Page 14 of Since the Day We Left

“Max,” Arthur repeated, scratching the dog’s ears. “Good name for a good boy.”

Miles patted his back pocket for his phone, then remembered he’d left it charging on his nightstand. He glanced back at the darkening beach. If they didn’t head back soon, the walk home could get twice as difficult. His dad’s confusion sometimes worsened after sunset—Dr. Mendez called it “sundowning.” But Max clearly belonged to someone who was likely worried sick.

He scanned the area, but no one was in sight. The distant cottages along the shore showed only a handful of scattered lights.

Leave Dad alone while I run for my phone? Not an option.

Bring Max back to the house? Better.

As Miles reached for the dog, the wind carried a faint rustle—then a woman’s voice. “Max! Max, where are you?”

5

Wendi

“Max!”

Wendi’s pulse roared in her ears as she sprinted down the beach, sand shifting beneath her feet.

In her view, Max twirled in excited circles, his tail a blur. Two men stood beside him—one slightly hunched, the other with his hat pulled low, shadowing his face.

“There you are.” She skidded to a breathless stop. Her lungs burned. “Been looking for—almost an hour.”

The younger man turned. “He found us,” he said. “Just trotted up like he knew where he was going.”

She stepped forward, expecting Max to bolt toward her. He didn’t move an inch. Instead, he leaned into the older man’s leg. He crouched and his fingers found that magic spot behind Max’s ears that made his little leg kick like a wind-up toy.

This is the same dog who loses his mind over the UPS guy?

She blinked. Two years, and Max had never taken to anyone like this.

“I’m Wendi.” She ran a hand through her wind-tangled hair. “Thanks for keeping an eye on him.”

“Miles.” His rough hand clasped hers. “And my dad, Arthur.”

Arthur pushed himself up with a grunt. “So, you’re Max’s mom. You’ve got a good boy here.”

“He’s usually wary of strangers,” she said. “Takes his time with people.”

“Guess I passed the test.” Arthur chuckled, rubbing Max’s head. “Painted a few dogs in my day—one looked a lot like him. Never could quite get fur right. Always ended up looking like a botched haircut. What breed is he, by the way?”

“He’s a Yorkipoo. And you paint?”

“Since before Miles was born. Been coming here since—”

Miles stepped in. “We should get going before it gets too dark.”

“Yeah, time to get this escape artist home.” She clipped the leash onto his collar, bracing for the usual game of keep-away. He stood still, perfectly behaved.

Who are these people, and what have they done to my dog?

Arthur touched Miles’s arm. “Your mom always loved the—”

“The beach,” Miles finished. “Dad remembers everything about this place.”

Wendi nodded. “You from around here?”

“Dad’s got a place down the way.” Miles pointed vaguely along the shoreline. “I’m from Atlanta. Just here for a bit.”

---