Page 108 of Townshipped
I stick my hand out to shake Gabriela’s. She bypasses my offered hand and scoops me into an embrace that doesn’t end. “You’re the hero! What would we do without you?”
She gives me a squeeze around the middle with her surprisingly strong arms. Then she looks over her shoulder at Em without releasing me.
“Ay yi yi, mija. The muscles on this one. You sure you want to come home to Boston and leave all this here?”
Em shakes her head and giggles.
“Sorry,” Em says to me. “She has no filter. Never did.”
“It’s fine,” I say, relieved for the way Gabriela seems to have brought Em’s smile back after almost a day of unspoken tension filling the air between us.
“You like seafood?” Gabriela asks me, finally releasing me, but giving my abs two pats as she does, and saying “Mmmm” as she lifts her hands away from my torso.
She turns to Em and wags her eyebrows in a bold display of appreciation for my muscles. Em just shakes her head as if she’s used to Gabriela. I guess she is.
“I like seafood,” I say.
“Good. You need to come to Boston. We have the best seafood. Crab. Lobster. Fish.”
“Cod,” Em says with a wink.
“And beans,” I add.
“You know it,” Gabriela says.
Em and Gabriela slowly walk away chatting, their bodies leaned toward one another, looping their arms together as they slowly stroll across the driveway. I watch them, fascinated by the instantaneous and familiar connection between them.
Em’s parents are standing stiffly near the Maybach, talking to Jesse now. I can only imagine what he’s saying. He’s playing the part. That’s evident from his body language. He’s got the wide-legged stance and serious facial expression. His hands occasionally move to gesture along with his words.
Maybe he’s regaling them with tales of his police escapades, though I don’t know what that could be since most nights he cruises neighborhoods making sure no one runs a stop sign, or ensuring all the kids are in by ten, which, spoiler alert, they almost always are. He could be taking credit for rescuing Em or being the link to them locating her.
Mr. O’Brien’s arms are crossed and Em’s mom looks like she’s ready to hop back into the well-appointed vehicle to make a getaway.
“Let’s all go inside,” I call out.
Jesse excuses himself, saying he has important police business to attend to. I’m pretty sure that’s code for coffee and donuts at Oh! Sugar Bakery. He shakes Mr. O’Brien’s hand and walks back to his patrol car.
As Jesse drives off, Em’s father walks over to me and extends his hand.
“Jack O’Brien. We’re so grateful to you, Aiden, for all you’ve done for our Mallory. We’d love to compensate you.”
Her full name feels like a foreign language.
“No need,” I say.
“If we hadn’t found her so quickly, I would have issued a reward. You can have that now. You’ve earned it.”
“No, thank you,” I say again. “I’m just glad she’s safe and that you found your daughter.”
“Well, if you change your mind, let me know. We’re forever in your debt. She’s our only child and I don’t know what I would have done.” He clears his throat. “Well, anyway. We thank you.”
“My pleasure,” I say, giving another nod.
It’s becoming my signature move—like Leonardo DiCaprio’s toasts or Colin Kaepernick’s biceps kiss. I’ve got the nod.
Em strolls up next to us, her arm linked in Gabriela’s. “I’m going to give Gabby a tour. Do you want to come, Daddy?”
“I’d love that,” he says.
