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Purgatory, West Virginia

March 3

“Tell me about the girl.” The day was unseasonably warm, and May and Finn were out in the garden.

“It’s in the past,” Finn said

Maybelle clapped her hands together to shake the dirt from her gardening gloves. “You spend all your time stewing, and the world keeps turning.”

“There’s nothing to tell.” He pulled a tarp from a cluster of hydrangeas.

“I disagree. You’re a man with half a heart. I figured someone must have the other half.”

“Kindred spirit?” Finn asked.

“Yes.”

“You were married for fifty-three years, May. You can’t compare my circumstances with yours.”

“Come ‘ere.” Maybelle stood and led Finn into the cottage. She crossed to the mantle, pulled down a tarnished picture frame, and passed it to him.

Finn looked at the polaroid. It was too small for the frame, and the white border showed through the glass. In the photo, two teenagers sat in the open bed of a pickup. The girl was Maybelle, and her body was tipped into the lanky Native American boy next to her. He was holding a pumpkin and grinning from ear to ear.

“That was tenth grade. Lennox had been home-schooled before that. Finally convinced his parents to let him attend the local high school. I took one look at him and fell flat on my ass. Oh, I made him work for it, and we broke up twice before we ran off and got married senior year.”

She headed into the kitchen and started the coffee maker. Finn reluctantly followed.

“Yes, we were younger than most, but it took us a minute to figure out what we were to each other.”

“And what was that?” Finn asked.

“Twin flames.” She grabbed two mugs from the cupboard. “Every culture has a myth about soulmates. There’s the eagle and the condor in Cherokee folklore. Aristophanes claimed humans originally had four arms and legs and two heads. They were split in two by the gods, and each half spent their life searching for their missing mate. In Lennox’s tribe, soulmates are described as twin flames, small but separate sparks, that, when joined, ignite.” She filled each mug, passed Finn the black coffee, and doctored her own with cream and sugar. “We ignited. That’s for sure.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Enough stalling, Rambo. Cough it up.”

“Her name is Charlotte. Charlotte Devlin.” Finn blew on the coffee and took a sip. “Jesus, Maybelle, this is tar.”

“Puts hair on your chest. Continue.”

“You know how people talk about love at first sight and soul mates. Shit, you talk about it.”

“And you don’t believe in that mumbo jumbo.”

“It’s not about believing or not believing. It never crossed my mind. It’s like, if you lived along the equator five hundred years ago, you’re not sitting there thinking how cool it would be to see snow or sad because you’ve never seen it. Snow isn’t within the realm of possibility. It doesn’t exist for you. Your mind can’t comprehend snow. That was me and love. And then I saw Charlotte.” Finn looked into May’s understanding eyes.

“She was my snow.”

Finn ran a hand through his sandy hair. “I think of it now like a dream, like I wonder if it was real. I was about to try for the SEALs and had two weeks of leave. I was spending Fleet Week in New York with some buddies, then heading home to Philly to visit my family. We were at South Street Seaport, waiting to buy tickets for one of those shark boat tours where they race you up and down the East River.”

Maybelle nodded along.

“I looked over and saw this red ponytail. It was fucking crazy. She was sitting on a bench hunched over a laptop. All I saw was this long red ponytail. I had this bizarre impulse to grab it. I walked away from my buddies like a tractor beam was pulling me in and came up behind her. I must have stood there for five minutes, watching her work on a piece of code. She didn’t notice me, and I got kind of pissed. Not because of me. She’s this girl sitting in the middle of pickpockets and sailors, and God knows what else, and she’s oblivious. Her bag is wide open next to her on the bench, and she’s typing away on her keyboard. The world could have fallen down around her, and she wouldn’t have noticed. So, I walked around the bench and stood in front of her. She wouldn’t have even looked up then, but my body cast a shadow.”

He spun the coffee mug on the counter and huffed a laugh. “She lifted her head and… It was like the world stopped turning. Everything just fell silent. Blue eyes, pale blue, like old jeans, freckles across her nose, lips like people pay for. She wasn’t conventionally gorgeous, but she was my gorgeous, you know?”

“Definitely,” Maybelle agreed.

“I must have stared at her for a solid minute. She looked like this sexy, nerdy fairy. Finally, I said, ‘I can tell you why your code is failing.’ She ignored my comment and tipped the lid of her laptop closed like she was hiding something. Then she asked if I was part of the competition.”

“Competition?” Maybelle repeated.


Tags: Debbie Baldwin Bishop Security Mystery