Mistaken for the Mob. Ginny Aiken

why, why was she so shaken?

      “Your strength is sufficient for me,” she prayed. Over and over again, she whispered the words until the tremors subsided.

      But no matter how long she prayed, and no matter how hard she worked, Maryanne failed to erase the memory of J.Z.’s stare.

      Trudy was right about at least one thing. Should Maryanne ever see him again, she wouldn’t hesitate to call the cops. Although she preferred to avoid clichés, she felt she was living one right then.

      If looks could kill….

      The rest of the afternoon crawled by in a blur of stress. By the time five o’clock rolled around, Maryanne’s shoulders had frozen rigid and her temples pounded a vicious beat. She’d accomplished precious little in that time, since no matter how hard she tried, the image of J.Z. Prophet slammed into her thoughts every few minutes.

      She couldn’t concentrate on anything she read, and hadn’t been able to type up her notes for the report due next Tuesday. Her fingers shook like leaves in a gale. Even simple filing became a challenge of inordinate proportion.

      Ibuprofen did nothing to alleviate her headache—she doubted anything would until the memory of J.Z. Prophet’s intensity melted away on its own. She hoped she never had to set eyes on him again.

      In the library parking lot, she waved goodbye to Trudy and Sarah Myers, who worked with the rare collections. Then, because she’d fed Shakespeare the last of his food and the kitty litter was also running low, she drove straight to the grocery store. The ride served to soothe her raw nerves. Her favorite radio station had on a Darlene Zschech special. Maryanne liked the Aussie’s contemporary style of worship music.

      At the store, she grabbed feline supplies, romaine lettuce, fresh chicken breasts and an Idaho potato the size of the state where it grew. Dinner would be a simple matter of shredding greens and nuking stuff—about all she could face today.

      At the register, Joe Moore, a retiree who augmented his social security with part-time cashier duty, smiled when he saw her. “How’s old Stan doing these days?”

      Maryanne arched an eyebrow. “Old? Dad’s two years younger than you.”

      The scanner beeped as Joe ran her purchases before the screen. “Age is just a matter of the mind, honey bun.”

      “Oh, and Dad’s matured beyond his mischievous adolescent mental age in the last twenty-four hours?”

      “A man can always hope.”

      They shared a good-natured chuckle, and the pounding in Maryanne’s head began to ease.

      “How’s Amelia?” she asked.

      “Sore and crotchety, but the doc says the hip replacement went even better than he’d expected—thank the Lord.”

      “You two have been married how long?”

      Joe puffed out his chest. “Fifty-three years and still going strong, honey bun. You oughta try it, you know.”

      Maryanne grabbed the bag of groceries and made for the door. “Don’t you get started. It’s bad enough with Dad and Trudy and a couple of others badgering me right and left. You know how I feel. If God’s got a man for me, well then, it’s up to Him to find me the guy.”

      “And how’re you going to see this gift from heaven if all you do is hide behind books at the library or hang out with the oldsters at the retirement home?”

      “I’m not hiding,” Maryanne said, her chin tipped a hair higher. “I’m serving where the Lord’s planted me. I’m sure He’ll lead me where He wants me if He wants me to go elsewhere.”

      “Whoa, girl! That’s a mouthful there.” Joe shook his head and scanned his next customer’s laundry detergent. “Strikes me you’re a mite defensive on the subject. I suggest you pray a little on it, and see if I’m not right.”

      Maryanne sighed. As if she didn’t already pray her way through each and every day. “I’ll do that, Joe. Give my love to Amelia, will you?”

      “Of course, honey bun. And you tell that crazy daddy of yours to stay out of trouble at that country club place where he lives nowadays.”

      “I will. Why don’t you stop by and see him sometime soon? He’ll get a kick out of it.”

      With a nod and a wink, Joe turned his full attention to the young mother of three little girls under the age of six. Maryanne left the store, and then popped open her Escort’s trunk. She balanced the groceries against the bag of sand she always stored there for just in case. When she shut the trunk, a car crawled down the row behind her.

      Her neck prickled as it had earlier that day.

      She spun, but saw nothing other than the mom and her three girls walk away from the store’s automatic door—and the unremarkable gray car braked ten cars down beyond her. Although she couldn’t make out the driver’s facial features, something about him slammed fear right back into her gut.

      She felt just as she had when J.Z. Prophet had glared at her.

      A chill ran through her and she shivered. If the stormy computer tech was at the wheel, then she wanted to get as far from him as fast as she could. And if he wasn’t, then she also wanted to leave that parking lot just as fast. Just because.

      Frustrated by her shaky hand’s failure to get the button on her automatic keychain to work, Maryanne took a deep breath, clenched her fist around the plastic rectangle, and then prayed a blunt “Help!”

      She unfurled her fingers and with deliberation, aimed the gadget straight at the lock. It popped. She slid behind the wheel, flicked the locks back on, and then started the car. As she pulled out, she kept the gray car in sight out the corner of her eye. She sighed in relief when it took the spot she’d vacated.

      The adrenaline drain left her even shakier than before, and she had no idea how she drove home without hitting anything on the way. She had to get her imagination under much better control. She couldn’t freak out at even the tiniest thing. That driver had just wanted her parking space.

      Later that evening, she watched her favorite home decorating show before she decided an early bedtime would work wonders on her frazzled nerves. Tomorrow would be a better day—it had to be.

      She hoped.

      And Friday was better. By noon, she’d settled back into her normal routine. With a clear head, she ate a sandwich for lunch at her desk, determined to make up for yesterday’s lack of productivity. By five, she’d caught up and only had the report to do. She’d finish it tomorrow afternoon on her home computer.

      Trudy stuck her head in the office.

      “Come on in,” Maryanne said.

      “No, I’m on my way home. Are you still coming tonight?”

      Maryanne logged out of her word processing program and shut down her machine. “It’s my turn with the youth group’s sixth graders this month. I wouldn’t miss the scavenger hunt for the world. I had a blast when I helped out last year.”

      “Good. David’s been looking forward to special attention from his honorary aunt.”

      She slung the sturdy straps of her large tote bag over one shoulder, flicked off the lights and closed the office door. “He’d better rethink that plan. I’m not about to show your darling son any favoritism. I’m just there to count noses and make sure no one gets left behind in a store at the mall.”

      “That’s what I told him,” Trudy said with a chuckle. “Somehow, though, I think you’re going to have to work hard to avoid his charm. That boy’s going places…someday.”

      Maryanne nodded. “It’s a good thing you and Ron have channeled that energy and appeal in positive directions. Otherwise, who knows where he’d end up?”

      “Thanks. Your opinion