He didn’t come.

Unsure what to do, Wendy got up the next morning and packed away her sleeping bag. She changed in the small upper bathroom and started getting the store ready to open. She moved the dog bed back to Mr. B’s office and took another hard look around. Was there a clue? Was she missing something?

It was 8:58 a.m. She sat at the front desk, her gaze flicking from the clock on the wall to the phone sitting next to her. Did she dare call 911? He certainly hadn’t been gone forty-eight hours yet, and she didn’t really know much about him. She had no idea where he lived, what his number was, or if he had any family. All she had was the dog. Proof that he had disappeared. He wouldn’t have left Nana behind.

But what if the police started asking questions about her? She didn’t have an alibi other than walking the dog. She was a homeless kid who had only been working here a few days. They’d immediately suspect her. Then she could end up in prison. Was it worth it?

Well, they got meals in prison, right?

Wendy picked up the phone and dialed nine and a one. She was about to press the one again when the door opened, the bell rang loudly, and Mr. Bernard walked in with a newspaper under his arm.

“Mr. Bernard?” Wendy gasped holding the phone up to her ear.

“Oh, Wendy, good morning. It is such a glorious morning, isn’t it?” He turned to look outside and breathed a deep sigh of pleasure.

“Mr. Bernard, are you okay?”

“Of course I’m okay, why wouldn’t I be?” A surprised look crossed his face.

“Well, you sent me for lunch yesterday, and when I got back you were gone. And you didn’t come back.”

“I, uh…I didn’t?” He scratched the back of his head. “That doesn’t sound like me.”

“You forgot your dog,” she said softly. It was obvious he didn’t remember. He seemed a bit scattered.

“Oh, well, I knew she’d be in good hands. Nana likes you.” He shuffled into the bookstore and looked around in appreciation. “You did well, Wendy. Everything looks great. You’re such a good girl. I’m very glad I hired you.”

“It’s in the mini-fridge,” Wendy called after him as he headed to his office.

“What is, dear?” He seemed a bit panicked.

“Your lunch from yesterday.”

“Yesterday?”

“Uh huh, Chinese food.”

“Oh, yes. Chinese food always tastes better as leftovers. It was smart of you to put it in the fridge.”

Mr. Bernard entered his office and closed the door, just as Nana tried to enter. She whined and pawed at the metal doorknob but it didn’t open. Dejected, she lay down in front of the door and set her large head on her paws.

Wendy stared at the door and felt the same way Nana did. Helpless. Something was wrong and she didn’t know what. She hated feeling left in the dark.

Seeing that Mr. Bernard forgot, she went to the door and flipped the sign to open. Of course the zillion customers waiting outside chose that moment to come barging through the door to buy up all of the books. Well, she wished there were a zillion. She would have been satisfied with one or two. Instead, all that sat outside on the front walk were a couple of hungry sparrows.

Business was slow. More than slow—it was dead. She knocked on Mr. Bernard’s office door and asked if it was okay to change the front display window.

He grunted his approval. Was he sleeping? It sounded like he was asleep.

She took down the display and dusted all of the books and pulled down the chairs and tables. It looked like it had been quite a while since the display had been changed. It was decorated for summer, but a fall scene was in order.

Around noon Wendy knocked on Mr. Bernard’s door and asked if she could take her lunch break and have a longer one so she could pick up a few items for the front window display.

“Oh yes, go ahead and take as long as you need. If you’re buying things for the window, take a twenty out of the drawer and bring me receipts. It will be nice to have new vision for our store.”

Feeling proud and excited, Wendy took the bus to the It’s All a Buck store and spent some money on white lights, crates, and fake leaves.

She had a purpose and she wanted to please her boss—that felt different. Nice. After she carefully arranged the display, she picked out some of their newest and hottest books and set them upright in the leaves.

She stepped outside and smiled. It was awesome. Fall had come to Bernard Books. Heading inside, she waited and watched and saw that her new display made people slow and look in the window. She had two come in and browse the store, but only one purchased. Well, that was better than nothing, she guessed.

Mr. Bernard gave her two thumbs up. That was the start of her week, and the next day followed a similar routine—without ever running into Peter or Tink. She decided the good outweighed the bad. She’d keep the job.

Painfully sometimes, the hours dragged on. Each time the door jangled open she half-expected Peter or Tink to walk through it. Frequently, she felt as if someone was watching her. She’d glance up and go to the loft, searching for Peter, but it was always empty.

The more hours that passed without her seeing them, the more she realized that she wanted to see them. Needed to see them, because it was all beginning to feel like a dream.

Wendy couldn’t help but let her thoughts drift back to her last night with Peter. Had she dreamed it? Surely, she would have remembered taking a bus to the bookstore. That night left her with more questions than answers.

She tried to take the bus back to the waterfront and find the path that led to the old house, but she had gotten so turned around she couldn’t find it. It was as if the building had disappeared. Once again, it all felt like a dream. She had imagined Peter and Tink. She tried not to dwell on the thought that she was imagining everything. It wasn’t good for her self-esteem.

When Wendy earned her first paycheck, she was ecstatic. Especially when Mr. Bernard cashed her check for her himself and gave her cash.

Money! She had money! She could buy new clothes, get a haircut, buy groceries. Oh, all of the stress that had mounted on her shoulders felt like it was melting away. She grabbed her backpack and headed to a small outlet mall to hit the clearance racks. Setting herself a budget, she picked up quite a few pairs of jeans, shirts, and underclothes. Walking back to the bookstore, she stopped at a gas station and picked up a pay-as-you-go cell phone. Her fingers itched to call home and hang up just to hear her mother’s voice, or to slip her number to John in case of emergency, but she didn’t. She tucked her phone in her pocket.

Wendy carried her bags to the back of the store and put them in the closet. When she came to the front she spotted a small notecard by the register. She could hear Mr. Bernard typing in his office. A customer must have come in, and he hadn’t heard the bell or the door.

Great. Wendy felt guilty for leaving the store and losing a customer, but she had to rein in those feelings. She wasn’t on the clock, she was off. She was allowed free time. But seeing the card, she couldn’t help but investigate. She walked over and lifted up the small white envelope.

Her name was written in black ink on the front.

Feeling a bit of trepidation, she tore open the envelope and pulled out the card. Inside was just one sentence.

Don’t trust anyone.