“Is he an artist by trade?” Jesse asked before Icould. “Or businessman?”
The waitress’s smile deepened familiarly. “He claimsto be a little of both.” She looked around the floor, but we were in the centerof the gallery and most of our view was blocked by other paintings and theguests wandering around. “He’s around here somewhere. I’ll point him out to youif I can find him.”
My heart kicked a warning in my chest. A feeling offear slithered through me, leaving a greasy trail of slime in its wake. Inoticed another painting and that same vaguely familiar woman stared back at mefrom the center. It wasn’t just a connection to the emotive work or the artistin some intangible way. I knew this work.
I knew this artist.
“What’s his name?” Jesse asked, completely obliviousto the panic kicking my adrenaline into drive.
“Augustus Oswald.”
Augustus Oswald.
Augustus.
Oswald.
I knew an Augustus. And I knew an Oswald. Father andson. Only I knew them as Gus and Ozzie.
Oh shit.
Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.
Taking a step back, I prepared to run. But still somestupid, stubborn part of me refused to accept this as reality.
This couldn’t really be happening. They couldn’t havefound me.
The note. The box with the Dahlia. Mistakes.Coincidences. A cruel twist of meddling fate. But not intentional.
Except I knew better.
The old Caroline would have already been gone. I wouldhave thrown Juliet into the car and not even glanced back at this sleepy town.
I would have been halfway to Mexico by now. Or themoon. Anything to get away from the possibility of being found.
I’d gone soft over the five-year lull. Mushy. I was amarshmallow parading around like a shark. Only marshmallows didn’t haveinstincts and they didn’t know how to bite back if they were attacked. Theywere gooey and useless and not alive.
Holy shit, was I about to not be alive too?
“Oh, there he is.” The bubbly waitress pointed acrossthe gallery.
I refused to look.
“Which one?” Jesse asked.
“The one in the hat.” I would have bet my kidney thatit was a stocking cap. “Our other owner is around here somewhere too,” sheexplained as if letting us in on a secret.
Partner?
I had assumed marriage partners before. Like they weretogether—partners. But now I realized I had assumed wrong. So very wrong.
I couldn’t breathe. I legit couldn’t breathe. My lungsstarted making a wheezing sound and my throat had all but closed up. Thiscouldn’t be happening.
I turned my back on Jesse and the waitress and in theopposite direction of Augustus Oswald—such a bullshit name by the way—andscanned the gallery for an escape. But I couldn’t see anything! My view wasblocked by paintings and dividers and reminders that I had made grievousmistakes in my past—mistakes that I couldn’t outrun forever.
The reckoning day had come and I was the leastprepared I had ever been.
“You stupid marshmallow,” I whispered to myself,clutching at my chest in case the sudden pain there turned out to be an actualheart attack.
