“Come back to me, Mary.”

“Count on it.”

They kissed deeply. “You have to go.”

“Yes.”

They stood there a moment longer, and Mary refused to believe it would be the last time. She would find a way to come back. She had to.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Nora rubbed her eyes. She was exhausted from lack of sleep, too many hours spent trying to reduce the percentage of unit shutdowns due to operator error, the continuous influx of new hires, scheduling headaches, and this new wrinkle with Mary, who should be arriving home anytime now.

At the moment, all Nora wanted was to catch her breath. What she needed, she decided, was a lunchtime walk in the fresh air. She stood up and stretched. “You spend entirely too much time hunched over behind a desk,” she muttered to herself. “What’s going to happen when you get old? That’s assuming you get old. At the rate you’re going…”

“Dr. Lindstrom?”

“Yes?” She was surprised to see her boss’s secretary standing at her door.

“Mr. Pierson would like to see you in his office.”

“I’ll be right there.” Trepidation flowed through her. If Travis Pierson summoned for her, bad news was sure to follow. He was a hard man, somewhere in his forties by Nora’s estimate, sent by Tennessee Eastman Corporation to keep things running smoothly, on track, and on time. He was practical, efficient, emotionless…and condescending. But he also was fair and not given to histrionics or overreaction. In other words, he was mostly well-suited to his position—except for the condescending part. He made no bones about the fact that he didn’t believe a woman had any business being in a supervisory position, “even a smart city-slicker like you,” he’d told her the first time she met him. She hoped that by now she’d done a good enough job to win him over.

His office was only a few doors down from hers, but as Nora took the steps, she couldn’t help but wonder if this was the walk of a condemned woman. She knocked on the closed door.

“Come,” he bellowed.

“You wanted to see me, Mr. Pierson?”

“Come in and shut the door behind you, sweetheart.”

The term of endearment grated on her, but there wasn’t a thing she could do about it. She folded herself into the chair opposite his desk and did her best to appear comfortable.

He chomped on a cigar, and idly she wondered where he’d found one of those during this time of sacrifice and rationing. She blinked as the smoke irritated her eyes and waited for him to look up from his paperwork. This tactic of making her wait, which she perceived as a form of intimidation, was another annoying habit she resented.