Leaning into Shep, she was grateful for his weight and warmth beside her. His steady, solid presence. It had been so long since she’d had someone she could lean on without apology. Without needing to explain. At times like this, she missed Henry so much.
“What are we going to do now?” Her voice had gone soft against the thrum of the crush still pulsing outside the van.
“Wait it out if we can.” Shep slid a cigarette from his shirt pocket, flicked open a silver lighter. The flame caught with a metallic snap. He took a slow drag, exhaled a curl of smoke, and passed the cigarette.
Eleanor accepted it with practiced fingers, lifting it to her lips and inhaling. The familiar bite of tobacco hit the back of her throat, burning away just enough tension to make her shoulders drop.
“And if it doesn’t calm down?” she asked, glancing toward the tinted windows.
“We grab a bite and head out. Got a show in Atlanta next. You in?”
Eleanor didn’t pause, just nodded. The nod coming before any thought had a chance to intervene. The decision was already written in muscle and instinct. She craved the open road. Was drawn to him. And the music, the music thrummed in her veins. The rhythm pulling her forward.
But should she go…and did she want to go—those were two different questions.
Shep leaned back, one hand draped over the vinyl seat. Outside, the smoke had started to clear, but Eleanor’s thoughts still hadn’t. At some point, she was going to have to find a pay phone. Call Leanne. Let her daughter know she hadn’t been kidnapped, hadn’t fallen off the face of the earth. But with every mile she put between them, she forgot a little more of what had once held her back.
Roxy gave a little yip from her lap, her tongue flicking out. Eleanor smiled faintly, fishing a treat from her pocket and placing it gently in her dog’s mouth.
“I’ve got a sandwich left.” Shep patted the cooler beside him. “My old dog would’ve killed for a bite.”
Eleanor looked down at Roxy, who was eyeing the cooler like it held the secrets of the universe. “Well, mine might just stage a full-blown mutiny.”
“Then it’s a good thing I’m a generous man.”
She narrowed her eyes, playful. “Generous, or looking to impress?”
He grinned and took the sandwich out of the cooler. “Can’t it be both?”
She laughed softly, listening to the crackle of the wax paper while he unwrapped the sandwich. “Just don’t expect me to share with you. Roxy takes priority.”
“Smart girl. I’d choose her over me too.”
Roxy’s little pink tongue lolled out, and a string of drool landed squarely in Eleanor’s lap. “Oh, you have no shame,” she said, scratching behind the dog’s ear.
Not until she watched Roxy tear into the club sandwich—lettuce and tomato hanging from her crooked miniature teeth—did Eleanor realize she was also starving. Her stomach let out a low, hollow grumble.
Had she eaten today? She must have. Maybe even a sandwich just like this. She’d been with Shep all day, hadn’t she? If he’d eaten, surely she had as well. That’s how it worked…wasn’t it?
Outside, the disorder still pulsed as she finished the part of the sandwich Roxy didn’t want. Feet pounded. People shouted. Fists slapped the side of the van. Bodies rushed past. But Eleanor closed her eyes and leaned her cheek against the cool windowpane, letting the hum of adrenaline and music dissolve into stillness. She was safe in the van with Shep.
Roxy curled in her lap, full and satisfied, her diminutive body already vibrating with gentle snores. Eleanor drifted off, lulled by the rhythm of Roxy’s breath, her solid warmth, and the distant drums thumping from the stadium where the musicians continued playing despite the pandemonium. There’d been an incident like this when she’d performed on vaudeville. The Gerry Society busting underage performers and their parents. She dissolved into the memory, recallinghow one young singer had asked Eleanor to hide her underneath a colossal paper-mache cake.
Eleanor jolted upright, heart hammering. Her vision swam, the present coming swirling back.
She was alone.
The van—dim and unfamiliar—seemed to press in on her. The walls too close. The silence too deep. Roxy, more bangs than mane, dozed in her lap, twitching. A scrap of paper crinkled in Eleanor’s hand.
Staring at it as if it might bite, she unfolded the paper with trembling fingers, but the letters floated in front of her eyes, not making sense. She blinked once, twice, a dozen times, trying to decipher what she was seeing. Finally, the letters aligned, and her brain decided not to punish her, forming words.
Went to grab hot dogs. You looked too peaceful to wake.—S
Her breath hitched.
Who was S, and why had they gone to get hot dogs?
Wherewasshe?
