Chapter One
With one final
ka-thunk
, the engine in Katy McShea’s aging compact car gave up the ghost, barely allowing her time to steer it onto the side of the road.
“No, no, no,” she said, as if pleading would change the car’s mind. Though she knew it wasn’t going to do her any good, she tried turning the ignition once, twice, then hoping that the third time would be the charm, again. The response was the same each time, a resounding silence.
Katy leaned her forehead against the steering wheel and did her best not to fall into despair. It was only a car, one she could have fixed even if she hadn’t planned for auto repairs in her tight budget. She reminded herself that compared to where she’d been a few years before, she might as well be a queen covered in rare jewels. A broken-down car on the side of the road was a lot better than the cold, windy doorway of an abandoned building, where she used to sit with fear tensing every muscle in her body.
She closed her eyes and forced herself to take slow, deep breaths. She could tackle anything if she just took it one step at a time.
A knock on her window caused her to jump and gasp. Her heart was beating so hard the pounding was surely visible on the outside of her chest.
“Ma’am, are you okay?”
Katy fought to bring her panic under control as she stared out the window at the man in a police uniform filling her vision. The sight of it sent her fight-or-flight instinct firmly in the flight direction, but a shred of common sense told her that fleeing from a police officer wasn’t a good choice, even if she hadn’t done anything wrong. Plus, she wasn’t going to do much fleeing in a dead car.
So, once again she forced herself to take slower breaths as she rolled down the window.
“You can’t park here, ma’am,” the middle-aged officer said.
The past tried to suck her under as she studied the dark, close-cropped hair, the air of authority, the crispness of his uniform. She mentally gripped her panic and shook it, reminding herself this man wasn’t Terry. The officer was older and the uniform was wrong.
She realized he was staring at her as if trying to figure out if she were intoxicated.
“I’m not parked by choice, Officer. My car broke down.”
He gestured toward the steering wheel. “Give it another try.” She didn’t know if he was verifying her story or trying to save her a towing bill, but she complied.
Again, turning the ignition resulted in a big fat nothing of a response.
“Yeah, she’s dead.”
Duh. The thought zipped through Katy’s mind, but she didn’t dare utter it.
“You’ll have to have it towed.”
“Yes, sir.” She reached for her phone and then realized she didn’t know who to call. “Um, do you know the name of a service station with towing near here?”
To her relief, he said he knew a guy and went back to his cruiser to make the call. Her breath came more easily with each step he took away from her door.
She caught sight of herself in the rearview mirror and wondered if she’d ever heal to the point where she’d feel comfortable being alone with a man in uniform.
After a couple of moments, the officer retraced his steps to her door. “They said it’d be about ten minutes. I’ll wait until you’re able to clear the emergency lane.”
“Thank you.”
With a nod, he once again headed back to his car. She watched in the mirror as he spoke into his radio, probably checking her tags to make sure he wasn’t passing up an opportunity to nab someone with an outstanding warrant, or someone in the midst of stealing a car. Or maybe he was simply relaying what he was doing to dispatch.
As the seconds ticked slowly by, she grew more anxious about how late she was going to be for her volunteer shift at Women’s Lunch Place, the Boston-area shelter at which she regularly offered her time and skills. She was about to call Linda Burston, the support coordinator there, when she spotted a tow truck
With one final
ka-thunk
, the engine in Katy McShea’s aging compact car gave up the ghost, barely allowing her time to steer it onto the side of the road.
“No, no, no,” she said, as if pleading would change the car’s mind. Though she knew it wasn’t going to do her any good, she tried turning the ignition once, twice, then hoping that the third time would be the charm, again. The response was the same each time, a resounding silence.
Katy leaned her forehead against the steering wheel and did her best not to fall into despair. It was only a car, one she could have fixed even if she hadn’t planned for auto repairs in her tight budget. She reminded herself that compared to where she’d been a few years before, she might as well be a queen covered in rare jewels. A broken-down car on the side of the road was a lot better than the cold, windy doorway of an abandoned building, where she used to sit with fear tensing every muscle in her body.
She closed her eyes and forced herself to take slow, deep breaths. She could tackle anything if she just took it one step at a time.
A knock on her window caused her to jump and gasp. Her heart was beating so hard the pounding was surely visible on the outside of her chest.
“Ma’am, are you okay?”
Katy fought to bring her panic under control as she stared out the window at the man in a police uniform filling her vision. The sight of it sent her fight-or-flight instinct firmly in the flight direction, but a shred of common sense told her that fleeing from a police officer wasn’t a good choice, even if she hadn’t done anything wrong. Plus, she wasn’t going to do much fleeing in a dead car.
So, once again she forced herself to take slower breaths as she rolled down the window.
“You can’t park here, ma’am,” the middle-aged officer said.
The past tried to suck her under as she studied the dark, close-cropped hair, the air of authority, the crispness of his uniform. She mentally gripped her panic and shook it, reminding herself this man wasn’t Terry. The officer was older and the uniform was wrong.
She realized he was staring at her as if trying to figure out if she were intoxicated.
“I’m not parked by choice, Officer. My car broke down.”
He gestured toward the steering wheel. “Give it another try.” She didn’t know if he was verifying her story or trying to save her a towing bill, but she complied.
Again, turning the ignition resulted in a big fat nothing of a response.
“Yeah, she’s dead.”
Duh. The thought zipped through Katy’s mind, but she didn’t dare utter it.
“You’ll have to have it towed.”
“Yes, sir.” She reached for her phone and then realized she didn’t know who to call. “Um, do you know the name of a service station with towing near here?”
To her relief, he said he knew a guy and went back to his cruiser to make the call. Her breath came more easily with each step he took away from her door.
She caught sight of herself in the rearview mirror and wondered if she’d ever heal to the point where she’d feel comfortable being alone with a man in uniform.
After a couple of moments, the officer retraced his steps to her door. “They said it’d be about ten minutes. I’ll wait until you’re able to clear the emergency lane.”
“Thank you.”
With a nod, he once again headed back to his car. She watched in the mirror as he spoke into his radio, probably checking her tags to make sure he wasn’t passing up an opportunity to nab someone with an outstanding warrant, or someone in the midst of stealing a car. Or maybe he was simply relaying what he was doing to dispatch.
As the seconds ticked slowly by, she grew more anxious about how late she was going to be for her volunteer shift at Women’s Lunch Place, the Boston-area shelter at which she regularly offered her time and skills. She was about to call Linda Burston, the support coordinator there, when she spotted a tow truck
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