Claire had been trying to decide what to hang on the walls for a while now. She wanted some local art, a way to bring the community together, but thus far, no one had expressed real interest in selling their work in River Wild. Either that, or the artist’s style didn’t fit with the bookstore’s aesthetic, which Claire wanted to keep clean and simple. Over a year ago, she’d taken down her mother’s choices, plastic-framed images of book covers, most of which were written by dead white dudes, and the walls had been blank ever since.
Until today.
She stood near the counter, her eyes roaming over the black-and-white photographs that now hung on her store’s walls, all of them in distressed wooden frames the colors of a desert sunset—terra-cotta and sage green, the palest dusky blue. The images were large, at least twenty by forty, and Claire saw familiar faces behind the glass of each one.
Her and Ruby at Vivian’s, Claire’s face pressed into her daughter’s hair.
Claire, Iris, and Astrid at the vineyard, Astrid in between the other two women, wineglasses in their hands, their mouths open in laughter, rolling rows of grapes blurred behind them.
Firelight in the darkness, Iris and Claire huddled on a log bench, Iris’s mouth near Claire’s ear as though sharing a secret.
Ruby on Josh’s shoulders in the hot springs, her arms spread and the most beautiful, euphoric smile on her face.
Image after image, Claire’s life surrounded her. Her friends, her family, her town. There was even a photo of the outside of Stella’s, all rough wood and brass. She felt her throat thicken, and she was just about to call Iris and Astrid and ask them what the hell was going on when she saw one more photo.
A black-and-white image of one woman.
Claire. All alone.
Wading into Bright River five years ago in a lace dress.
She gasped, and her hand flew to her mouth. She spun around, eyes searching through the dim lighting. Astrid could’ve had access to all the other photos. She knew Delilah had sent her a file with the images she’d taken during her time in Bright Falls. And this was the sort of thing Iris would do for her—organize some amazing display of the exact kind of art and photographs Claire would want to populate her store.
But this photo, only one person could’ve hung it here. Only one person had it in their possession, and there was no reason she’d ever give it to Astrid or Iris. No reason Claire could think of anyway. She walked swiftly through the store, hope and dread mingling in her gut. She angled around a freestanding shelf that held reference books, the reading area she’d set up with soft brown leather chairs coming into view.
And in one of the chairs, Delilah Green sat with her elbows resting on her knees.
Everything in Claire froze—her body, her breath, her heart. That’s what it felt like, her pulse pausing to see what was going to happen next.
“Hi,” Delilah said.
Claire didn’t say hi back. She couldn’t. She just blinked, her mouth hanging wide open.
“I’m really here. You’re not hallucinating,” Delilah said with a little smile. She had on a pair of gray skinny jeans and a fitted black V-neck tee, her lovely tattoos on display.
Claire snapped her mouth shut.
Delilah’s smile fell, and when she spoke again, her voice was soft. “Say something. Please.”
Claire finally got a good breath into her lungs. Her brain worked hard, trying to process all of this. She noticed one other pale green wooden frame resting on the coffee table in front of Delilah. It was far smaller than the ones on the walls, maybe a five by seven, and it was facedown so Claire couldn’t see the image.
“How . . . how was your show at the Whitney?” she finally said.
Delilah looked surprised. “Is that really what you want to ask me right now?”
“I . . . I don’t know. I just . . . I’ve wondered.”
Delilah’s eyes lit up. “It went well. Really well.”
Claire smiled. She couldn’t help it. She wanted good things for Delilah, even if those good things didn’t include Claire. But then again, Delilah was here. She was in Bright Falls, in Claire’s store. Curiosity and confusion warred in her mind.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
Delilah laughed, the sound small and a little nervous. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Claire took a step forward, then another and another until she found herself sinking into the chair across from Delilah, the coffee table in between them.
“So?” she asked when Delilah didn’t continue.