Chapter 2
“I bet it's the Chinese government trying to steal our scientific research!” bellowed one lobsterman at the end of the bar at Drinks Like A Fish. “You can't trust 'em. Nope. Can't trust 'em.”
And with that, the grizzled, bearded lobsterman downed his mug of beer and slammed the empty glass on the bar, signaling Hayley's brother, Randy, who was owner and barkeep, to pour him another.
Hayley sat on a stool at the other end of the long wooden bar, nursing a Jack and Coke and waiting for her two BFFs, Liddy and Mona, to arrive. She had finished work a little early and showed up at the bar to catch up on all the gossip with her brother before the girls arrived, but today's happy hour was particularly busy, and Randy barely had enough time to say hello.
“They got spies everywhere,” another weathered fisherman said, nodding in agreement. “You just watch. In a week or so, maybe a month, a new doctor will show up to take that missing guy's place at the lab, and he'll be one of them. That's why they grabbed him. So they could replace him with one of their own and have all that top secret research at their fingertips!”
The other men, who were hunched over the bar and slurping their own warm beers, grunted and nodded their heads. They had a consensus.
Chinese spies were infiltrating Mount Desert Island.
That had to be the explanation for Dr. Alvin Foley's disappearance. Not that he had some kind of family emergency and had left town without telling anyone. Not that he hadn't liked his job and chose to quit without handing in a formal resignation. It couldn't be something so simple.
No. It had to be much bigger.
And none of the locals would be satisfied until they spotted James Bond parachuting onto Sand Beach from a passing plane to take out the nefarious evildoers bent on world domination.
Randy caught Hayley's eye and grinned. This was par for the course at his bar. Men out in tiny boats on the harsh, unforgiving sea all day hauling traps for meager wages enjoying some downtime by clouding their minds with alcohol and allowing their imaginations to run wild before returning home to their families.
Another bearded man, with a black cap and wearing overalls, sat at a table a few feet from the bar. He raised his own mug, clutching the sides with his pudgy red hands and dirt-lined fingernails. “I think you got it all wrong, bub. It ain't the Chinese. That's just crazy talk.”
Finallyâa voice of reason.
“It's the Russians!”
Never mind.
“The Russians can blend in better as long as they learn to lose the accent. Nobody would suspect 'em. You drop an Asian inside the lab and I'm already suspicious.”
The fact that many Asian men and women already worked at the Jackson Lab apparently was an undisputed fact lost on these men.
The door to the bar flung open and Liddy hustled inside. She hurled her tote bag on top of the bar and slid up on the stool next to Hayley. “Sorry I'm late. I was showing a property to a couple from Brunswick who couldn't make up their minds. I hate wishy washy people. Just make a damn decision!”
Randy came over and smiled at Liddy. “What can I get you, doll?”
“Something sweet. Like a mojito. No wait. A daiquiri. No, I don't want to risk a brain freeze. How about . . . What are you drinking, Hayley? Oh, no, forget it. I don't want a Jack and Coke. Let me think.... Should I go simple and have a Rose Kennedy? But vodka gives me a headache. . . .”
Just make a damn decision,
Hayley thought.
There was no way she would ever say that out loud.
“Where's Mona?” she asked.
“I saw her outside trying to find parking for that ridiculously big truck she drives. I know! I'll have a sea breeze. No. Make it a greyhound. I'm in a pineapple mood.”
“You sure?” Randy asked.
“Yes. Wait. No. Yes.”
“Greyhound.”
“Yes . . .” Liddy said, still not sure.
“I'm going to go make it now, okay?” Randy said, backing away.
“You can always order something else if it turns out to not be what you want,” Hayley suggested.
“You're right. Fine. Go make it, Randy.”
Randy was already pouring from the carton of pineapple juice.
“Now what were we talking about?” Liddy asked.
“Wishy washy people who can't make up their minds,” Hayley replied.
“Right. God, I wanted to shoot myself. How does anybody deal with people like that?”
The lobsterman with the weathered face who had first proposed the Chinese spy theory was now wagging a finger at the man seated at the table as he downed yet another beer, white foam settling into his thick, shaggy beard. “Of course, it could also be Middle East terrorists! The Jackson Lab is a prime target for those nut jobs. Just think what would happen if they got their hands on some deadly airborne virus. They could just pop open a vial and let the wind do the rest. Bar Harbor could be ground zero for a bioterrorist attack!”
“What the hell are they talking about?” Liddy asked, stirring the greyhound cocktail Randy had just slid in front of her.
“Don't ask,” Hayley said, shaking her head.
Mona burst through the door, red faced and eyes blazing. She marched over and struggled to lift her bulky frame up onto the last remaining stool alongside Hayley and Liddy.
“Sorry I'm late. Liddy stole my parking space!”
“I did no such thing,” Liddy said, setting down her drink. “Oh, this is too sweet. I'm going to order something else.”
