I was crocheting without having to pay attention as thoughts flooded my mind. There was no way to take this other than it was his awkward way of breaking things off. We had both been hesitant about the relationship from the start and now I was grateful that we’d been so slow about getting further into it. But it reinforced what had worried me from the start. My fingers stopped moving mid-stitch and I let out a sigh. I’d had kind of an unwritten rule in mind when I first started the group. I wouldn’t get romantically involved with anyone in the writers’ group because if something like this happened, he’d feel compelled to leave it. How could I manage to let him know that the end of us didn’t have to be the end of his being in the Tuesday crowd.

  I’d seen the progress he’d made since joining us. He’d started out with a terse talking detective who seemed like a stick figure, to giving him some emotions and a life outside his job. I dropped my crochet and picked up my smart phone and typed in a text that said: Just because things have changed between us is no reason for you to give up the group. I can separate my personal feelings from that of leader of the group and I promise it won’t be awkward. No questions asked or explanation necessary. I took a breath and hit send before I could overthink it.

  I set the phone off to the side and went back to crocheting. I was pleased to see that, despite being lost in my thoughts, I had managed to stick to the pattern of the single-colored granny square. I was considering changing yarns to give it a black border when I heard a chime on my phone. I forced myself to finish the stitch before I reached for it, sure it was from Ben. When I finally looked at the phone, I saw that I was wrong. The text was from Maeve Winslow. The first line said she was sorry about missing our appointment and I was afraid it was just going to be an apology and then a brush-off saying that she’d changed her mind or hired someone else. Wonder of wonders, I was wrong. There was no explanation beyond the apology, but the rest of the text was about rescheduling and the offer of a time a few days ahead. Grateful for the good news, I started to type in a response without even checking my calendar before I stopped myself. It was close to ten and it might seem a little desperate if I answered right away. And there was the possibility I had something for that day and time.

  I was old-fashioned and still used a paper appointment book and took notes with a real pen and paper. When I went into my office to check the black-covered book, I saw the block of time was free. Was it better to wait until morning to respond? But sending an answer now might make it look as if I was on top of things. I chided myself for overthinking again and went with my gut and quickly typed in a text saying yes to the meeting and hit send. My phone chimed just as I set it on the couch. It was Maeve’s response that she’d see me then. I scrolled back to my text to Ben, and it showed it had been delivered.

  Somehow, I’d hoped that I’d misunderstood and that there would be a response saying that or, even better, that he was coming back. But there was just an absence of words.

  THREE

  The ringing cut into my sleep and I bolted to an upright position, dislodging Rocky from his spot nestled against my head. It took a moment for me to calculate if the noise had been part of a dream or if it was real. It helped that the ringing continued and I recognized it as my landline.

  Was it Ben? I chided myself for the thought as I unrolled the covers and went across the room to find the cordless handset. It was a little too heartbroken teenager instead of the reasonable adult I hoped I was. It would take time but I’d get used to the change in things. I checked the screen on the phone and recognized Tizzy’s number.

  ‘I didn’t wake you, did I?’ she asked in her upbeat voice.

  I did what it seemed everybody did and said I was awake. Why did we all do that, as if there was some shame in sleeping when the caller was up and already in their day?

  I expected her to ask about Ben’s behavior at the group. She knew about the plate of food after the meeting and was probably curious. To use a cliché, Tizzy had a nose for news. I was preparing how I’d give her a noncommittal answer when she surprised me by talking about something else entirely.

  ‘I hope you’re free this evening,’ she said, not waiting for me to respond before she continued on. ‘Alex bought some tickets to an art gallery event and he doesn’t want to go. It’s a charity thing and he’s insisting I go in his place. Theo is coming along. He’ll drive and there’ll be dinner at the Berghoff afterwards. There’s going to be champagne and fancy appetizers. It’s a reason to get dressed up and mingle. Say you’ll come,’ she added in a cheery voice. Alex was her boss at the university’s business school. Her title was his assistant and she had an interesting relationship with him. She was very fluid about when she was in the office, and he seemed OK with it. But then I got the feeling that he liked all the news she gathered when she was out and about.

  I debated the thought of a social evening downtown. I had been in the neighborhood too much lately and a change would be good. It would get my mind off Ben and the anticipation of the meeting with Maeve. And there was something else – it reminded me of something my mother had always said when she urged me to do something. Nothing was going to happen if I sat home but who knew what adventures might happen if I went out. I let out a sad sigh. There was always a momentary emotional dip when something reminded me of her and how much I missed her even after all this time. I knew in my heart that she would definitely have approved of Tizzy and how she pulled me out of myself.

  ‘Well?’ she said finally. I didn’t have high expectations for an adventure at a charity reception at an art gallery, but I decided to take my mother’s advice.

  ‘I’ll go,’ I said.

  ‘Good. Then you can tell me what’s up with Ben,’ she said before she hung up.

