The Mighty Quinns: Mac

“Whitman? No, that would seem so...obvious. And a little desperate.”

“But you are desperate,” Trish said. “Maybe it would be best to just admit that right at the top. There is something sexy about a woman desperate to copulate.”

“Copulate?”

“My mother always taught me to use the proper terms for sex.”

“Alice Pettit told me to keep my knees together and my feet on the floor,” Emma said. “Marliss Franks warned me that naughty girls burn in hell and Reverend Kopitsky said that my body is sacred and my virtue worth more than gold. It really didn’t matter, though. Once I got that stupid brace, the boys stayed away.”

Her teenage years had been lonely at best. She’d been diagnosed with scoliosis at age thirteen and had worn a back brace through most of high school. Burdened also with massive orthodontia and a bad case of acne, she hadn’t been the most attractive option for a prom date. Just months after the brace came off, her mother had been diagnosed with cancer and Emma’s attention had turned to nursing her. There’d never been time to date, and without dating—and living in a small town—sex had become an unreachable goal. Now, after all these years of chastity, she felt vulnerable, unprepared for a relationship. She had no idea how to talk to boys or flirt. She still felt like the girl with the back brace and the pimples.

She’d always taken solace in her studies, graduating at the top of her high school class. After high school came college and grad school. She’d lived at home, for both convenience and cost, and so she could watch over her mother’s care.

Four years ago, she’d finished her masters in information sciences and been offered the head librarian’s job at the small library in town. Though she’d always dreamed about leaving town and starting life somewhere new, Emma stayed to see her mother though the last stages of her illness.

The people of San Coronado had always stood behind her and her mother, Elaine. Elaine had been a beloved kindergarten teacher at the local school and everyone had known her. During her illness, there’d been lots of volunteers who’d arranged fund-raisers—spaghetti dinners and bake sales and benefit concerts—all to help with her mother’s medical costs. A prayer circle had spent two hours a week praying for her recovery. How could Emma refuse the job and a chance to return something to the community that had given her mother so much love and attention?

So she’d thrown herself into her work, completely updating the library’s catalog system, rearranging the floor plan and adding new programs for children and seniors. And though her mother had urged her to get out and socialize, it was easier to just work into the late hours and then flop into bed when she got home.

She’d had dreams once. She and her mother had always talked about traveling together, taking the summer to see exotic places. They’d pored over travel books and planned itineraries, keeping their notes in leather-bound journals.

New Zealand, Indonesia, Portugal, Finland, Costa Rica. Lists of things to see and do, places to eat. Even during the worst of her mother’s illness, they’d kept at it, as if the work held some magic cure.

And once it was clear there would be no cure, her mother made her promise that she’d find a way to go on her own. She’d save her money and buy a ticket to one of the places that had fascinated them both.

As for her lack of social life, that had really been her own fault. After her mother’s death, she’d given herself the chance to grieve. It had been easy to shut herself in the house and avoid people. The more time that passed, the more overwhelming getting back out there became. She pushed aside thoughts of a social life to focus entirely on a rigorous work schedule. But now, she felt as if the world had passed her by.

There were a few available men left in town and at least one of them was interested. But trying to start a relationship underneath a microscope was daunting. Everyone seemed a bit too invested in her happily-ever-after.

“I know how difficult it’s been on you,” Trish said.

“I’m not complaining,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m a lucky woman. I have a wonderful job and a wonderful best friend. I don’t need anything else.”

“Yes, you do!” Trish cried. “You need to feed your soul and your heart. You need passion in your life. And a few really good orgasms. I think this Mac guy is the answer to all your problems.”

“Let’s say I do decide that I want to pursue something...carnal with Mac,” Emma said. “I have to be ready to do it. I mean, it could happen quickly, right? Sometimes, the passion is so overwhelming you just can’t help yourself.”

“Sometimes,” Trisha agreed.

“So, I should buy some sexy underwear and do the whole wax thing. And a mani and a pedi. I’ll get my hair cut, too, so I don’t look like a demented bear the morning after. Oh, and I have to be ready to provide breakfast if he stays the night. I’ll have to plan a menu. And I probably should brush up on...you know...sex.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“We have a whole section of books in the library in our self-help section. They’re quite informative. I expect he’s going to be good at it, so I’d like to return the favor.”

