Page 25 of When the Smoke Clears

By the time I leave, I know what I have to do. I’ll pack what matters. Sell the rest. Walk away from this place for good.

If only walking away from the past were that simple.

As I near the inn, my stomach rumbles, a hollow reminder that my last meal was hours ago, sometime in the fading afternoon light. Now, the clock hands creep past 10 PM.

I weigh my options: skip dinner and hope sleep comes quickly, stop at the gas station for a bag of salty snacks, or venture into the Amber Glow Diner.

As much as I don’t want to visit my old place of employment, it’s the only spot open in Wildhaven at this time of night.

I reason with myself that if there’s parking in front, I’ll stop in and grab some takeout without being noticed.

Sure enough, when I get down the block, there’s a spot right in front. There’s no turning back now.

The bell above the door jingles with a sharp metallic ring, announcing my entrance and making me wince. I can’t believe I thought I could slip into town unnoticed and blend into the background for a few days when I had overlooked the simple necessities—like eating and basic car maintenance.

Ugh. I chide myself for my lack of foresight as I pick up a laminated menu from the neat stack on the counter.

My eyes scan the items, landing on the patty melt I used to order whenever I had the chance.

A young girl approaches, and her ponytail bounces with each step. It reminds me of my younger self when I worked here. I mirror her cheerful expression. “Hi! Table for one?”

“Actually, I’d like to place a to-go order.”

Her fingers fly over the keys of the computer as she enters my order, and I settle onto the long, cushioned bench in the waiting area. My gaze wanders around, absorbing the subtle changes time has effected.

The diner’s layout remains unchanged, with its cozy nooks and crannies. The decor is a nod to its roots as a classic ’50s diner, with retro posters and vintage trinkets on the walls, including the same red-and-white Coca-Cola bottle cap sign above the bar counter.

The booths, however, have been updated with fresh upholstery, and the tables gleam with a new cherry wood finish.

But the soul of the place remains the same, and its epicenter is the jukebox in the corner. A tug of nostalgia tempts me to stroll over and browse the song selections. Luke and I used to have a favorite tune on that old music machine. Is it still there?

I don’t look. Revisiting those memories won’t make anything about this day less demanding.

Fortunately, the hostess soon returns with my order packed in a to-go container, and I make the quick drive back with the aroma of a savory burger and onions wafting up to meet me.

Once inside my room, I shut and lock the door behind me, the click of the lock competing with the chirp of the new text message, echoing in the quiet space.

Placing the food on the small desk, I rummage through my purse and fish out my phone, expecting a check-in message from Erin.

But what appears on the screen makes my heart thunder as a surge of familiar fear courses through me. The message from an unknown number reads,

“The sheriff won’t be able to save either of you next time.”

CHAPTER 7

LUKE

“So you think there’s a chance the car was trying to hit Isla?” Gabe asks, his voice thoughtful before he takes a long pull from his beer.

“I don’t know, man.” I let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t have much to go on—just the tire marks on the pavement. But something about the whole situation is off, you know?”

Gabe’s brow furrows as his gaze drifts across the half-empty bar, like the answer might be hiding among the scattered regulars and dusty neon signs. “You don’t know anything about her life now?”

“No.” I pick at the label on my bottle. “She cut me off when she left town. I don’t even know where she lives.”

His eyes go distant again, working through possibilities, then refocus on me.

“What?” I ask.