Hey Jude (Lennox Valley Chronicles #1)

“Miss? Are you okay?” he tries again.

I’m frozen. My eyes dart around like an animal trapped by a predator. All eyes in the gallery are turned on me. My pulse races. No, no, no… not here.

My breath is coming rapidly now and sweat prickles on my scalp. Onlookers start to exchange hushed comments. I can’t bear the weight of so much scrutiny, though I can’t move my feet to get away. Bradley walks rapidly over to me, nervously shifting his eyes between me and the other patrons. He looks embarrassed. He pulls me by the arm and I find myself shuffling along with him to the coat check area, gasping for breath. Out of the corner of my eye, a nonplussed art gallery employee pulls a broom out of a nearby closet.

“What the hell was that, Olena?” Bradley speaks in a hushed voice, probably to avoid any further attention. The ringing in my ears intensifies and I can’t quite hear what he’s saying.

“What? I just… What?” I mumble between gasps. My heartbeat feels like it’s in my neck. The lights are too loud. I blink repeatedly, then squint at him. His mouth is moving but I am not taking anything in. I try to focus and slow down my breathing. After several breaths, my brain starts to come back online and I can hear him again.

“You have to understand: Dale and Remy are important colleagues of mine. I’m just trying to make a good impression,” he is saying with a disappointed look.

I frown, meeting his eyes somewhat blankly. “I need to go to the washroom.”

“Good idea. You’re covered in wine. You should clean yourself up.” He points behind me to a nearby door.

Grateful to break away from Bradley’s monologue, I duck into the washroom and lock the door, pressing my back against it as I take deep breaths. A flash of memory hits me—my window breaking, voices shouting just outside—and I wince, pushing the thought out of my mind. More deep breaths. I can’t let the panic take over. Not here.

Breathing slowly, I note my heart rate gradually slowing down. Close call.

Oh, my God, Olena, can’t you just operate like a normal person for one night? my inner critic screams. I shouldn’t have come here. Who was I kidding, thinking I could fit in with the art gallery crowd, anyway? I obviously have nothing in common with Bradley. He seemed nice enough when we chatted online but this… this isn’t for me. What on Earth had he seen in me that made him think this was my kind of crowd?

I splash cold water on my face and dry off with one of the rolled cotton towels on the counter, tossing it into the wicker basket below the sink. Looking at my reflection, I notice with detachment that I hadn’t even bothered to clean my dress; the deep purple stain will probably set before I get home. I don’t care.

Stalling, I pull out my phone and scroll through my notifications, immediately regretting showing my parents how to set up a group chat.

David MacMillan

Any leads on work yet?

Lynn MacMillan

If not, we are always here to help you out. You know that, honey.

David MacMillan

I can always fix up your old room if you need to move home for a little while.

Lynn MacMillan

Right. And of course we’d be happy to have you here. Are you sure you can afford rent this month, sweetheart?

Oh, Lord. I wince. I need to get my shit together—and fast.

I can’t face moving back in with my parents at twenty-seven. And I don’t want to lean on them too much either after they’ve already helped me so much with getting out of Seattle. This is my life. My fresh start.

My fingers fly over the on-screen keyboard, my jaw tightening with determination as I hit send.

Olena MacMillan

Thanks, Mom and Dad… but I’m making it work.

I take another deep breath and pocket my phone, silently resolving to face one crisis at a time, and open the washroom door. Bradley is still waiting nearby, looking put out.

“I need to leave,” I say to him quietly.

“What? We just got here.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t do this. It’s not my scene,” I say, searching for the front door over his shoulder.