“She told you to go away?”
Chase thought back again to their parting words. “No, not really.” He glanced at the bead shop, where a “Closed” sign dangled in the window. Turquoise eyes twinkled in his memory.
“Then the door is still open.”
“But the shop is locked up for the night.”
An exasperated grin quirked Todd’s mouth. “Not the door to the gift shop, dude. The door to her heart.” He nodded toward the entrance to the pub. “Maybe a few drinks will help clear things up.”
Chase wasn’t sure. He’d put his own heart on the line before, only to see it trampled. Getting involved with another love triangle held no appeal. In his mind he replayed the kiss from the sidewalk cafe.
Okay, maybe a little appeal
. Oh hell, he wanted her. Todd opened the door to the pub. “Are you in or out, dude?”
He relented. “In. For a beer, I mean. But seriously, Todd.”
“Yeah?”
“Stop calling me
dude
.”
“Whatever you say, boss.”
Chapter Nine
The fishing boat chugged due east, already far from the sight of land. Chase scrubbed at tired eyes, regretting those last few beers. He and Todd had stayed at the bar until the closing bell sounded, stumbling back to their motel in time for a quick nap. Dawn came early along the coastline in August, and he couldn’t let stray thoughts confuse his purpose.
He focused on the horizon and not on the intern hanging his head over the side of the boat, his face an interesting shade of green. The open ocean didn’t bother Chase, at least, not any more.
During his undergrad years, he’d participated in semesters at sea, studying marine debris accumulation under Rafe Parker’s Sea Education Association. The youngest crewmember by far, he’d gotten over both his seasickness and his fears pretty quickly. The research fascinated him, and he’d quickly discovered his calling.
SEA based their operations in Woods Hole, near the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institute, more commonly referred to as WHOI. He’d done quite a few research trips with their organization over the years, the most recent of which ended last week. Chase figured he’d logged almost as much of his life at sea as on dry land.
Scientists from both SEA and WHOI had studied the North Atlantic garbage gyre for decades. First discovered in the early 1970s, SEA dragged nets and collected numerous samples over the years. By now, even elementary school children know the millions of tons of plastic discarded every year stick around in the environment for hundreds of years. News footage covered some of the horrors plastics cause out at sea, from harbor seals entangled in plastic nets to sea turtles with six-pack rings encircling and deforming their shells, to fish ingesting pieces of plastic and the sharks that swallowed whole inner tubes.
But the most recent scientific discoveries caused an added level of concern.
In February, grad students presented a paper detailing new research delving into a largely unexplored world they titled the “Plastisphere”—a thriving community of microorganisms living on top of the floating plastic of the debris gyre. They compared it to an island community where previously undiscovered bacteria thrived, posing potential threats to sea creatures, humans, and anything else they touched.
Initial sampling conducted in secret for the Center for Disease Control in Atlanta revealed a previously unknown and highly contagious strain of avian flu thriving amongst the decaying plastic. If the gyre drifted closer to the coast, there could be deadly consequences.
While CDC worked to develop a vaccine, they sent Chase to determine if the flu sample represented an isolated anomaly, or something more widespread. The research he and Todd conducted over the last few weeks showed little reason for elevated concern, since the only samples found to contain the hybrid flu strain floated far from any shoreline. Good news, until Captain Scott filed a report that he’d sighted a new, smaller gyre ghosting along the edge of the popular Georges Bank fishing grounds and drifting toward Cape Cod.
If it was a breakout from the plastisphere, it might contain some of the same deadly bacteria amidst the floating debris. Without further investigation, there was no way of knowing if it was a pending threat or merely a separate flotilla of trash. Chase’s experience with the previous gyre mapping made him the obvious candidate to complete the research.
At the moment, though, the toxins raging in his intern’s bloodstream were more of an immediate concern than bird flu. He handed Todd a water bottle. “Are you going to live?”
The grad student swished and spit over the side, swiping a hand across his mouth. “Yeah, unfortunately. My head feels like it wants to split open and melt with the rising sun. Is it too much to ask for a few clouds today?” He tipped the bottle and finished off the rest of the water.
