“There you go,” she said, giving Lucy’s feet a gentle pat. “All done. Just sit still while they dry for a few minutes, okay? Then you and your lucky toes can hop down.”
“Look,” Lucy said, swiveling her torso so she could wriggle her fingers in front of Quinn’s face. “My fingers look like Princess Frostine.”
“They do.” Quinn tried to smile, but it flickered out before it formed. “And your toes remind me of Tinker Bell.”
Liz could feel Lucy stiffen at the mention of Tinker Bell. Her slight body went still, rigid beneath Liz’s hands still cupping the arches of her feet.
“Hey, you okay?” Quinn asked. But Lucy ignored her. She shook her feet out of Liz’s grip and slid off the stool. Then she walked carefully toward the living room, favoring her freshly painted toenails even as she disregarded Liz’s instructions to sit still. Liz opened her mouth to stop her, to tell her to be extra careful not to get nail polish on anything, but Quinn laid a hand on her mother’s arm. Let it go, her touch warned.
“So,” Liz said, picking up the bottle of green polish and twisting the cap on. She made sure it was tight and then wrenched it one more time just to be safe. Her hands were trembling. “How’d it go?”
“It was nothing,” Quinn whispered, waving the question away. Louder, she called to Lucy: “You can turn the TV on if you’d like.”
The four-note measure of the television powering on tinkled through the air.
“Where’s Walker?” Liz asked.
“Putting a dead bolt on the boathouse.”
“But—”
“He has one for the cabin, too.” Quinn lifted her chin defiantly, daring Liz to object.
She didn’t.
“I saw Nora,” Quinn said.
“You did? When?”
“Just now. She’s in Key Lake, but we didn’t have much time to talk.”
Liz didn’t know what to think. “Did she at least admit that Lucy is her daughter?”
“About that.” Quinn’s gaze flicked over to where Lucy sat clicking through channels on the TV. The girl was thin-lipped, and Liz thought maybe even a bit pale. Why? What had set her off? But she didn’t have time to contemplate. Quinn was talking again. “I think we were wrong.”
“What do you mean?” Liz had lost the thread of the conversation.
“I think we were wrong about Nora being Lucy’s mother.”
Liz humphed. “That’s ridiculous. It all fits. Lucy has Sanford eyes.”
“Listen.” Quinn seemed nervous, jittery even. “Nora made me leave, but before she did, she and Ethan were talking about Tiffany Barnes.”
That name made all the fine hairs on Liz’s tanned arms stand on end. But she seized the less problematic issue. “Who’s Ethan?”
“A friend of Nora’s. He came to Key Lake with her. But—”
“Tiffany,” Liz whispered. It was almost reverent. Why did that girl keep coming up? “What does she have to do with all of this? It doesn’t make any sense.”
“I know. I haven’t seen her since the summer Nora graduated high school. I didn’t realize that they kept in touch, but I think they must have.”
“So what were Nora and her friend talking about?” Liz asked, her mouth unusually dry. She could feel something buzzing at the corners of her consciousness, distant alarm bells that were starting their high, insistent whine. But she had no idea what they meant.
“They were talking about Lucy, I think. And Tiffany. And some guy . . . He was there, Mom. He was the reason Nora made me leave.”
Liz shook her head in an effort to clear it. “Tall, thick, built like a wrestler? Dark hair, dark eyes?”
“That’s the guy.”
Liz gave her hands a little shake, trying to dislodge the hysteria that was creeping across her skin. “Where does Tiffany Barnes fit into all of this?”
Quinn’s attention swept to Lucy. It was an innocuous shift, but Liz followed her daughter’s gaze and saw Lucy through a different lens.
The truth clicked into place like a bolt sliding home.
Liz closed her eyes very deliberately for a moment, trying to shut out her own suspicion. It was no use. She snapped them open and met Quinn’s quiet gaze. “Tiffany is Lucy’s mother. Then . . . ?”
“JJ.”
Quinn said it so quietly Liz didn’t actually hear her daughter utter the two syllables that felt like an indictment—she watched her mouth them. But, really, Quinn didn’t have to say anything at all. Liz knew. Maybe she had known all along.
JJ had been obsessed with Tiffany. A crush, Liz had thought. And why not let them give it a try? Go out on a few dates so JJ could get her out of his system? Tiffany wasn’t right for him at all and everyone knew it. If he could only realize that obvious truth for himself, the strange, almost magnetic pull she had on him might be broken. But Nora forbid it—and Jack. Sr., too. For once, they were aligned on something, and Liz didn’t stop to wonder at the motives behind their sudden alliance. She just relished the fact that her husband and their firstborn daughter had finally found a square inch of common ground. JJ, on the other hand, was outraged.
If Liz remembered correctly, and she knew that she did, Tiffany was just as enamored with JJ as he was with her. Classic good boy, bad girl scenario. Or something like that. It all made perfect sense. A secret relationship? A one-night stand? Did it matter?
And did it change anything if JJ was Lucy’s father instead of Nora being her mother? Liz figured she was probably being politically incorrect, but yes, this changed everything. JJ was married, expecting a baby of his own. He—presumably—had no idea that there was a gorgeous little girl who might someday call him Daddy. But what if he did? What if he had known all along?
Liz’s heart sank like a stone as another detail clicked into place. The phone call she had overheard all those years ago wasn’t between Jack Sr. and Nora—it was between her husband and Tiffany Barnes. He had sent her away, had threatened her. Jack Sr. had known all along and had done everything in his power to protect his son. Oh, JJ. Liz’s throat tightened around tears, but she refused to let them fall. Let him be ignorant, she wished. Please, let him be stupid and insensitive and immature instead of malicious and hateful and cruel.
Let us be a part of Lucy’s life, even if that’s the last thing Tiffany wants.
Liz was surprised at the depth of her own emotion. Hadn’t she been ambivalent only hours ago? But how could she be? The affection she felt for Lucy was fresh as a bud and just as precious. Blood was thicker than water, or so they said, and Liz felt like she suddenly, irrevocably knew exactly what that meant.
“What are we going to do?” Quinn rasped.
Liz tapped her lips with her fingertips, willing herself to come up with a solution, to once again step in and clean up the mess that someone in her life had made. That was her job, after all: righter of wrongs, fixer of all things broken. It was what mothers did.
“I’m going to call him,” she said, finally. Her phone was on the counter and she grabbed for it, but Quinn got there first. She snatched it up and held it away from Liz.
“Really? You think a phone call is the right way to tell JJ he has a daughter?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not going to tell him anything. I’m going to tell him we need to talk.”