Christian Galacar [Galacar - Big Bad

Big Bad

Copyright 2019 by Christian Galacar

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever including Internet usage, without written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, or events used in this book are the product of the authors imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, alive or deceased, events or locales is completely coincidental.

Cover Art By Jacoba Niepoort

E-book design by Maureen Cutajar

www.gopublished.com

Print ISBN: 978-1688421448

For my mother, who gave me nothing

but good stories.

CONTENTS

PART ONE

_________________

MOLLY

CHAPTER ONE

STORM

Molly Rifkin and her nine-year-old son, Ben, crossed the Grocer Go parking lot beneath a low winter sky as the snow began to fall. Ben had his face angled up to the sky, tongue pushed out of his gaped mouth, trying to catch the small flakes as his mother dragged him along by the hand in fits and starts.

I got one, Mom! he yelled, stopping again. He tried to wander away, tongue outstretched, chasing another.

Come on. Knock it off. Molly tugged him back toward her.

His arm yanked in its socket, stopping him short, like a dog finding the end of its leash. He reeled in his tongue, his face threatening to pout. Hey, I woulda got that one.

Molly gave another light tug. Benji, come on. Lets go. You can play when we get home.

But

But nothing. Nows not the time. There wont be anything left on the shelves but black olives and Velveeta cheese if you keep it up.

I hate olives.

Do you? I had no idea, Molly said, and grinned.

He fell in step with her, slouching as the excitement went out of him. Im thirsty.

Well get you a drink inside. Ill buy you a Yoo-hoo.

White panic burst in her mind. Her talk of buying something had summoned it. She slowed, looking into her purse to make sure she had her wallet. A quick scan of this mornings memories did not return any recollections of seeing it, of placing it for sure in her possession. God, if shed forgotten that at the house she would have to drive all the way back to the other side of the island to get it. She came to a full stop and started digging through the mix of receipts, lipsticks, tissues, packs of gum, and other junk that she didnt need, making a mental note to clean out her purse when she got home. The storm would be a good opportunity to get a few chores like that done. The sort of chores she always told herself she would do later.

Well, Molly, she thought, today might just be a perfect later.

Her heart fluttered when she saw the newspaper photograph, the one she had cut out of the local paper six weeks ago. The photograph that had turned her world on its head and brought up things shed thought long gone. It was folded and tucked carefully in one of the internal side pockets of her purse. Shed forgotten shed put it there. When she took it out and looked at it, snow started to leave dark spots on the paper.

What is that, Mom? Let me see. Ben started swinging her arm back and forth impatiently, twisting from side to side at the waist like a whirling dervish.

Hold on a sec, she said, distracted. She folded the clipping, stuffed it in her pocket, and continued to search for her wallet.

Im thirsty, he repeated.

Too deep into her self-loathing, she didnt answer. Why am I such a scatterbrain? Why, why, why? How hard is it to remember where you put your damn wallet?

Ben swung his mothers arm harder. Mom. Listen to me- eee . He paused but continued swinging and twisting. Mooom!

At last Molly found her wallet at the bottom of her purse. It always amazed her how long it could keep itself hidden in such a small space, how certain she could be that it wasnt there when deep down she knew it had to be. What amazed her even more was the frequency with which she lost things. Dr. Alder, her therapist, had taught her to stop telling herself by default that shed lost something when she couldnt find it. Instead she should tell herself it was simply temporarily misplaced, and it would turn up if she just took a breath and counted to ten. It usually did.

All right, were good, she said.

Ben huffed, then began to lodge another complaint with his mother: Mo

What, what, what? I heard you, Benji. We need money, dont we? Molly said, readjusting the purse on her shoulder. Theyre not going to give us anything for free.

Three short honks of a car horn blasted behind them, turning both their heads. A smiling, bearded face leaned out the driver-side window of the yellow plow-strapped pickup truck. Move it or lose it, you two! I got places to be! The man laughed, showing a mouthful of bright white teeth. Beside him on the seat sat a stout corgi with orange-and-white fur.

Molly smiled back, shaking her head. She and Ben reversed direction toward the truck. Hi, Mike.

Hey, Mol, Mike said, his eyes drifting down to Ben. Hey, Benji boy.

Hi, Ben said shyly, pressing himself against his mothers side and hiding half his face in her coat.

Benji, you remember Mr. Harrow, dont you? Molly put her hand on her sons back.

Ben nodded. The firewood guy.

Mike laughed, adjusting the old, grease-spotted John Deere hat that sat atop his tangle of brown hair. He was in his early forties, good-looking in a rugged way, with leather-tough skin that seemed to stay tan no matter the season. Thats right, the firewood guy. He glanced around the parking lot and pointed at the sky. Looks like Im gonna be the plow guy soon too. News is saying itll be one heck of a storm. With his Yankee accent, the last word came out stawm .

Last I heard, ten inches by tomorrow morning, Molly said. Id say bad but not terrible.

Mike curled his hand into a loose fist and made the universal sign for more by cocking his thumb skyward a few times. The radio just pushed it to a foot and a half. Now they think the storms gonna stall off the coast and really wallop us good. Boston and Cape Ann are expecting at least two feet maybe more. Thisll be a good one for sure.

Nothing we havent seen a hundred times before, Molly said.

We? Since when are you a local? That rights gotta be earned.

Ten years doesnt get me anything?

Not even close. Mike laughed.

Two feet, huh? Molly said. Really?

Yeah. Whatever supplies you were thinking about getting, Id double it. Mike glanced at Ben. You know what Im gonna be when this is all over, Benji?

Ben shook his head.

The tired guy, Mike said, and laughed.

Ben smiled, peeling himself away from his mothers side.

They cancel school yet? Mike asked.

No, Ben said, looking at the ground. A surge of hope lifted his gaze. Mom thinks they will soon, though. Im keeping my fingers crossed.

They will. Id bet this old boy on it. Mike dropped his arm out of the window and patted the door panel twice, his fingers drumming the H of HARROWS TREE SERVICE, which was stenciled across the door in an arch of green lettering. Anyway, Ill let you get to it, Mol. Wont be nothing left inside if I keep the two of you much longer. Half of Rockcliffes already in there buying up everything but the flooring. Folks got themselves big ideas about this one. Youd think theyd never seen snow before.

Molly laughed. Same thing every year. First big one always gets people excited.

Uh-huh. Thats the truth. Take care, now.

Bye, Mike, she said.

Bye, Mike, Ben repeated.

Stay warm. You dont want your ears to fall off. Ive seen it happen, yessir. Mike winked at Ben, laughing as he rolled up the window. He drove away from them, paused at the intersection, then went right and headed out of the shopping plaza, the bed of his truck piled high with sand that was starting to turn pale from a light dusting of snow.