“There is a possibility that you might be overanalyzing this,” Trish said. “I’ll be honest with you, once you start taking off your clothes, there’s not a lot of time to think.”

“Great advice,” Emma murmured. She reached out and restarted the car, then pulled it back out onto the road. She gripped the wheel with white-knuckled fingers, her mind spinning with the possibility that her long ordeal might be over soon.

There were some women who chose to be virgins until they married. But Emma knew she’d never marry. And sex was something that she wanted to experience, a simple human need that had to be satisfied.

“There is another option,” Trisha said. “I was reading an article a couple weeks ago about a brothel in Nevada that had men on the menu. You could always pay for it. For the right price, I bet Joey would consider it.”

“You’re offering up your husband?” Emma asked.

“Not to you,” Trish said. “Besides, you’re looking for a perfect male specimen, not a guy with a furry chest and the body of a teddy bear.” She shrugged. “What can I say? I find the man incredibly sexy. And he’s always been so enthusiastic in the sack. And he’s got the goods.”

“Thank you for your generous offer, but I’m going to have to refuse. But I will buy you lunch.”

As they drove toward town, past pastures and vast irrigated fields, the windows of the car open to the afternoon breeze, Emma felt happy, as if the future had suddenly opened up in front of her. There weren’t many days when she didn’t think about the lack of passion and adventure in her life. But today, she was different. There was an excitement that burned inside her...a delicious anticipation that her life was about to change.

* * *

MAC STARED UP at the facade of the San Coronado Public Library. A bronze plaque beside the door designated the neoclassical building as an Andrew Carnegie library, one of over a thousand built by the wealthy industrialist in the early part of the twentieth century in small towns all over the US.

Though he’d been asking J.J. about Emma since he’d met her the day before yesterday, the most he’d been able to pull out of the other man was that she was the town librarian and that everyone loved her. He didn’t really need much more. She’d most likely be inside and when she saw him, they’d talk.

He smoothed his hand through his hair, then took the steps two at a time. As he opened the front door, two younger boys slipped inside before him and he noticed a crowd gathered in the lobby. Mac had expected a quiet interior where people spoke in hushed tones. But instead, the place was bustling with noise and activity.

Scattered about was a display of model cars and trucks, made from the kits he’d enjoyed as a kid. Mac smiled as he wandered around the room, remembering the times he’d spent meticulously piecing each model together, then painting it. It was one of the after-school activities at the local Boys and Girls Club. After the disappearance of his parents, he’d been put into the foster care program and had spent most afternoons at the club, finishing his homework and working on models with a few friends.

The models had kept him off the streets and out of the gangs. And when he finished one, he’d gather up the money he made on his paper route and buy another. They’d been stacked from floor to ceiling in their boxes, tucked inside his closet.

On the day he’d turned eighteen, he’d packed his bags and walked away from foster care, leaving the cars and the memories of his boyhood behind. In a single day, he’d become a man, wholly responsible for his own life. He could no longer busy himself with childish things.

He’d found a job, a cheap room at a local boardinghouse and had begun his life, scraping together money for flying lessons and a few classes on engine repair. He taught himself to weld and though he couldn’t afford college, he’d gotten a library card and begun to educate himself.

“It’s a ’57 Chevy! Not a ’56. See?”

He glanced down at a young boy who was pointing at a model. “You’re right. You can tell by the trim. But I prefer the ’56. There’s just something about it. The softer fin or the trim piece that curves down.”

The little boy smiled. “I prefer it, too.”

“We both have excellent taste.” Mac winked at him, then moved on through the crowd to the circulation desk. He scanned the counter for Emma’s pretty face, but didn’t find her. He decided to get a library card first and make a casual inquiry about Emma at the same time.

“I’d like to get a library card,” he said to the woman at the front desk.

“Do you have identification?”

“I do, but it doesn’t have my local address on it.”

“Do you have a utility bill or something to prove you’re a resident of San Coronado?”

“I don’t,” he said.

“Anyone who could vouch for you?”

“Yes. Emma Bryant could. I understand she works here.”