“Those tequila shots might’ve been a bad idea.”
“Did you see that girl who bought them for me? How could I say no?” Todd’s grin quickly faded. He leaned over the rail and heaved again, losing the water he’d just ingested.
Chase grabbed another water bottle from the deck cooler, lashed tight against the side railing. The fishing boat was a far cry from the WHOI research vessel they’d lived aboard for the bulk of this mapping expedition. The last ship boasted a lab complete with an electron microscope and satellite communication links, enabling his ability to send data straight to both the university research assistants and CDC in Atlanta. By contrast, the pole nets on Captain Wilbur’s boat were barely long enough to grab samples from the floating trash.
Luckily, an organization called the Center for Coastal Studies based its operation in Provincetown, and their labs contained all the equipment needed for the initial fieldwork. He’d spoken with the director the previous day, after his pseudo-date with Emma.
He thrust the second bottle into Todd’s hand. “Sip, don’t guzzle. We have another hour or so of motoring fast like this before we get to the area indicated in Captain Scott’s report. I need you to be functional by then.”
“You got it, boss.” He heaved again.
“And no more tequila.”
Todd ran a shaky hand through his hair. “That part won’t be a problem.”
****
Emma wanted to slam the glass door on her way out, but restrained herself. Throwing a tantrum first thing in the morning wouldn’t lower the price of the new phone one bit. The guy behind the counter certainly didn’t seem to care one way or the other. She’d clenched her jaw and swiped her credit card wishing for that “full protection” plan like Chase’s. Or that Cloud backup thingee the salesman kept talking about.
At least she had a new cell phone. Thank goodness the store opened first thing at eight, so she could get this done before starting her day. The guy transferred her number quickly enough, but was unable to retrieve her contacts or photos. Something essential apparently fried when her phone hit the pavement, causing irreparable damage to some chip.
All those contact numbers. Gone
. What was the point of having a smart phone if it forgot everything?
Next week at work is gonna suck
. She drew a deep breath. She’d wait and worry about next week when it rolled around. Right now, she had late-summer tourists to deal with, a sick brother in the hospital to worry about, and a temperamental scientist to daydream over.
Next week can wait
its turn
.
Rounding the corner, she saw someone on the sidewalk in front of Baubles and Beads, alternately pacing and peering through the plate glass window. He didn’t exactly look the part of an artist, nor the typical bead-buying tourist. Hands jammed in his pockets, the short, muscular man in the full pinstriped suit marched head down, the bright sun glinting off both his patent leather shoes and slicked back hair. The outfit looked out of place in the early morning sunshine and screamed gangster with a capital G.
She tugged on Hershey’s leash, calling out to him as she made her way toward the shop. “You know you’re early, right? Carnival doesn’t officially start until Saturday.”
He stopped mid-step and fingered the inside of his shirt collar, as if attempting to make room for the bulge of his thick neck. Dark bruises painted the skin around his right eye with a wild array of colors that reached to his ear and down his neck. Seeing the bruises, her breath caught in her throat and she froze, not wanting to get too near.
This isn’t some guy dressed in a costume. Something’s wrong.
His sandpaper voice made her shudder despite the summer sun. “I came to offer my apologies. I made unfortunate assumptions about your actions, Emma Maguire, which I now deeply regret. Please accept my most humble acknowledgement of the offense and my personal failure.”
She frowned at the completely over-the-top apology, without the slightest idea what he meant. She slowly inched forward, Hershey growling under his breath. “Have we met before?”
He extended a hand. “Vito Lorenzo, at your service.”
“I assume you’re Tony’s cousin.” She ignored the offered handshake. “If I never heard of you before yesterday, how do you know me?”
“I seen you with my cousin. You know? He talks about you and so forth.” He dropped his arm to his side. “I jumped to wrong conclusions yesterday without fully investigating the incriminating-like situation. For that I am truly sorry.”
“Didn’t Tony say he talked to you yesterday—in the city?”
