Page 36 of Since the Day We Left

Back in the main area, Wendi glanced at her phone. A new text.

Emma:Sorry girl! Stuck at a train. Save me a seat. Be there soon!

Wonderful.

Fifteen minutes until start time. Her mouth went dry.

“They’ll show,” Miles said.

Arthur nodded. “Patience, young lady.”

The bell chimed, and Wendi’s heart jumped—only to plummet when she saw it was just Marcy and Jim from the Gazette, notepads ready.

“Evening, Wendi.” Marcy peeked around. “Are we early?”

“Nope, you’re right on time.” Wendi managed a smile. “Make yourselves at home.”

As the reporters wandered, Wendi checked her phone again. Another text from Laurel.

Laurel:At least think about it, Wen. You’re wasting your talent down there.

The clock dragged forward. Five minutes. Then ten.

Seriously?

She scanned the empty chairs, then the carefully curated artwork. So much work. So much hope. And still, just the five of them.

Marcy and Jim shared a look. Wendi could practically see tomorrow’s headlines:LOCAL ART SHOP’S LAST GASP FALLS FLAT or SAVE THE SHELL FUNDRAISER: NO-SHOW DISASTER.

Where’s everyone at?

“Wendi?” Marcy’s voice sounded far away. “Should we wait a little longer?”

The walls pressed in.

A familiar prickle crawled up her arms.

Her breaths grew erratic, shallow, fast.

Paintings blurred, edges smearing together.

She clung to the edge of the table.

Not now. Not tonight. Please.

Laurel’s text flashed in her mind:You’re wasting your talent down there.

Footsteps approached. The scent of bay rum and cedar. “Wendi?”

14

Miles

Milesgentlycaughtherarms. “Wendi.”

No response. Her breaths came out in shallow gasps.

Miles knew panic—had hauled people from smoke-filled rooms, steadied rookies on their first bad call, and faced himself in the mirror after nights he’d rather have forgotten.

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