Page 17 of Gone Before Goodbye

“To see Porkchop.”

Sharon pins her with a gaze. “What else?”

“What do you mean, what else?”

“It goes without saying that we all love Porkchop,” Sharon says, “but he’d road-trip down here if you need to see him.”

Maggie sighs. “Just… There’s a possible business situation.”

“What kind of business situation?”

“God, you’re nosy.”

“I prefer ‘inquisitive.’”

“Can you be okay with me saying ‘I don’t want to tell you yet’?” Maggie asks.

“If you can be okay with me saying, ‘I worry a little.’”

“Don’t worry.”

“I’d never judge you, Mags.”

“I know.” Then: “Also there’s nothing to judge.”

“What about Trace?”

Maggie feels the cold travel down her spine again. “What about him?”

“Is he back? Will you see him in New York?”

“Trace is still overseas,” she says. “Bangladesh, I think.”

“Trying to resuscitate WorldCures?”

Maggie shakes her head. There is zero chance of resuscitation. Sharon knows that, which makes the comment weird, but Sharon can be that way. Maggie McCabe, the face of WorldCures, is a pariah now. The funding is gone.

“In other news”—Sharon lets loose a deep breath—“I signed up for a dating app.”

“Good for you. About time.”

“The app is called Melody Cupid. It matches you by musical taste.”

Maggie puts her hand to her mouth. “Oh God.”

“What?”

“You have terrible taste in music.”

CHAPTER THREE

When Maggie gets off the Amtrak at New York City’s Moynihan Train Hall, Porkchop is already waiting by the tracks.

Porkchop is not playing with a phone. He’s not shuffling his feet. He just stands there with Zen-like patience, an older version of his surgeon son. Porkchop looks like what he is—a lifelong biker. He’s got the salt-and-pepper beard, green bandana holding back the long hair, leather jacket, faded blue jeans with splashes of motor oil discoloring them. His silver belt buckle is a skull and crossbones. His skin is tan and weathered from years on the road, his face handsome and hard, like something carved into stone.

Porkchop meets her eye and gives the slightest of nods. If he’d been wearing a cowboy hat, he would have tipped it at her. She hurries over, trying not to run, and Porkchop spreads his thick arms wide to welcome her. When he hugs her, she vanishes for a moment. Her eyes close. Porkchop is a big bear of a man. He makes her feel small and safe, and since those feelings don’t come often, Maggie just settles into that for a few moments. He holds her close and stays silent. Porkchop exudes both calm and electricity.

Like his son.