don’t care how many tires you guys flip,” I replied with a neutral tone, “nothing wears you out like a sugared-up five-year-old. I’m fairly certain some of them are robots.”
The guy laughed. I couldn’t remember his name, but he had emo hair. He looked like a Scott or possibly a Tyler. “Hey, I don’t know if you remember me. . .”
Points for being psychic.
He shuffled a little and did that thing guys did where he let his bangs fall in his face and then stared through them like he was both intensely focused and extremely constipated. “You showed me how to grip the pull-up bars correctly. It really helped me with my hang time, you know.”
Maybe he was a Taylor? Anyway, I smiled back in a sisterly sort of way. “I’m glad. Proper technique saves you from injury. Well, that and lots of stretching.”
“I was talking to Dylan. . .” Oh no, my cousin Dylan fancied himself the gym matchmaker. “He said that you liked the Avengers and stuff. I dig that stuff, too, you know. Batman’s my boy.”
Don’t say it, Jessie. It’s not worth the effort. “Comics or movies?”
“Um, movies. I’ve got them on DVD and all. Oh, and I also like tacos. Do you like tacos?”
Huh. Quite the topic change. I briefly wondered if his next observation would be about Batman eating tacos with the Avengers.
“Yo, Damien, stop macking on my coz!”
Whoa, I was way off on my name guessing. Either way, Emo Hair Damien jogged back to my cousin, yet another Flores giant with a buzz cut and an obnoxious smile. Dylan was on track to be at least as big as Uncle Jimmy, although he preferred fitness to fandom. I’m sure the coaches at his school hated that he favored MMA over football.
Big or not, though, he wasn’t getting off the hook that easily. I walked over and dragged him off to the alcove with the extra mats. “Really? You’re trying to hook me up with some guy named Damien? Haven’t you ever seen The Omen?”
“I’m just doing you a solid, coz. He’s a half-decent fighter and he likes the same stuff as you.”
“Batman and tacos do not a dreamboat make. Okay, they don’t hurt, but could you please stop helping with my love life? Besides, there’s a guy at school I’m already—”
“One of those rich safados? Pu-leeze, Jessie. You don’t want one of them.”
“Who said he was rich?” Of course, who said he wasn’t?
Dylan shook his head. “I know how those schools are. Full of trust fund bullies and bimbos.”
“And me,” I countered with a glare. He was not winning this one.
“Yeah, but you don’t have a trust fund,” he joked, blocking a swing from me. “Anyway, the guys here might not be fancy like that, but they work hard and know how to take care of themselves and their ladies, too. They’re a good bunch of guys.”
“Who are spending all their free time learning how to beat people up.”
“And defend themselves and—”
“Their helpless ladies?” Double ugh!
“Others,” Dylan interjected this time. “Anyway, I was thinking of inviting Damien to the cookout tomorrow, you know, just so that—”
“I know you mean well, but please try to remember that this is the twenty-first century. I don’t need anyone to play OkCupid for me.”
“You don’t? Any dude who trains here knows your dad will kick their—”
“Class time!” I never thought I’d be so relieved to see my next group coming in—even eight year old Kelly, the notorious puker.
Unfortunately, Dylan ended up driving me home after the last class, all the while talking up Emo-Hair Damien. “He’s even learning capoeira.”
“Oh, come on, even I know some capoeira.”
“You know like one move.”
“But it’s an awesome move. One day the time will come when I’ll be doing a handstand and need to kick someone in the face, and on that day, I shall be ready.”
We laughed all the way home. Dylan even picked me up a slushie, knowing nothing won my heart over quite as much as free food.
Sure enough, Dad was sawing logs on the sofa, so I took that moment to text Gary. As luck would have it, he was free to join us for the barbecue. He even offered to help dye my hair afterward. Poor sap. He only had a fifty-fifty shot of survival as it stood anyway.
Knowing that tomorrow was bound to be a hell of a day, I went whole hog on the relaxation for a Saturday night—a double feature of the classic Raimi Spiderman and Spiderman 2 with a side of microwave popcorn. I even gilded the lily with a peel away mask and some Green Goblin worthy chartreuse nail polish until I was ready to collapse.
♦ ♦ ♦
I rolled out of bed to the dulcet tones of my “Intruder Alert” klaxon. Maybe it wasn’t the most pleasant way to start the day, but it did the job.
I made my standard zombie shuffle into the kitchen to find a note on the counter. “Got called out to Worcester, will meet you at Uncle Jimmy’s. Alarm set—Love, Dad.”
