Page 5 of The Wrong Side Of Us

“Did he now?”

I smiled. “Yeah. Do you want to go with me? It opens tomorrow.”

Surprisingly, Carter declined. In the time we’d been here, he rarely stayed behind. This had to be the first time he wasn’t willing to go anywhere I invited him.

“What’s going on, Carter?” I asked, tilting my head to the side. “Are you not feeling well or something?”

“Nope,” he said, taking a long, long sip of his coffee. I was pretty sure he’d finished it in that moment just to avoid answering my question.

“Carter, what’s—”

“Nothing, dear. I just want to spend the day at home tomorrow. You go, have fun, take pictures, and tell me all about it, hm?”

“Are you sure? We can go to a doctor—”

Carter stretched his hand across the table, taking my own in his and squeezing it gently. “I’m fine, Evie, really, okay? Go and have fun.”

***

Carter and I spent the rest of Saturday walking through the city. I enjoyed the day, but I felt uneasy. It was a gut feeling I had which I couldn’t quite decipher.

I tried to do away with whatever it was and enjoyed the evening. The only message I received was the address from Nathan—nothing else. No sweet message. Nothing.

He typically ended the messages with a “pretty girl” or a “sweet Evie,” but this time, there was nothing.

That was the last thing on my mind as I fell asleep that night.

***

I woke up early Sunday morning to get ready to go to the gallery. It wasn’t too far from where I lived, but my hair was a tangled mess, and just fixing that would take a while. After putting on simple black leggings and an over-sized tan sweater, I slipped into my high-heeled boots. I stopped by Carter’s to ask him one last time if he wanted to go with me.

The answer remained the same.

After much hesitation, I left, alone and nervous. The uncomfortable feeling once again appeared, and I began having doubts about going at all. Maybe something bad was going to happen there and this was my instincts telling me it was a bad idea? It wasn’t too late to turn back around.

But Nathan wouldn’t have told me to go if he thought something bad would happen.

When I finally arrived at the gallery, the place was crowded. Whoever it was opening it was clearly either famous or there were other people very interested in their work.

I took out my phone and typed a quick message to Nathan.

Me: I’m here. Place is packed. You’d love it.

No answer.

Finally, I walked inside the gallery, gasping at all the varying colors I was immediately met with. I couldn’t help the smile on my face. It was all so beautiful and bright. It reminded me of Nate’s studio. Just in a few seconds, I knew this was my favorite out of all the galleries I’d visited in New York. There were people conversing, most of them staring in awe at the intricate details of each painting.

He would love this.

I was so absorbed by everything I was seeing, I couldn’t be bothered to take out my phone. It was the type of beauty I didn’t want to miss. The type of beauty that a photo just wouldn’t do justice.

As I looked through the gallery, my mind tried to create stories about the different paintings. There had to be a history, something that made the painter create that piece of art. There always was.

That’s what Nathan would say.

I swallowed, stopping in front of a painting that caught my attention. A small smile crept on my face.

It was a pair of eyes, feminine and beautiful. There was an innocence in them, yet they were so pained, hurt. The type of pain only a bruised soul can show after suffering loss. And yet there was brightness in them—brightness only present when there is a sense of hope.

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