  As the morning wore on, I tried to fight myself from doing it, but I kept checking my phone expecting to find a text from Ben in response to mine. The clean plate from the food Sara had sent up was sitting on the coffee table in the living room. Once the crochet had worked its wonder, reality had set in and I realized I was starving. It had been macaroni and cheese made from scratch with a side of roasted broccoli and a square of moist cornbread. The least I could do was return the plate and tell her how delicious it was. And maybe get some insight about what happened with Ben.

  I could hear the sound of Mikey running up and down the long hall from outside the door. It was lucky the couple on the first floor didn’t work from home and have to listen to the thudding sound of his toddler footsteps over their heads. Sara answered the door with a tired look.

  ‘Here’s your plate,’ I said, holding it out. ‘The dinner was delicious as always. Thank you.’

  She looked at it and then up at me with a shrug. ‘I guess Ben forgot.’ Mikey came running down the hall and gave my hand a tug and I let him pull me in the doorway.

  ‘Did he stop back before he left?’ I asked.

  Sara thought a moment. ‘Now that you mention it, he didn’t.’ I waited for her to elaborate that it wasn’t like him or something, but she said nothing. She wasn’t making it easy to get her to talk. What would my detective say to get her to open up? Maybe he’d just go for the direct route.

  ‘Did he seem different during your dinner?’ I asked. ‘Maybe he mentioned having something on his mind.’

  She looked at me directly. ‘Why are you asking?’

  I finally broke down and told her about how he’d acted at the workshop without mentioning that I’d taken it personally. ‘I’d hate to see him quit since he has come so far.’

  ‘You and me both. It made me feel good that he had some outlet besides hanging out with his cop buddies. He seemed the same at dinner, but then he’s good at holding it all in.’

  ‘Don’t say that I said anything,’ I said. ‘But if he says something about not coming anymore, maybe you can offer him some encouragement.’

  ‘What exactly did he do?’ she asked with concern.

  I told her he came with barely any pages and seemed upset, and that he’d left the plate of food with me and rushed off. Ben and I had kept quiet about the other time we spent together, but Sara knew about his sitting with me when I ate the food she sent, since she had engineered it, so it didn’t seem to be disclosing anything about how far our relationship had progressed.

  ‘Please excuse my brother’s rudeness,’ she said with a hopeless shake of her head. ‘I’ll do what I can to keep him coming to the workshops.’ She let out a sigh. ‘And please don’t take it personally. He’s got his issues, but underneath it, he’s a good guy. Worth the effort.’

  But not if he wouldn’t talk about it. I suddenly understood how my client Caleb felt.

  It was just getting dark when I checked my purse to make sure I had some business cards, just in case. Once I’d agreed to go with Tizzy and Theo, I was glad to have a reason to get dressed up. I even wore a dress.

  The Prius was double parked when I came downstairs. Theo actually got out and opened the back door for me. He smiled and did a mock bow when I thanked him for his gentlemanly gesture.

  Tizzy seemed to have forgotten about her interest in Ben and the three of us made small talk on the drive downtown. The streetlights along Lake Shore Drive were bright enough that I got a view of the strip of park that had gone from manicured green back to the natural prairie it had once been. Beyond that the lake was just a dark expanse. Ahead, the impressive downtown skyline of tall buildings dotted with what seemed like a million lights showed our destination.

  Theo turned off DuSable Lake Shore Drive and threaded through the downtown streets. People were still going home from work and the sidewalk along Randolph Street was congested with foot traffic. Shoppers were going into the Macy’s store and the marques of several theaters were lit up with their offerings. It was such a different vibe than my neighborhood and I was glad to be out in it for a change.

  He dropped us off in front of our destination and went to find parking. I let Tizzy lead the way into a tall office building. We walked into a massive atrium with walkways around each floor leading to the various offices. It reminded me of the set-up of some hotels and also prisons, though they had watch towers in the middle.

  We took the glass elevator up to the upper floor and, as the doors opened, I heard the din of conversation. The double doors to the Zander Paul Galleries were open, though the entrance was blocked by someone holding a computer tablet checking names. Tizzy got us checked in and we went into a reception area filled with well-dressed people. I followed Tizzy through the crowd, letting her work out the mingling. I wasn’t sure if she recognized people she knew or just struck up a conversation, but before I knew it, she was introducing me to a group of people and telling them what I did. I was pleased when someone asked for a business card just as several uniformed servers reached us with trays of hors d’oeuvres and flutes of champagne.

  By the time Theo joined us, we’d found a tall table to use as a base for the food and drinks. I’d managed to get a flute of ginger ale and some vegetarian mini quiches.

  Once he’d checked in with us, Theo went off to look around on his own. When Tizzy and I were finished with our appetizers, we split up to check out the other rooms. At least I was going to check out the other rooms. Tizzy seemed more interested in checking out the people. I envied the way she could start up a conversation with total strangers.

