Page 57 of If Tomorrow Never Comes

“Take me in your back seat, I hope.”

His fingers flexed, his thumbs pressing against her hip bone just shy of the point of pain. He studied her, as if trying to read her face.

She’d already said it out loud. Twice. It was his call now.

He nodded quickly. “Okay. Just let me ...” He reached around her to turn on the ignition. With Elliott still straddling his lap, he leaned to the right and slowly moved to the back of the lot to a darkened corner, away from other cars.

When he flipped the engine off, she grinned and traded his lap for the bench seat in the back. He reached into his console and held up a condom with a cock of his eyebrow and somehow maneuvered his large body to join her.

His fingers slid through her hair, sending tiny shivers of sensation down her spine. He pressed his forehead against hers. “Sure about this?”

“Yes,” she whispered, and sealed her lips to his.

Today wasn’t a good day.

She’d had good days and bad days since moving to Omaha. On good ones, Elliott felt confident, fulfilled, and energetic. Usually, those were days she met with a client (which, thankfully, had become a more frequent occurrence), worked at Starbucks, or when she holed up at a local café or coffee shop to work on a design project she was excited about.

On bad days, loneliness crept in. She missed her parents, missed Yuka, and got inside her head. She questioned if coming here had been the right choice, stressed over the next lab draw and oncologist visit, and wondered if the cancer would come back and she’d just die of leukemia anyway.

What if all this progress was pointless in the end?

She’d promised herself she wouldn’t run back home to Lincoln all the time, because that defeated the purpose of trying to do life without the constant support system she’d depended on for so long. Even if they vehemently denied it, they needed a break from constantly watching over her, too.

But for some reason, the absence of those she loved the most hit hard today. She wasn’t sure why, but the fact she’d had dreams of Jamie almost nightly the entire week since she first went running with Hank probably didn’t help matters.

Reminders of how things could have been if she’d made a different choice that night had been relentless.

Stephen had texted her a few times, too, which probably should have made her feel better. A nice, attractive guy who’d taken her out wanted to keep talking and see her again. But instead of agreeing to a second date, she’d stalled with an excuse about a deadline for a new client.

She spent the morning texting with Yuka over breakfast, then decided to finally go look for art for her apartment. Her parents’ house was full of paintings they’d collected from all over, and one in particular hung in her old bedroom. She’d spent countless days in bed, too tired and sick to get up for anything except to pee, and the bright colors in that painting had always been a source of comfort. Maybe having some color on her walls here was what she needed to feel more at home.

She got dressed and drove to Dundee, the historic neighborhood Jamie had told her about. Her budget was limited, and she figured she was more likely to find something she could afford there than at the fancy galleries in Old Market.

The artist co-op opened at ten, and she must have been one of the first people in the door because the large room she entered was completely empty. Paintings hung on every wall, with even more propped on tables or along the floor. A few sculptures dotted the space, and the middle of the room was filled with tables of jewelry, soaps, and other handmade goods. Elliott slowly made her way around the room, reading the little cards next to the paintings to learn about the artist and their piece, and to take note of the price. Some were completely out of her range, while others seemed to be priced well below what they were probably worth.

She kept going back to one of a mountain range, hanging next to the window. At least, she was 99 percent sure that’s what it was. The shapes were fairly distinguishable with a flat foreground and triangular, jagged structures jutting into the sky, but the use of color stood out in its nonconformity. Instead of green, brown, and blue, the canvas was awash with pinks, oranges, purples, as if the pine trees were peach and the rock faces a bright magenta. Occasional golds and charcoal-gray imitated shadows, with a few strokes of emerald green and white here and there, but not where you’d expect.

Nothing about the images were typical, yet she knew exactly what she was looking at.

“What do you think?”

Elliott jumped at the voice and spun around. A woman sat in a dark-green chair near the back, smiling and waving.

Elliott pressed her hand to her racing heart. She crossed the space. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you when I came in.”

“Don’t worry about it. I kind of blend in back here.” The woman, who wore a long, colorful skirt and her salt-and-pepper hair in a braid down her back, gestured to her wrapped foot. “I had a little accident and can’t get around well right now, so I’m sort of stuck.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“I’m fine. Even if my husband disagrees. He made me stay home the first week, but I told him I’d divorce him if he tried to stop me today. He’s already called me twice.” She rolled her eyes. “Men.”

Elliott laughed, liking this woman already.

“But I can still tell you anything you want to know about the art or the artists who show here. Did you have any questions?”

“Actually, I’m interested in that mountain painting at the front. Do you know if the artist has any more like that? I was hoping to buy a few.”

The woman smiled. “As a matter of fact, that one’s mine. I have more, but they’re at my studio. I’m here most of the day, but if you hadtime tomorrow I’d be happy to meet you there and show you what I have.”

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