Mercy Love by Lauren Snow

Author:Lauren Snow [Snow, Lauren]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-01-08T16:00:00+00:00

Attached to the message is a photo of the journal for proof. I think this is really her. I’m relieved, but also inwardly stirring with embarrassment at the thought that she might have read what’s inside.

I reply:

Hey Wendie… thanks so much for holding on to it for me. Really appreciate you. Let’s meet at the Pine Pit in midtown to make the exchange.. How about tomorrow afternoon, around 4 or so. Sound good?

I see her typing…

Sounds good. See you tmrrw..

The funny thing is, technically, it’s already tomorrow. It’s 2:39 in the AM. About thirteen more hours until I get the journal back. The appointment could not come fast enough.

The following afternoon . . .

I’m indulging in a whiskey sour when I glance at the door and see Wendie walk into the Pine Pit. Instantly, I feel jitters in my gut. She cranes her neck and looks around for me. I throw my hand in the air and wave to help her out. Her eyes light up once they land in my direction. She smiles and makes her way through the pre-happy hour crowd to get to me. I’m sitting toward the back of the bar.

She walks up and immediately, I notice two conflicting expressions existing on her face at once; one looks happy to see me, the other looks afraid. I can only imagine what’s swimming through her head right now.

“Hey there.” I’m the one that breaks the ice again. The gut jitters subside a little.

“Hey,” she responds, smiling giddily. I can tell she’s got a thing for me. That much is obvious from the amorous glint in her eyes—those calm, casual icy blue eyes. Her ginger curls seem to shine redder under this bar light. She’s as pretty as I remembered, if not more.

“I was right,” I say.

“About?”

“That we would see each other again. Remember when I said that at the hospital? And here we are.”

Wendie laughs and wags her finger at me. “You are absolutely right. What are the odds?”

“Under these circumstances, it’s a bit awkward, though,” I add. “So you’ve got the journal?”

“I sure do.” She unzips her purse and reaches inside. My heart thumps against my chest like a kick drum. I can’t shake the thought that she’s seen all the ugliness contained in that little tiny notebook. She probably thinks I’m a total basket case.

“Here you go,” she says, smiling awkwardly as she hands it over.

“Thank you very much.” I stare at it for a long time, then tap it against my palm. “Hey, how much of this did you read?”

My question takes her aback. “Uh, I didn’t—”

“C’mon, Wendie. Be honest. I know you’ve peeked at it at least.”

She deflates with surrender. “Okay. I’ve read all of it. Every last page.”

All of my internal organs rearrange themselves. So she’s seen the suicide notes, the bombing plots, the gruesome drawings—everything. That’s not good.

“Wendie, can you promise me something? Here, have a seat.” I let her have my barstool and I take the one next to it.

“Sure,

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