“Family needs to call first?” Liz began to straighten the knickknacks on the end table beside her and then reached to square a picture on the wall that had slipped a bit crooked. “Now that I’m here, how about we have breakfast? I could take you to Luverne’s for pancakes.”
It was a spur of the moment offer. A stroke of brilliance, if Liz said so herself. Luverne’s had been Quinn’s favorite when she was a little girl, but her daughter’s eyes didn’t brighten at the idea like Liz had hoped they would. Instead, her gaze darted to the spare bedroom just off the kitchen, and for a moment a look of something like panic shadowed her face.
“No, thanks,” she said too quickly. “Walker’s working on a project. I promised I’d make him breakfast. In fact, I’d better get started.” Quinn turned to the cupboard beside the stove and pulled out a frying pan, banging it onto the gas range with a bit more force than necessary.
“I could whip up—”
“No, Mom, really,” Quinn interrupted. “I’m fine. We’re fine. Just need a little time alone.”
Liz wanted to argue that all they had was time alone. But she bit her tongue and gave her daughter a narrow smile. “Well, have a good day then, darling. Let me know if you need anything at all.” She considered mentioning the windows one last time, then decided against it.
“Goodbye,” Quinn called, but her back was already turned and the word was muffled and weak.
Liz let herself out, heart pounding wildly in her chest. She was hurt and embarrassed, sure that there was something going on but helpless to do anything about it. The chasm between her and her child felt enormous. The syringe was mildly terrifying—Quinn wasn’t diabetic, at least not that Liz knew of. She was aware that the condition could develop later in life, and she no longer had access to Quinn’s medical files, but her daughter and Walker practically ate paleo and exercised all the time. Swimming and jogging and yoga on the lawn . . . who knew what else? Type 2 diabetes at twenty-five would have been a shock.
But that mystery could be solved at a later date. Liz was far more worried about the fact that when Quinn felt backed into a corner, she didn’t look toward Walker and the gorgeous master suite that they shared.
What was she hiding in the spare bedroom?
Liz couldn’t even begin to guess. She wasn’t sure she wanted to.
QUINN
THE TILE WAS COLD beneath her bare knees as Quinn fumbled for the discarded syringe. She hadn’t had time to release the little mechanism that covered the needle post-injection, so when her finger met with a sharp poke, she knew she had found it. Perfect. Nothing like adding insult to injury.
Quinn put her finger in her mouth and sucked the drop of blood that formed at the tip. Shuffling over to the cupboard on her knees, she tossed the syringe in the sharps container under the sink and straightened up right into Walker’s chest. She stifled a gasp of surprise.
“Good morning,” he murmured into her hair. His arms went around her waist from behind and she stiffened for just a moment before relaxing into them. Or trying to. Her heart was beating a staccato rhythm that refused to slow. “I thought I heard voices. Were you talking to yourself again?”
“My mother.” Quinn was grateful that she could chalk up her racing pulse to the fact that Liz had just walked in on her dosing herself. She had jumped when she realized she was being watched, and the last burn of medication had pooled too close to the surface of her skin. She could already feel the itch of a bruise forming.
“Your mother?” But Liz was gone and therefore not something Walker needed to be concerned about. His hands slid beneath Quinn’s tank top, finding all the places where her stomach was puffy and tender. His touch was gentle, knowing, and he asked, “Last dose, right?”
Quinn was supposed to have given herself the injection last night, but she had forgotten. In the shock that marked the minutes after Nora sped away from Redrock Bay, Quinn had forgotten nearly everything. There was a child before her. A little girl who was a complete and total stranger.
But Nora had said, She’s one of us.
As the dust from Nora’s tires settled around them, Quinn went to her knees in front of Lucy. The child was slight, her shoulders delicate and rounded in fear. Despair? She looked so tiny, so fragile. Quinn wanted to hold her. But there was something in the set of that narrow jaw that warned her away.
Furious, Quinn decided as she leaned back on her haunches and blew a strand of hair out of her face. She was furious at her sister. Damn it, Nora. She could be such a drama queen. A black hole of a woman, the kind of person who drew people to her dark gravity and sucked them in before they realized what was happening. Everything mattered to Nora, from global warming to civil rights to animal cruelty. And she expected everyone around her to care just as much as she did.
Who was Lucy? Another cause? But she was a child. Quinn felt a fresh wave of rage wash over her. Why had Nora abandoned a little girl?
Lucy was a dilemma in and of herself, but Quinn was livid when she realized that Nora hadn’t even attempted to ease her transition. Lucy had absolutely nothing with her. No bag, no clothes, not even a stuffed animal that she clutched beneath the standard issue car blanket that Nora had so unceremoniously draped around her. Quinn would have cursed her sister to kingdom come if Lucy weren’t nearby. It was just like Nora to make a mess and then leave Quinn behind to pick up the pieces. How did her sister expect her to keep a little girl a secret? Even more important, why?
Answers or no, they couldn’t stay in the parking lot at Redrock Bay all night. Somehow, Quinn had managed to convince Lucy to crawl into the back seat of her car. Really, what choice did she have? They drove back to the A-frame in silence, Quinn nursing a tension headache that made her vision blurry and worrying about how in the world she was going to explain to Walker what had happened. But he was still in the boathouse studio when they arrived home (a detail that both relieved and devastated Quinn). So she ushered Lucy into the house and decided that sleep was the only, albeit temporary, solution.
“I don’t have a nightgown for you,” Quinn faltered when they were finally in the great room together. It felt as if a year had passed since she had grabbed her car keys off the end table and blithely left to meet Nora. Since then, her world had been upturned.
Lucy was staring at her shoes, blanket still wrapped tight around her shoulders. Tears would have been understandable. Even a tantrum. But the little girl was just standing there, breathing shallowly with her gaze fixed on the floor. She was as stoic and unmoving as a porcelain doll. A Shirley Temple doll with her cropped red curls and creamy skin, but the similarities ended there. Lucy’s mouth was quivering, her eyes so troubled that Quinn was overcome with a desire to hug her. But she didn’t dare.
“No pajamas,” Quinn repeated weakly. “But I do have a T-shirt that might work. It has a clover leaf on it . . .”