I hustled through an abbreviated morning routine. I’d only barely managed to slither into my bootcuts when the doorbell rang. Crap, it was ponytail and slip-ons time. Wait, why was I fretting over how I looked? It was just Gary, after all.
Even in my stupor I remembered to disarm the security system at the last moment. Gary raised a brow as I fumbled with the deadbolt and chain as well.
“I didn’t think this was a rough neighborhood,” he said, eying the cameras and the Beware of Dog sign despite there obviously being no dog to bark at him—which was fine by me. Dogs and I didn’t mix after I nearly got mauled by a schnauzer at eight years old. My dad was nothing if not thorough in his home-invasion-protection protocols.
“My dad’s a bit over-protective. Let me just get a hoodie. . .” I trailed off as I saw a bag in his hands.
“Is this a bring soda, flowers, or brownies kind of cookout?” Gary nonchalantly asked.
“The brownies and soda work, but they’re not really the kind of crowd who’ll appreciate flowers.”
“Oh. Do you want them, then? I grabbed carnations . . . I think.” He shuffled uneasily.
“Yeah, you don’t want my dad thinking you gave me flowers, either.”
♦ ♦ ♦
Gary’s car had built-in GPS so there was no need for me to navigate, leaving me time to enjoy the butt warmers in his seats. They were so cozy that I started to drift off, only stirring once he started talking to me again. How rude.
“So, is there anything else I should be worried about, aside from flowers?”
I could see Dad’s truck already parked next to Uncle Jimmy’s wagon as we neared the house. “It’ll be fine. Just be . . . cool,” I offered unhelpfully.
Gary sniffed once we parked and got out, no doubt noticing the heady mix of smoke in the breeze. “Why are they having a barbecue in November anyway?”
“Dude, we shovel snow so we can grill on Sundays. It’s just what we do.” I led him around the side path to the heart of the action.
Gary’s eyes widened as he spotted Uncle Jimmy and Dylan, each carrying a full cooler towards the fire pit. There my dad held court with my Uncle Rico, Grandpa, and the bulk of my cousins. A moment later he tugged on my sleeve like a frightened toddler. “Jessie, why is Diablo King sitting by the grill?” he asked, using Grandpa’s former wrestling name.
I stifled a smile at his reaction. Papa was a beast of a man, with a mane of steely hair and a distinctive birthmark splashed across his leathery face. He raised a hand toward us, easily big enough to wrap around Gary’s face and crush it like one of the many beer cans already out and about.
“He was one of the greatest heels of the ’80’s New England daytime circuit,” Gary continued. “He totally could have signed with the WW—”
“He wanted to stay close to his family,” I whispered before dragging the gobsmacked boy over to the crowd. “Gary, meet my grandpa. Papa, this is my friend, Gary Bates.”
Gary squeaked a response and held out the bag.
“He brought brownies,” I offered on his behalf.
Grandpa made a deep, grumbling sound in his chest—could’ve been a growl, could’ve been a laugh, or possibly just a massive burp incoming. “I like brownies,” he finally said, his voice thick with a Brazilian accent and the snarl he’d cultivated from years of threatening guys on daytime TV. He narrowed his gaze at the pale-faced Gary. “Almost as much as I like crushing skulls.”
Gary gulped and Papa burst into a hearty guffaw, his age-softened belly jiggling. He leaned down and gave me a wink. “Your boyfriend squirms like a pro, Jessie.”
♦ ♦ ♦
I spent the next hour or so introducing Gary to both family and friends from the gym, watching him blanch at the collective mountains of flesh amidst aspiring MMA hopefuls, like my cousin Diego. Then there was my dad. If Gary could have bamfed into thin air, rather than get the third degree from him, I don’t doubt he would have.
By the time I explained to Papa for the third time that I was focusing on school rather than a boyfriend, Gary looked ready to bail. Fortunately, I still had an ace up my sleeve.
“Hey, Uncle Jimmy,” I called out. “Gary didn’t believe me when I said that you have the best man-cave in Massachusetts.”
My uncle waved his barbecue tongs incredulously. “You go set him straight, Jessie-girl. Just be back in fifteen, the picanha is almost done.”
“You got it!” I dragged Gary away from where Dad was grilling him about his college plans. “Sorry, guys, but the family honor is at stake. Mr. Bates here did not believe me about the dungeon.”
Dad locked his eyes on me. Sheesh, I was not helping myself here. Still, he clapped Gary on the back. “You’ve got to see it. I don’t like comics and even I have to admit it’s impressive.”
