In a flash, Wendy’s arms flew around Maeve’s neck, her hot breath puffing into Maeve’s ear. She wrapped her arms around Wendy’s waist. She could smell her Ivory soap, sticky hair spray, the gentle funk of the vintage dress. They pulled away from each other.
Maeve’s head bobbed. She couldn’t stop it.Yes, yes. Do this. Yes. It’ll be fine.“Let’s get out of here.”
They stopped at a store, and Wendy suggested maybe they find someone to buy beer for them. “Watch for someone to come out and ask. Guys will do that. The creepier the better.” Maeve couldn’t keep her eyes off Wendy. The dark blue of the dress popped against her white skin. Her hair up in ridiculous curls. She looked like the Hollywood version of herself. “Ask that guy,” Wendy said, pointing. “He’s already got a six pack.”
But Maeve shook her head. She wanted to stay clear. She could at least keep one promise to her dad and not drink. “Nah, I’ll just get Cokes and chips and be right out. Wait here, okay?”
Wendy laughed and put her bare feet up on the dash. “Where would I go?”
On the ride out to the beach, Wendy told Maeve she’d let Brett kiss her, and he said she was a prick tease for not doing more. She’d had to push him off several times.
Maeve did not want to think of Brett kissing Wendy, of his hands on her. “He didn’t hurt you, though, right?”
Wendy shook her head. “No, but, man, I can’t keep doing this. I don’t want that. Not ever. Pull over,” Wendy said, pointing to a dirt lane. “No one will be out here this time of night.”
Maeve shut off the engine, and the world went quiet. When she shifted toward Wendy, the paperback in her back pocket fell free and landed barely under the seat.
Wendy picked it up. “Reading?”
Maeve leaned across her to open the glove box. She shut the book inside.
Maeve did not see the car come up behind them. It was possible the lights were dimmed. It was possible she was wrapped up in Wendy, buried beneath her. By the time she heard rapping on the fogged window, it was too late to make the situation less clear. She righted herself, though there was no fixing the straps on her overalls that had been undone. She buttoned her shirt while Wendy pulled her dress down over her hips. Maeve expected to see a cop or, worse, her dad. Instead, the door opened, and Conor O’Kane peered into the back seat. His mouth fell open as his stony eyes moved from Maeve to Wendy and back again. He seemed to pick up something he’d dropped then stepped away from the car.
Maeve twisted to secure the toggles of her overalls.This can’t be happening.
“I think that’s the guy from the store, the one carrying beer out,” Wendy said.
Maeve heard the flick of a lighter, smelled tobacco burning. “Wait here.”
O’Kane was leaning against the hood of his car, which had Maeve’s pinned into the lane.
“Hello there, Maeve. Fancy bumping into you. You remember me, right?”
“I know who you are.”
“I saw Will’s car in town and thought, now that’s funny,” Conor said. He sucked on the cigarette, blew smoke in her direction. A memory of her grandmother swirled in the scent of it. “Strange seeing it parked on this road on a Saturday night. I figured I’d check it out.” He stared at her, squinting as if he was trying to solve a riddle.
“Did you follow me?”
“What if I did? Seems you got up to something, I’d say.”
The moon was full and as bright as an interrogation light. There was no story she could invent. He saw what he saw.
“Are you going to tell?”
“Tell?” His laugh was outsized and fake. “You think I’m some kind of narc? Ask your mother. She knows I can keep a secret.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Conor stepped forward, put a hand on her shoulder. She flinched, tried to shrug it off.
“Your strap is twisted,” he said, hooking a finger into her overalls. He detached the metal toggle, unwound the strap like he was twirling a lock of hair, his eyes never moving from hers. “So, girls, huh?” He gestured toward the car. Wendy was staring from the back window.
He was the villain of every story—the wolf in sheep’s clothing, the needle on the spinning wheel. His accent was as thick as her grandfather’s, who said more than once that Conor O’Kane was full of shite. Up close, he was an abyss. What made it worse was that he smelled good. Not like cologne or soap or a firepit or oil or car exhaust. He didn’t smell like leather or denim or cotton. It was not some herb or flower or fruit or piece of wood or fish in a net. Something earthy oozed from him—mushrooms or moss in a cave. Maeve wished she could smell like that, push up earth just bybreathing. If Conor O’Kane could transform into a bear or wolf, she would not be surprised. She stared off to the right, repulsed but something else too. She was afraid to even look at him.
“I bet you’ve never even given a man a go. You never know ... the right one might fix you up.” He hooked the toggle around the metal button, grabbed the other strap, and yanked up hard. The seam of her pants dug into her crotch. Maeve let out a yelp.
“You and your girlfriend there best get home. Wouldn’t want William and Fiadh to worry. Where do they think you are, anyway?”
