5. Wendi
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.”
“And you?” Arthur asked.
“Born here. Spent twenty-seven years in Manhattan—big job, big city-life, the whole deal. Then last year ...” She let out a slow breath. “This town called me back.”
Arthur’s eyes crinkled. “Always does.”
“I run an art shop in town—The Painted Shell, off the corner of Main and Maple. Friday’s classes are free if you ever feel like dropping in.”
“The Painted Shell. Good name.” Arthur placed a hand on his chin. “I think my neighbor mentioned that place a time or two. I usually don’t go that far—no need.”
“I order supplies online for him. It’s just easier that way,” Miles explained.
Wendi smiled. “First class is on the house,” she said, hoping it didn’t reek of desperation.
Too late.
Arthur’s grin widened. “New brushes wouldn’t hurt.”
Miles rocked back on his heels. “Maybe we’ll swing by sometime. Good meeting you, Wendi.”
“Y’all too.” The word slipped out before she could stop it. She probably hadn’t said “y’all” since the day she’d left Hadley Cove over twenty years before.
As they turned to go, Max strained at the leash, letting out a low, pleading whine.
Arthur kneeled, cupping Max’s face. “Kindred souls always recognize each other, don’t they, boy?”