“Certainly. Lucas should have the file with him.”
She cringed. Did Lucas already know what happened to her? If so, he was being extremely cruel in trying to coax her to visit Disney World.
When they disconnected, Lucas dug a white catalog envelope out of his messenger bag and held it out to her. Quenby stared at the sealed envelope like it was sprinkled with poison. Or bits of candy, leading right up to the witch’s front door.
She glanced out the window, at the blue wash of sea below them. “Have you read it?”
“No. Mr. Knight told me you’re the only person allowed to open it.”
She took the envelope and clutched it in her lap. “I’m not quite ready . . .”
He closed his eyes. “I can pretend to sleep.”
“No sleeping yet,” Samantha said beside them. “Not after I went to the effort of making these.” She held out two strawberry and yogurt parfaits in glass mugs, each one topped with Oreo Mickey Mouse ears.
“Very clever,” Quenby said, though she wished her stomach didn’t turn with every reminder of their destination.
“Would you like a latte with yours?”
“I believe I would. Decaf, though, if you have it.”
“Of course I have it.”
Samantha placed each parfait on a plate, both of them centered on the coffee table. Then Quenby dipped her spoon into the concoction and took a bite. It was as rich and sweet as it appeared with the layers of strawberries and honey. “You’re a master craftswoman.”
“And you’re my new best friend.”
Lucas laughed. “Quenby collects friends wherever she goes.”
“Along with a few enemies.”
After Samantha moved up toward the galley, Lucas searched Quenby’s face. “Why don’t you want to open this file?”
“It contains a minefield of memories.”
“About your parents?”
“About my mother,” she said, and in that moment, she decided to trust him with the ugliest part of her own story. “Her name was Jocelyn, and she left me alone when I was seven.”
“Left you at home?”
“No, she left me flying on Dumbo.”
He shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
“She buckled me onto a ride at Disney World and then walked away.”
His mouth gaped open as if a bomb had dropped on his head. A hundred questions, she suspected, were clamoring in his lawyerly mind, trying to connect logic and motive. “She left you for good?”
She nodded. “It was the last time I ever saw her.”
“That’s . . . ,” he started. “Well, there’s no words for it, Quenby.”
She tried to smile. “I didn’t think you’d ever be at a loss for words.”
“There’s nothing funny about abandoning a child.”
“I suppose not.” She dipped her spoon into the yogurt again.
“No wonder you don’t want to visit Disney World. I’m sorry—”
She intercepted his apology. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“What if something happened to your mother?”
“Unfortunately, she had a history of leaving. I don’t think the police ever suspected foul play.”
Leaning back, Quenby closed her eyes, remembering it so clearly again. In the minutes after climbing off Dumbo, she’d thought surely her mother must have gone to get them ice cream or a pretzel. That if she’d wait, her mother would appear soon, frazzled and apologetic, wanting to surprise her with the treat.
Then she had thought her mother had gotten lost or injured or taken against her will, but adults didn’t get kidnapped in Fantasyland. And if she’d gotten lost or hurt, Jocelyn would have called Grammy, at least once in the last ten years of Grammy’s life.
When she was younger, Quenby had often wondered if Jocelyn had been angry with her. If somehow it had all been her fault. But it was completely irrational. No child should be abandoned, for any reason—her counselor had reiterated—even if the parent was mad.
She turned toward the window, the strands of sunlight fading as the clock slipped backward. What would her counselor think of her now, all these years later and still afraid to find out what happened to her mother?
She curled her fingers around the edge of the envelope. Baby steps.
Samantha stepped back into their space, carrying two drinks. “A latte for each of you.”
They both thanked her as she set their drinks beside the parfaits. “Would you like anything else to eat?” she asked. “The galley is full.”
They shook their heads.
After she left, Lucas picked up the remote and turned the TV screen back on. “Would you like to watch a movie?”
Quenby stared at the menu of options, her mind wandering again. She shouldn’t have confided in him. He had the perfect family, and he must wonder—what was wrong with her that made Jocelyn want to leave?
“Quenby?”
His voice jolted her back to reality. “Yes?”
“Do you want to watch a movie?”
“Please.” Perhaps a movie would take her mind off the file that was now on the table beside her.