Finlay Donovan Jumps the Gun--A Novel


 Contents
 
 Title Page
 Copyright Notice
 Dedication
 Chapter 1
 Chapter 2
 Chapter 3
 Chapter 4
 Chapter 5
 Chapter 6
 Chapter 7
 Chapter 8
 Chapter 9
 Chapter 10
 Chapter 11
 Chapter 12
 Chapter 13
 Chapter 14
 Chapter 15
 Chapter 16
 Chapter 17
 Chapter 18
 Chapter 19
 Chapter 20
 Chapter 21
 Chapter 22
 Chapter 23
 Chapter 24
 Chapter 25
 Chapter 26
 Chapter 27
 Chapter 28
 Chapter 29
 Chapter 30
 Chapter 31
 Chapter 32
 Chapter 33
 Chapter 34
 Chapter 35
 Chapter 36
 Chapter 37
 Chapter 38
 Acknowledgments
 Also by Elle Cosimano
 About the Author
 Newsletter Sign-up
 Copyright
 
 
 
 Guide
 
 Cover
 Title Page
 Dedication
 Acknowledgments
 Contents
 Copyright
 
 
 
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 Table of Contents
 About the Author
 Copyright Page
 
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 For Nicole
 
 
 
 CHAPTER 1
 
 The man’s voice cracked on the other side of the partition. “I’m going to prison for this, aren’t I?”
 “You’re not going to prison,” I assured him through the gap in the door. A small, familiar giggle issued from the other side and the man whimpered. “What’s your name?” I asked him, distracting him with small talk as I rummaged in my diaper bag.
 “Why do you want to know my name? Are you reporting me to the police?”
 “I’m not going to report you. Trust me.”
 “Trust you!”
 “Do you seriously think I want this to end badly?” I listened to his ragged breaths, waiting for an answer.
 “Mo…” he said tentatively. Another giggle came from behind the partition and the man cried, “Mo! My name is Mo! Dear god, please do something!”
 “I need you to stay calm, Mo. Listen to me and do exactly what I tell you.”
 His voice climbed. “You’ve done this before?”
 “Yes,” I assured him, “I have dealt with this before.” Just never in the men’s room of a Walmart. “Listen to me carefully, Mo. I’m going to bend down very slowly and reach into the stall. Whatever happens, don’t move.”
 Mo started hyperventilating in earnest. “Wait, you’re going to what? I really don’t think that’s a good idea. There must be some other way—”
 “There is no other way, Mo. Are you going to let me help you or do I need to call someone to unlock the stall door?”
 “Don’t call anyone!” he begged. “Do whatever it is you’re going to do. But please hurry!”
 I eased to the floor, cringing as I pressed my palms to the sticky tiles. I didn’t want to think about what might be growing in the grout between them as I lowered my head and peeked under the partition at Mo’s feet.
 His slacks pooled around his ankles and a pair of Argyle socks were drawn high over his calves. My son’s light-up Buzz Lightyear sneakers flashed a few feet in front of the man.
 “Zach,” I pleaded as he babbled and grinned at Mo. “Come out of there, right this minute.”
 Thirty seconds. In the thirty seconds it had taken me to relieve my bladder, my toddler had managed to slither under the door of my stall and slip out of the women’s restroom and into the men’s, probably on the heels of some unsuspecting young person who had never been responsible for small children or zoo animals and hadn’t had the forethought to stop him.
 Zach laughed as I groped under the partition for him. The baggy hem of his overalls slipped from my fingers as he retreated