“Wow,” Gary mouthed as I led him into the finest man-cave in Massachusetts. Two of the walls displayed floor-to-ceiling curio cabinets full of action figures, rare issues, and a movie-prop quality lightsaber on a custom wooden stand. One wall contained an enormous TV and the last held the bar. Throw in the oversized leather sofas and Hulk pillows, and the slice of heaven took full shape. I flopped onto my favorite corner of the loveseat and kicked up my feet.
“This place is awesome,” he gasped, checking out the pinball machine in the corner.
“My uncle prides himself on his collection. He’s always competing with this jerk from Salem who runs the comic shop there. Every auction becomes a bloodbath if he shows up. Anyway, I thought you could use a little reprieve, too.”
“Your family is somehow both cool and terrifying at the same time.” Gary perched on the far sofa arm, still taking in the dizzying array of collectibles.
I couldn’t help but laugh. “In all seriousness, Papa is just a mild-mannered gym owner these days, and Diego looks terrifying, but he’s totally a puppy when it comes to family.” This seemed to put Gary at a bit of ease. “In fact, they’re both probably jumping for joy that I brought a new fan around. The gym guys get it drilled in their head to be cool at all costs.”
“Does your dad do MMA, too?”
“Nah, he’s not really into that stuff.” I let Gary blow out a sigh of relief before following up with, “He prefers boxing and firearms.” The look on his face was so worth it.
Chapter Four: Nerd Herding
“So, you come from a family of combat-trained giants?” Gary asked as I finished a quick follow-up of all the names to go with the faces upstairs.
I gave a little bow. “Yes, making me the Jack of this beanstalk . . . or Jill. I’m the only girl of all the cousins.” He raised an eyebrow. “I know that look, so just ask the question I’m sure you’re dying to ask.”
Gary blushed a little and struggled for the words. It was time to steel myself for the canned sob story about my mother and just get it over with. “Your uncle, I’m guessing he’s where you get your love for comics?”
Okay, maybe it wasn’t obvious question time after all.
“Yeah, this is my home away from home. I guess you could say I’m the Batgirl of Wayne Manor here.”
“It’s all . . . pretty awesome. You’re really lucky, Jessie.” For a moment Gary’s eyes clouded over. Wow, they were super dark blue in the basement lights. Huh, and here I’d thought they were green.
And just like that I realized I was probably staring too much. “Yeah, lucky enough not the get hit by that tree branch the other day.”
He looked pointedly away at that. Suddenly my conversation with Dad from the other day popped into my head again, and how I’d subconsciously linked Gary to the other weirdness going on. Was my gut right? No better time than the present to go on a fishing expedition. “Assuming I actually was lucky.”
“Of course you were. Nobody wants to get hurt when a tree is struck by lightning.” That caught my ear. My dad h
ad talked about the freak weather, but this was the first time Gary had mentioned lightning. Something didn’t add up.
He slumped into the sofa and chose that moment to check his phone. He wasn’t getting off so easily, but I also had to figure out a way to not sound like a total nutcase.
“You ever think that you might be going a little crazy?” I couldn’t quite read the faraway look on his face. “Well?”
He rubbed his chin, gnawed on his lip, then finally looked at me. “What if you’ve got it all wrong? What if the world is actually crazy and you’re just figuring it out and starting to compensate?”
I hated when someone answered a question with another question. The heck with it. Time to go for broke. “You knew that branch was going to fall before it happened, didn’t you?”
Before he could answer, the basement door flew open. “Yo, kids, time for dinner,” Uncle Jimmy bellowed from the first floor. “And you better not be touching anything!”
Gary blanched until I patted him on the arm. “He means his action figures . . . I think.”
♦ ♦ ♦
The food kept everyone occupied for the next twenty minutes or so with only banal interjections and lots of nummy noises filling the air. At least until Dad looked over and did the hand folding thing. “So, Gary, what do your folks do?”
Poor Gary. He’d already gotten the third degree, not realizing there was probably still a fourth and fifth to come. He at least had the good sense to wait until he finished chewing to answer. “I guess you could say they’re analysts. They specialize in predictions.”
“Like the stock market?” I asked.
He nodded quickly. “Something like that. They do all kinds of data analysis to help people make informed decisions.”
“Must be a lot of money in that,” Dad said thoughtfully. “You live in the ’Boroughs?”
“I’m staying with my aunt in Southborough. My folks thought I needed to broaden my experience, so I switched schools after being stuck out in Amherst for my freshman and sophomore years.”
Second String Savior Page 4
