Page 183 of Never Let You Go

Once I’m done eating the last crunchy part of the cone, I pull my hat down and close my eyes behind my sunglasses, enjoying the quiet. From here, we’ll hear the bus pull up. Sarah goes to the bathroom, and for a moment, it feels like it’s only me out here.

“Holy effing shit,” Sarah whisper-screams as she comes back.

I open one eye at her. She’s holding a bag of candy and a gossip magazine. The kind with paparazzi photos of celebrity close-ups.

I close my eyes, again. It can’t be the candy, so I wonder what the Kardashians might have done again to rile Sarah up.

“’Sup?” I mumble, wanting to know what the rest of the world has been up to while we totally checked out.

“Hello?” she says.

I open my eyes, again. She shoves the magazine in my face, so close I have to push it away to actually look at it.

When I do, I’m staring at myself.

There’s a full front-page photograph of me with the words, Where is she?

I sit up and gasp. “What the actual f—?”

The diesel engine of the bus rumbles as it comes to a stop. There’s no time to figure this out now. I roll the magazine up, with my photo on the inside, tuck my hat lower over my sunglasses, and tiptoe behind Sarah as if that will make me less visible.

Sarah leads us to the very back of the bus. It’s empty now, but it’ll fill up as we make our way into the city.

I take the window seat, where no one can see me. Pull the magazine out and start reading the text on the cover. ‘New England’s best baker loses his one true love, and now, he won’t bake.’

And, then, below, a subtitle: ‘Help us find her.’

Sarah starts laughing uncontrollably. She’s on her phone, earbuds on. “Oh my god, Lexie, this is priceless.”

“What? What’s so funny? It’s not funny!” I hiss as she hands me one of her earbuds.

We huddle over Sarah’s phone, watching a news segment from last week.

“The country is on a frantic search for Alexandra Pierce, Christopher Wright’s former apprentice and now lover. Alexandra disappeared abruptly two weeks ago, and Wright is desperate to find her. Police refuse to list her as a missing person, as there have been sightings of her on the Appalachian Trail.”

The segment cuts to Officer Declan Campbell. “People are entitled to their privacy,” Declan says. “We have reports that she is alive and well, and just… doing her thing.”

“And what would that be?”

“I’m not at liberty to disclose.”

“Why not?”

“It’s a matter of protecting her privacy.”

“So… you can’t tell us anything?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Anything you’d like to say to Alexandra?”

He nods. “If you’re watching, please come back. We miss you, and don’t take this the wrong way, but we miss our fresh bread too.”

The camera pans out and focuses on the bakery, then zooms in on the sign hanging at the front door. Closed until further notice.

The screen switches to the anchor. “News outlets got wind of Christopher Wright’s plight when the recent winner of the popular TV show, New England’s Best Baker, started posting videos addressed to Alexandra on his bakery’s social media feeds.”

“Dammit,” I growl, digging deeper in my seat.

---