Vito looked even more uncomfortable, if such a thing were possible. “Yes. At work. But after he apprised me of my sorely mistaken assumptions, we decided it would be in my best interest to return to Cape Cod right away and apologize in person to you, the offended party.”
“You didn’t offend me.”
“My offense was to my cousin, and by extension to you. If it’s not too much to ask, could you call to let him know how sincerely I told you of my sorrowfulness?”
“Umm, sure.”
He bobbed his head. “Excellent. I thank you for your forgiving nature. Now to catch the morning ferry to Boston.”
She watched him saunter down the sidewalk toward the wharf. “Wait. Vito?”
He turned.
“Tony said you’re here on business?”
“Yeah.”
“What business is that?”
“You know. Family business.” He touched his fingers to his brow in mock salute and continued toward the ferry terminal.
“Family business.” Emma let herself into the bead shop and flipped on the lights, wondering what exactly Vito meant. Was the insurance company family owned and operated? Or were Chase and her mother correct in their assumptions? And what happened to him that left such extensive bruises?
Did Tony do that to his own cousin? Is that what he meant by “taking care” of Vito?
After flipping switches for overhead fans and the soft Celtic flute music her mother favored in the background, she dug through her purse for the new cell phone. She promised Vito to text Tony right away, and intended to keep that promise. Thumbs poised over the keyboard, she realized she didn’t know what she wanted to say.
How do I ask? Hey, are you a mobster? Did you beat up Vito?
Emma shook her head.
Not gonna
happen
.
There must be a simpler explanation.
She’d told Tony last night on the phone about the lunch with Chase. Why was she rushing to text him apologies when Vito’s appearance on her doorstep only created more questions in her mind? Before she analyzed the situation any further, the phone rang, displaying a number she recognized.
“Emma! How’s vacation? Will you be back in time for the cake tasting Sunday?” Her best friend’s voice rushed along in a whirlwind pace that made Emma smile. She could hear horns blaring and people yelling in the background, and felt an odd nostalgia for city life. Walking the dog to work through the empty morning streets of P-town made her feel like she’d traveled to an alternate universe, so different from the routine she’d created for herself in the city. But which did she prefer? The question Chase asked her yesterday circled back again. Had she found what she was looking for?
She exhaled hard, bringing herself back to the present. “Slight hiccup in the plan.” She filled her friend in on the fight with her mother, the early return trip to New York, her brother’s subsequent emergency surgery and the current fluidity of her timetable. “I’m in P-town now. Dad says he’ll be home tonight, so I’ll know more when I talk to him.”
“Wow, sorry to hear about Sean. I had no idea!”
Emma winced at the accusation in her friend’s tone. “I guess I’ve been busy. But listen, I’m glad you called because I need advice.” She explained Tony’s inexplicable jealousy, the strange woman answering his phone, the visit from the scary-looking cousin, and the request to stop dating.
Somehow Kathy zeroed in on the one part of the story Emma didn’t want to dwell on. “So is the scientist guy hot?”
“Kathy, you’re engaged to the most perfect man in New York City!”
“I’m engaged, not dead,” she countered. “And you, young lady, are still in the market for a husband. Or at least some steamy sex. I’ll ask again. Hot or not?”
Even though her cheeks flushed, Emma knew she couldn’t completely lie to her best friend. “Hot. I guess. If you like that sort of thing. Sexy in a rumpled, geeky way that sends shivers down your spine and makes you think of inappropriate uses for scientific equipment.”
“Why are you even worrying about some dumb promise you made Tony? You and I both know nothing’s ever going to happen between the two of you. Go play with the steamy science geek. Test tubes and beakers and rubber tubing, oh my!”
Emma felt the flush go right down her toes, revisiting the dream she’d had this morning about Chase naked in a science lab. “But Tony is my friend. He’s like my best friend in the city, after you of course.”
“Yes, yes, and every girl in New York needs a gay friend, especially after watching
Sex and the
City,
but Jim thinks there’s something really off about the guy. He can’t even have a normal conversation about work when they’re supposedly in the same industry!”
Emma froze, her earlier concerns rising to the surface. “What do you mean,
supposedly
?”