Jay limbs turned to lead weights.He had to press his body against the counter for stability.Had he heard wrong?Surely Rob was confused.Or saw something in this painting that just wasn’t there.
“How do you know for sure that it’s Hope?”Jay asked after several beats of silence.
“I’ll let you be the judge, and then you tell me.”
A few seconds later, a text from Rob containing an image popped up.Jay’s finger hovered above the message for a moment.What if it is Hope?Then what?He clicked on the text and in an instant the photo filled his screen.Waves of heat rushed through his entire body as he gazed at the beautiful face of his deceased wife, a swirl of muted colors on canvas.
“Jay?Did you get it?”Rob asked.“It’s showing it was delivered on my end.”
“I-I got it,” Jay stammered.
“I know this must be a shock.I mean, what are the goddamn odds here?”
Jay didn’t respond, lost inside the photo of the painting.This man captured every line and curve of her face, as if Hope had posed for him for hours on end.But how?He said she saved him, but there were no other cars involved in Hope’s accident.Police and paramedics said she was killed instantly.
“So, here’s the deal,” Rob said.“I spoke to this guy’s assistant—a really nice young woman named Liz.I told her Imightknow someone who knows the woman in the painting, heavy on the word might.She understood exactly where I was coming from.I have her number and can text it to you if you want.Obviously, this is your rodeo, to ride out how you see fit.I just know that for whatever reason, Abby and I were placed in that gallery tonight to find the painting.”
“Did you meet the artist?”Jay asked.“Or talk to him at all?”
“No, he was swarmed the whole night.Like I said, there were A-listers about.We drank some champagne, popped back a few canapes, and strolled around, pretending we knew stuff about art.This guy is actually pretty good.Of course, what do I know?”
Robert John Bradley, you know way more than you ever give yourself credit for.
“Think I should reach out?”Jay asked.
“I can’t answer that,” Rob said.“Maybe reach out to Dr.Larson.He might have some good insights.”
“That’s a really good idea,” Jay paused.“Go ahead and send me the contact info for this Liz person.I’m gonna email Dr.Larson right now.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-NINE
CLAIRE
When her hand found an empty space instead of his warm body, Claire opened her eyes.A quick glance at the clock confirmed her suspicion—it was still early.She rolled over and looked toward the bathroom.Darkness filled the room, and she wondered how he’d managed to slip away without waking her.She lay still for several minutes, listening to the quiet sounds drifting through his apartment while replaying the last few hours in her mind.
What had begun as another carefree evening of dinner and a classic movie had turned into something more.Something better.Something right.Falling asleep in his arms had marked a turning point in their relationship.The moment had little to do with sex and everything to do with what came after it.He made her feel safe.Connected.Seen in a way she had never experienced before.Deep down, she knew she would never find that kind of connection with anyone but Jay.
She tiptoed toward the bathroom, observing traces of him.His pajama bottoms, tossed carelessly on the chair.One loafer, peeking out from under the edge of the bed.The dress shirt he'd worn days before, dropped without a thought on the floor.She smiled.These weren't just random things discarded in haste.They were little pieces of him… and she’d fallen for every little piece.
She brushed her teeth and washed her face, deciding to wait until after coffee to shower.Her hand searched the vanity for a fresh towel, but found nothing.She opened her eyes, dabbed her chin with the hem of her shirt, and headed straight for the cabinet.Inside, she pulled a small white hand towel from a neatly folded stack and finished drying her face.Smiling at her reflection, she turned to leave, eager to find Jay.As she tossed the towel onto the vanity, something caught her eye.She picked it up again and stared at the elegant monogram stitched into the center—an intricate gold H.Her heartbeat quickened as she brushed her fingers across the shiny thread.
Oh God.This was her towel.
Days at sidewalk cafés and nights spent talking until all hours had given them insight into each other’s lives.But Jay rarely talked about the life he’d shared with Hope.He spoke openly about the guilt he carried after her death, the rough period that followed her flirtatious tryst with another doctor, and the divorce he had expected before the accident.But he never shared anything deeply personal about Hope herself.
Other than the fact that Hope had been a surgeon and that they’d been married for several years, Claire could think of almost nothing else.What color were her eyes?Her hair?How old had she been?What exactly had happened in the accident?Jay had never volunteered those details, and Claire had never asked.Truthfully, she couldn’t blame him.Her relationship with Calvin had received almost no airtime either.Aside from the emotions she’d confessed on the rain-soaked steps of her childhood hideaway, she never talked about him.She hadn’t even spoken his name.She knew that wasn’t fair.
"Good morning."Jay poked his head around the door.
"Good morning," she replied in a hushed tone, carefully folding the towel."Uh, I didn't realize it was hers until I'd already—" She started to explain.
"It's not hers.This place came fully furnished, remember?And even if it was, it would be okay.It’s just a towel, Claire.Okay?”He pressed a kiss of reassurance to her forehead.
"Okay," she sighed.
Jay dropped his gaze to the floor, leaving Claire to wonder if the towel triggered something else.A forgotten memory?
“What?Is something wrong?”she asked.