“I pulled my truck ahead to parallel park it in the space right out front, and Liddy came roaring up behind me in her fancy Mercedes and just pulled in and took it. I had to go park behind the drugstore.”
“I was doing you a favor, Mona. There was no way that monster truck you drive was going to fit in that tiny little space. You would have taken the front bumper off Hayley's car in the space behind it and right now you'd be on your knees begging her for forgiveness.”
“There was plenty of room for my truck. You were just being your usual selfish, everything-is-mine self!”
“Well, at least you're both here now,” Hayley said, hoping to calm the situation.
“That is so typical of you, Mona, pinning your bad decisions, like buying that gas-guzzling crime against the environment monstrosity, on me! Well, I won't have it.”
So much for calming the situation.
“Oh, and I suppose that expensive Mercedes
you
tool around town in runs on cow dung?” Mona screamed, waving her hands at Randy to bring her usual Bud Light.
Hayley knew the only way to stop the sudden escalation of Liddy and Mona's latest diatribe against one another was to take drastic action.
Like dropping a bomb.
And that's exactly what Hayley decided to do.
“Aaron's going to break up with me.”
Liddy and Mona stopped yelling at each other instantly.
“How do you know?” Liddy gasped.
“It's just a feeling I have. He takes so long to return my calls and texts. We hardly see each other. We had dinner a week and a half ago, but that's it. He says he's busy with his practice, but I think it's more than that.”
“Have you talked to him about it?” Mona asked.
“I'm working up the courage. I think I'm avoiding a conversation because I dread how it might end.”
“Honey, you could be misreading this whole thing,” Liddy said. “Sometimes when a man suddenly pulls away, it could mean a number of things. He could be telling the truth and he's just busy, or he's dealing with a personal problem he doesn't want to drag you into. . . .”
“Or he really is getting ready to dump you. . . .” Mona offered.
Liddy grimaced and shook her head. “Or . . . there is another reason he may be avoiding you, and I have seen this happen so many times. There is the possibility that he's getting ready to . . .”
Her voice trailed off.
“What, Liddy, what? Getting ready to what?” Hayley cried, unable to take the suspense.
“Propose!” Liddy screamed at the top of her lungs.
She was so loud the gaggle of fishermen stopped their heated discussion about Chinese and Russian spies invading Maine and turned to see what all the fuss was about at the other end of the bar.
“Now, that's just ridiculous. . . .” Hayley said, laughing it off.
“Think about it. You've been dating a while now. You've both expressed your feelings to one another. Gemma's already at college and Dustin has one foot out the door, so there's no awkward stepfather drama to deal with.”
“Mona, help me here. . . .”
“I think she may be on to something,” Mona said, shrugging.
Et tu, Mona?
Hayley couldn't get her mind around the idea of Aaron proposing. It was way too soon. And she wasn't even sure how she felt about the prospect of getting married again.
She had already failed spectacularly once. She wasn't ready to dive in again.
Or was she?
Part of her was excited.
Part of her was scared out of her mind.
And part of her was supremely skeptical.
A proposal? That couldn't be it.
Or could it?
It would be a miracle if she got any sleep tonight.
As Liddy breathlessly detailed her theory as to why she was right about this, Hayley noticed Mona nodding, totally on board with Liddy's thinking.
Liddy and Mona agreed on something.
Now that was the true miracle.
Chapter 3
Hayley was convinced she hadn't heard right as she clutched the phone to her ear. “I'm sorry, could you say that again?”
“We want you to fly to New York and appear on our show
The Chat
,” the man's very calm voice said on the other end of the line.
How could he be so calm?
How could anyone be calm?
The Chat
was a nationally broadcast talk show on a major network.
And this man, whose name Hayley had already forgotten, maybe it was Dan or Don, was calling her at home inviting her to New York?
Maybe this was a joke.
Did Mona corral her husband, actually get his butt off the couch, to pretend to be a big time TV producer in order to pull a fast one on her?
“What did you say your name was again?”
“Doug Hornsby. I'm a talent booker and we are doing a weeklong cooking segment, a salute to bacon, and your name came up as someone who could perhaps prepare one of your signature bacon dishes on our show.”
Bacon.
Hayley had been inexplicably drawn to writing about bacon lately in her column. She chalked it up to a recent craving, but on some deeper level, she knew it was about her kids.
Gemma and Dustin loved bacon, and though she supplemented it with a lot of fruit and vegetables, she loved to indulge her kids with the sizzling breakfast staple every so often.
And bacon wasn't just for breakfast anymore.
She had been experimenting with all kinds of mouthwatering recipes.
A freshman psych major could conjure up some rudimentary theory to explain why she was so obsessed with bacon as of late. She missed her kids desperately, and bacon frying in a pan or the smell of bacon wafting from a casserole in her oven was comforting. It reminded her of them, like they were at home with her about to dive in to their mother's latest potato bacon casserole, or BLT sandwich, or homemade bacon pizza.