  Someone stood by the entrance to the galleries displaying the art making sure no one was bringing in any refreshments. A table was set up with items for a silent auction with sheets for bids, making it hard to see the artwork. The best I could tell was that there seemed to be a mixture of styles, some abstracts and some landscapes which I glanced over without much regard. But then I saw something that absolutely caught my eye. All the paintings featured the same Scottish terrier in the foreground, which seemed to be looking out from the painting. Only the backgrounds changed. It was hard to see with the constant movement of the crowd, but in one the dog was on the beach, then another had the black scruffy-haired dog in a forest with fireflies around it. Another picture had three Scotties running in tandem with a background that reminded me of Vincent van Gogh’s Starry Night. I couldn’t stop staring at the dog. He, I was assuming it was a male, was soulful, jaunty and simply adorable. I pushed close enough to see the price tag on one. It didn’t matter that it was already marked as sold as it was way, way out of my price range.

  I heard a voice over a loudspeaker coming from the reception room and went to see what was going on. I hadn’t seen it the first time, but now noticed there was a long table with an arrangement of posters, mugs, T-shirts and postcards. I moved closer and saw they all featured the same image of the black terrier with a garden of sleeping flowers around it. It was whimsical, and the bright colors of the flowers made me want to smile. The only item I could afford was a postcard, so I paid for it and slipped it in my purse and went looking to rejoin Tizzy.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I asked when I caught up with her. A man was standing behind a podium holding a microphone. A small crowd was gathered around him.

  ‘He’s Zander Paul Junior and the owner of the gallery. He’s doing a pitch on who they’re raising money for. Now I understand why Alex bought the tickets. It’s his daughter’s school,’ Tizzy said. I checked out the man at the podium. He looked the part of a gallery owner. Dark collarless shirt under a dark suit, accented with a scarf worn keyhole style. A pair of glasses were pushed up on his thick dark hair, a lock of which had fallen free. My gaze moved to the group standing next to him. There was something that held my eye on the man in a denim jacket hanging open over a collarless brick-red shirt. The sleeves of the jacket seemed to have been folded back with care, displaying a silver bracelet along with a string of Tibetan prayer beads. He had longish dark hair and to me had artist written all over him. When I glanced at the women with him, I gasped so loudly that Tizzy turned and stared at me.

  ‘What?’ she said with a question in her eyes. I debated what to say. I hadn’t told Tizzy about Maeve, so how could I tell her the woman I’d gasped about was the one who’d given me the rude brush-off the other day. Even after my mental woman-versus-girl debate when I’d first seen her, I’d gone with calling her a woman. Her nasty mood was definitely gone now. Her shoulder was almost touching the guy I’d decided was an artist and she seemed quite solicitous. And when she glanced out at the crowd, she reveled in the attention. Tizzy was staring at me, waiting for an answer.

  ‘She looks familiar, that’s all,’ I said, trying to dismiss it, giving my attention back to the action at the podium. The gallery owner did a flourish in the direction of the man I’d pegged as an artist, introducing him as Michael Angel. The murmur that went through the crowd made it clear they knew who he was and were impressed. As soon as I heard he was the painter of the Scotty dog pictures, my curiosity was stoked and I pressed to hear what the artist had to say.

  ‘Everybody always wants to know about my inspiration. Monty was my best friend when I was a kid. Dog best friend,’ he said, and everyone chuckled. ‘It was a hard time for me. My parents had just broken up and I always felt like an outsider in school. Monty was always there for me. Something in the way he looked at me made me feel that he saw through to my heart. I carried him in my imagination long after he crossed into dog heaven and pictured him in different circumstances.’

  I kept hoping he would introduce the rude greeter from Maeve Winslow’s home, but while she seemed practically glued to one side of him, Michael seemed oblivious of her. He did give a nod to the woman flanking his other side and touched her arm in an affectionate manner. I didn’t catch her name, but heard something about her being a filmmaker and very special to him.

  Before he could say anything more, a tall, dark-haired woman who’d been part of the entourage at the front stepped in front of him and took control of the microphone. ‘I take credit for putting Michael on the map,’ she said, gazing out at the crowd. Michael appeared to be miffed, but it was all for show.

  ‘I’m sure you all know Sophia,’ he said, taking the microphone back. ‘Second Chance Sophia.’ There was a sound of recognition from the crowd. Michael stepped back and as Sophia took over, she held up a real live Scottish terrier.

  ‘This is Drexel,’ she said and gave the dog a kiss. ‘He’s my companion on all the adventures on my YouTube channel. I know that Michael Angel was thinking of his dear departed dog when he did the first painting but, as you can see, it looks like he captured the heart and soul of Drexel. The minute I saw the painting of The Scotty in the Sleeping Garden at the art fair, I had to have it. And when I showed it to my hundreds of thousands of followers, everyone fell in love with the picture, too.’ She gestured toward the display where I’d gotten the postcard. ‘And a portion of anything you purchase will go toward the Dupont Academy.’ She looked back to the artist. ‘So, now that you’ve been nominated for the National Arts Award, I think you should mention me in your acceptance speech at the gala in January.’

  ‘That’s if I win,’ he said with a smile.

  ‘You’re going to win,’ she said. ‘Everybody loves your paintings.’

  ‘I’m honored by the nomination,’ he said. He seemed to be trying to appear humble, but he beamed as the crowd called out assorted cheers like woot, hear-hear, and a couple of congrats. The only one that made any sense was the last one. What did woot or hear-hear even mean?