Fingering the nape of her neck, Nora toyed with the feathered ends of her blond fringe, the frayed, wavy edge that made her look like a rock star. All she needed were tattoos and an abundance of earrings, but Nora had an unusual affinity for the purity of her own body. She had no desire to be branded or pierced, save a tiny tattoo on her shoulder in the shape of an arrow—her best friend, Tiffany, had a matching one—and when she dabbled in drugs it was only because she was an angsty teenager and that’s what angsty teenagers did. She didn’t like the way they made her feel. Nora figured she wasn’t the addictive type.
“I needed a change,” she offered, knowing that the haircut must be a shock to Quinn. The last time they’d seen each other, Nora’s flaxen waves had nearly touched her waist. Now, a long sweep of bangs complemented her cheekbones, and short layers exposed her neck and jaw. The overall effect was an aura of self-possession, of power. She used it to her advantage.
“It looks great.” But Quinn’s eyes were narrowed, hurt. They were strangers, and the strain of their awkward conversation was apparent. Nora wished she could rewind the clock, right past wrongs. But she couldn’t worry about Quinn’s feelings right now.
“Thanks.”
“It’s good to see you. I mean . . .” Quinn didn’t finish, and didn’t have to. Nora could see it all written across her face. I’m lonely. I wish things were different. I’m so angry at you. I miss you.
“It’s good to see you, too,” Nora said, because what else could she say? She didn’t want to see her sister now, under these circumstances, but what choice did she have? Quinn wasn’t the only Sanford sister whose life hadn’t turned out the way everyone had planned.
“Let’s get out of here,” Quinn suggested with an air of finality. “Let me buy you a drink. Malcolm’s serves Guinness now. Crown and Coke?” Quinn was already walking back to her car, clearly expecting Nora to follow so they could slide into one of the tattered booths at Malcolm’s on the Water and pretend things were different.
“Quinn, stop.” Nora hadn’t followed a single step, and when Quinn turned around the distance between them seemed unexpectedly large. “I don’t have time for a drink.”
“But you came all this way.”
“I can’t—”
“It’s late.” Quinn shrugged one shoulder and offered up her most charming smile, dimple on the right. But there was something sharp in the line of her mouth. Unforgiving. “Spend the night. Walker is working on a project and the house is so big. You can have the suite off the kitchen. I’ll make you crepes in the morning, whipped cream and all.” Was she being sarcastic? Nora couldn’t tell.
Nora didn’t mean to be harsh, but she shook her head and fixed her sister with a warning look. She had used this particular glare a thousand times throughout their childhood, and Quinn recoiled just like she had when she was eight and still in lopsided pigtails.
“What?”
“I need you to do something for me. To keep something safe,” Nora said.
Quinn put her hands on her hips. “Okay. There’s a safe in the master bedroom of the cabin. Walker knows the code.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“Then . . . ?”
“You have to promise me something first.”
Quinn raised an eyebrow. “You’re not involved in anything illegal, are you?”
“No,” Nora said quickly, but the truth was, she had no idea if what she was doing was illegal. “No, it’s not illegal. I just need to know that you’re going to take this seriously. That you’re going to do what I’m asking you to do.”
“Fine,” Quinn said.
“No, not fine. That’s not good enough.”
“Damn it, Nora. What do you want from me?” Quinn threw up her hands. “I don’t even know what I’m promising!”
“That you’ll be careful and wise. That you won’t tell anyone . . . what I’ve given you. That you’ll trust me to take care of things and not take matters into your own hands.”
“You’re scaring me.” Quinn crossed her arms over her chest, and the protective movement reminded Nora of when Quinn was little and would hide from JJ with her arms folded over her head as if the act of covering herself alone made her invisible.
“There’s nothing to be scared of.” But Nora wasn’t so sure of that. “It’s just a bit of a crazy situation and I really need someone I can trust. I trust you, Q. I believe that you’ll do the right thing.”
Quinn bit her lip as she considered this, but Nora could tell that she had gotten through. Her younger sister loved people. Loved them unabashedly and to a fault. It made her an easy target, though Quinn was far from gullible. She didn’t comply because she didn’t understand the implications, she just sincerely wanted to be helpful. To make everyone happy. To promote peace. There weren’t many people in the world as caring and guileless as Quinn Sanford. No, Cruz. Nora wondered if she’d ever get used to that. And she wondered if she could ever forgive herself for using Quinn in this way. For putting her in danger? But no, there would be no danger. They had worked out every detail.
“What do you want from me?” Quinn asked.
But Nora had already turned to the car. She didn’t see Quinn’s expression change from skeptical to hopeful, and if she had, she wouldn’t have known what to make of such unvarnished wistfulness anyway. Instead of worrying about her sister, Nora pulled open the passenger side back door and bent low.
“We’re here,” she said, smoothing corkscrew curls away from the tender curve of her cheek. The child was uncovered to her shoulders, but in the faint glow of the dashboard lights Nora could see that not much had changed. She was staring straight ahead, her emotions buttoned tight as a corset and her little jaw fixed.
“Hey,” Nora whispered, her resolve weakened by the child’s combination of strength and vulnerability. “You’re going to like Quinn. She’s my sister. She’s really, really nice, and she makes the best chocolate chip cookies I’ve ever had. You like chocolate chip cookies, don’t you?”
The girl blinked slowly, but otherwise didn’t move or acknowledge that Nora had spoken at all.
“And she loves to read books. With voices.” Nora had no idea if there were children’s books in the cabin, but surely Quinn would rise to the occasion. Would make trips to the library and the quaint gift shop on Main to buy a plush lovey that Everlee could snuggle while they curled up and read together. No. No trips anywhere.
And not Everlee. She couldn’t call her that anymore. At least, not out loud.
“Have you thought about a name?” Nora asked. “We’re going to take a little break from Everlee for a couple of days. Remember?” She eased herself onto the bench seat beside the girl’s bowed head. A part of her wanted to scoop up the blanketed bundle and brush her lips against the place where the child’s hairline formed the bow of a perfect heart. She wanted to call her buttercup and tickle the spot beneath her slight rib cage that always elicited a giggle.