He was past this. He thought he was past this.
He knew what would come next if he didn’t get a grip: the very real memory of piercing-cold knives carving waves of searing heat through his body. The side of his head. His face.
Sweat beaded along his brow.
Get out, Mark.
Go.
He drew in deep breaths, pushing beyond the haunting memory.
With his eyes squeezed tight, he saw Jay. Just Jay. He saw him smile.
Get yourself out, Mark.
He pressed himself into the pillow, calm pushing against the fire.
“Mark.” He felt his dad’s arms lift him, a cold sheet pressed around the right side of his body. A cool wet cloth on his forehead. “It’s out. The fire’s out, son. It’s gone,” his dad said quietly, holding him as best he could.
Mark drew in a ragged breath, his face damp from the cloth and sweat. “Didn’t get me this time.”
“Good. Hold on.”
Mark nodded.
“Been a while. But you made it. Proud of you.” His dad rubbed Mark’s shoulder.
“She’s leaving, Dad.” The words were sharp in his throat. He swallowed, as if that would get rid of the hurt.
“We’ll figure it out, son.” He pulled him into a hug, and Mark didn’t fight it. “We’ll figure this out.”
A week had passed since the memorial ceremony. Riley’s parents had approved of the renovations she’d made to her house and agreed that just a few more key updates would make for a great investment return when the house sold.
She’d explained that Mark was a good friend helping her with the house, and she’d let him down on an important day. They’d wanted to make it up to him somehow, but she’d convinced them to leave it alone. The last thing Mark needed was her mom’s well-intentioned pity.
Her parents mentioned Jeremy the orthodontist again, but when Riley brought up the artist residency, her mom changed gears and talked about New Orleans for an hour. Before her parents returned to California, her mom bought Riley a set of Sennelier oils and a wreath for the front door. Both reminded her of her time with Mark and tore at her heart.
In the meantime, Riley finished painting Mary for the nativity.
She’d managed a nearly exact likeness from Mary’s image in Mark’s photos. As she looked over the virgin’s face, she wondered what Leah Dolan would think. It couldn’t be anything good. Riley had let the entire Rivers family down. Yet Mary appeared perfectly content.
Her phone buzzed, and she picked up. “Hi, Yvette.”
“Have you changed your mind about the firemen’s ball tomorrow?”
“I can’t. You know why.”
Yvette sighed. “I know. I actually called to ask you a favor. I’m heading to Yakima for my nephew’s birthday, and I wondered if you could pick up the cookies I ordered for the ball. Lette Mae needs them picked up at ten tomorrow morning, and I won’t be back until four.”
Riley put her hand to her forehead and grimaced. “Sure. I can do that.” Going out meant seeing people, and after Eyes on Hollywood and the scene she’d made last week, she hadn’t been too keen on going anywhere but her classroom. Even those who hadn’t witnessed things firsthand knew the story. She couldn’t tell if the looks from the residents of Miracle Creek were of pity or derision. Probably both. School was hard enough, but at least Dalton slunk away quickly whenever their paths crossed. He’d received plenty of backlash for his despicable behavior, but she hadn’t behaved much better. She’d believed him—on the day of the hometown hero’s memorial of his best friend’s life. She couldn’t call Dalton a coward without calling herself one, too.
Yvette’s voice pulled her thoughts back. “Thank you, Riley.” She paused, and then said carefully, “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
Riley heard the same worry in her voice that had been there when they’d first discussed her move. Only Yvette, Mark, and likely Cal knew she was leaving. She’d give the school her notice after Christmas break.
“No, I don’t. I never have.”
“And how far has that gotten you?”
Her belief that she knew what she was doing, that she held the reins, had gotten her in trouble. Lesson learned. “I won’t hurt Mark anymore.”
“Is that what you think you’re doing by leaving? Not hurting him?”
Yvette’s question sat like sharp rocks in Riley’s stomach for the rest of the day. Her advanced art students were tackling the final project she’d assigned, so now wherever she turned, depictions of Miracle Creek Bridge in negative-space snow filled her vision.
Brilliant idea, Madigan.
She’d just stepped into her house when her phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Hello, this is Sheila from West Wenatchee Dialysis Center. Is this Riley?”
Unease settled over her. “Yes. How can I help you?”
“Today is Mark’s day to come in for Carmen, but the time has changed. I’ve tried contacting Mark, but he’s not answering his phone. I’ve left a message, but Carmen will be coming in soon, and we have a full house today. She’ll need help getting off the machine and getting home. I could call a taxi, but I thought I’d check with you first, since you were here before and she seemed to like you.”
Riley turned in a slow circle, her phone to her ear, looking for some reason she couldn’t go. But it was useless, because she could picture Carmen and the way she smiled.
“I’m sorry for asking,” Sheila said. “I know it’s last minute.”
“No, that’s all right,” she said. “I’ll be there.” She got the address of the clinic and the approximate time Carmen would be coming off the machine. She skipped changing out of her clothes, piled her hair on top of her head, then threw her coat back on. She opened her front door, keys in hand, and stopped short.
“My paintings,”