“Mrs. Powell, are you there?” Doug Hornsby asked, breaking the silence.
“Yes, I'm here.”
If this was for real, if Mona wasn't on the other end stifling a guffaw, elbowing her husband to keep the joke going, then this was a twist Hayley definitely did
not
see coming.
When she'd arrived home from Randy's bar, the house had been dark and chilly, the temperature outside low for a late spring evening. Hayley had warmed up with a cup of hot chocolate and tried calling her kids.
She'd gotten both their voice mails. She didn't leave them messages. They would call when they had a free moment.
Or at least she hoped.
She'd debated calling Aaron. Just check in to see if he was having a good week.
Then she'd decided against it.
She wasn't going to throw herself at him. If he wanted to see her, he could pick up the phone.
Her shih tzu, Leroy, had scampered into the kitchen, wide eyed and excited to see her, but once she poured some kibble into his paw print bowl, he shifted his focus to his food and ignored her completely. Once the bowl was licked clean, he'd trotted into the living room to jump up on the couch he wasn't supposed to be on and nestled into his favorite silk pillow. Hayley had relaxed the house rules considerably with the kids gone, and both her pets were taking full advantage of her leniency. Her giant fur ball Persian cat, Blueberry, was undoubtedly upstairs curled up on her bed, wallowing and purring in the three-hundred-thread-count sheets from the Martha Stewart Collection Hayley had splurged on and ordered online from Macy's when she received a slight pay increase the previous month.
When the phone had rung, it startled her. She was just sitting in her oversized recliner in the dark, fingering the TV remote, not even sure she wanted to turn it on to try and find something to watch.
At first she'd thought it might be one of the kids calling her back.
Or Aaron.
But she hadn't recognized the number. 212. Was that New York?
She'd assumed it was just a telemarketer and wasn't going to answer it. But she was sitting in the dark with an empty mug and staring at her walls.
Why not see who it was just for kicks? It was something to do.
“Hello?”
And that's when she met the disembodied voice of Doug, the booking manager for
The Chat
, a show she watched religiously whenever she was home sick or had the day off. The panel was made up of three prominent women, a former newswoman, a comedic actress, and a lifestyle expert. They would open each show with a freewheeling discussion about the major news stories of the day and then segue into celebrity interviews, shopping tips, and cooking segments. It was a breezy, fun way to kill an hour, and the show was a ratings success for the network.
Doug was still talking.
“We had a Food Network personality booked, but her son got the measles and she had to drop out. We need a fill-in and your name came up.”
“How on earth did you find me?”
“Rhonda's a fan,” he said.
Rhonda.
Rhonda Franklin.
The comedic actress on the panel.
She was a larger than life, boisterous stand-up comic turned actress who had starred in a few Hollywood blockbusters, headlined her own sitcom for five years, and worked tirelessly to bring attention to the causes she was passionate about, like breast cancer and domestic violence. She was big, bawdy, and made a lot of noise whenever she mouthed off about anything. Hayley was an unabashed fan of the sometimes controversial but always hilarious woman. Especially when Rhonda had made the bold move to come out of the closet as a lesbian years before gay marriage was even the norm. It was a risk to her career, but in the end, it just made her more famous.
“You . . . you said Rhonda is a fan?”
“Yes. She's visited Mount Desert Island for several summers now and calls it her second home. The last time she was there she subscribed to your paper, the
Island Examiner. . . .
”
“Island Times.”
“Right. Anyway, she discovered your column and now she never misses it.”
This was too surreal.
And this phone call couldn't possibly be Mona playing a prank because even she wouldn't go so over the top and say Rhonda Franklin was a loyal reader of her small town food-and-cocktails column.
Nobody would buy it.
“I'm in a bit of a bind, Hayley. We need to fill the spot ASAP because we're running out of time, so can you commit?”
“When did you say I need to be there?”
“The show tapes Friday.”
“This Friday as in . . . ?”
“The day after tomorrow.”
Hayley's head was spinning.
What would she wear?
What about her frizzy unruly hair?
And her pale, drawn face?
The show must have professional makeup artists and hair stylists and costumers to deal with frumpy single mothers who showed up on the set with no TV experience.
Or at least she prayed they did.
But Friday?
“Just say yes. Please. I can have our travel person call you back in five minutes to work out your flight details. We'll treat you well, Hayley, I promise.”
“Yes.”
She heard Doug let out a big sigh of relief on the other end the phone.
Hayley wasn't concerned about taking the time off work. She had a few personal days stored up. And Sal would probably be over the moon that she would be on a big time national TV show talking about his paper, the
Island Times,
and not their rival publication, the
Bar Harbor Herald
.
Doug thanked her profusely and hung up.
She still held the receiver to her ear.
She was in a state of shock.
And blissfully unaware of what fate was about to bring.