Main Street wasn’t long, but it was lovely. For a single block the shops were pristine, hanging baskets spilling from porticos and long planters filled with geraniums so lush they looked fake. One side of the street backed onto the water, and there was a wide boardwalk that made the shops accessible from both the street and the docks.
When Liz advertised the renovated A-frame where Quinn and Walker were currently living, she always pointed out that it was “secluded, but within a short, picturesque walk from downtown Key Lake.” It sounded better than it was. Though pretty, downtown wasn’t exactly a bustling center of trade and commerce. There was Sandpoint, where you could get a decent latte, and Malcolm’s on the Water, where you could buy something harder and a burger to go with it. Malcolm’s had a sunny patio and a small boat dock, and served a famous mixed drink in a fish bowl during the summer months—which Liz thought was lowbrow, but the tourists certainly seemed to enjoy it. Other than that, there was a Hallmark, a boutique called The Bright Side that carried mostly swimming suits and cover-ups, and Louie’s, a drugstore where you could purchase milk, bread, and eggs. For everything else, you had to drive to the Walmart in the newer part of town. Tourists tended to stock up at Walmart on their way into Key Lake and then leave their cars parked for the remainder of the week.
At the corner, Liz veered off the sidewalk and joined the boardwalk that led out of town. The slated boards arched over the water for a ways and she had a perfect, sprawling view of the lake in all its glory. The sun glinted off the surface and made it shimmer like spun gold, and Cardinal Island rose up from the warm glow like a tower. Once, when her children were smaller, Liz had settled them all in the canoe and paddled out to the island for a picnic. Quinn was only three and whined the whole way, and a bird had pooped on JJ. The entire thing was a bust. Liz couldn’t decide if she hoped her children remembered her effort or not.
It was still early, not quite eight o’clock, and the only sign of life on the water was a smattering of lazy fishing boats. Liz waved at Arie Van Vliet, recognizable by the abundance of white hair poking out from under his ever-present Vikings cap. He waved back a little too enthusiastically, and she was grateful that he wasn’t close enough to hear her chuckle.
Jack hadn’t been gone for two years and already she had had suitors. Not officially, of course. One didn’t date past college in Key Lake. After that, people were more or less paired, and those who weren’t knew their prospects were grim. Some moved away. Some embraced the single life. And those who found themselves widowed and alone after being a happy (or unhappy) couple for more years than they ever imagined possible learned to speak volumes with mere glances. Arie, a widower for over a decade now (he lost his wife to cancer; Liz couldn’t remember the type), would have scooped her up so fast it would have made her head spin.
Liz didn’t much want her head to spin.
Where the boardwalk ended, a gravel path began to wind through the trees near the water. Liz stepped into the dappled shade of gnarled oaks and drew close to the edge of the trail to let a jogger pass. She was almost halfway around the lake at this point, two and a half miles from home and another half mile to go before the A-frame. Liz didn’t regret her decision to pop in on Quinn, but the day was already warming in that slow, burning way of August. She could feel the heat beginning to descend through the cooler morning air. It was going to be a scorcher. Maybe she would ask Quinn for a ride home.
The thought made Liz’s stomach flutter, and she didn’t know if it was because she was nervous about inconveniencing her daughter or if she was hungry. Liz had planned on stopping at Sandpoint for a coffee and a scone until she was seized with the desire to be far away from Macy. And close to Quinn. Her longing for her daughter was a layered thing, and she wasn’t quite ready to examine it.
The front door of the cabin was locked, but Liz kept a spare under the lip of the flowerpot on the little front porch. She debated a moment whether to knock or quietly let herself in, and decided that if she poked her head inside and all was quiet she would just slip away unnoticed.
Renters sometimes complained that the key stuck, but the lock was butter in Liz’s hands. She eased the door open and stopped just over the threshold, noting instantly that the windows were open and it was definitely not seventy degrees in the house. Walker and Quinn had turned the air-conditioning off again. She repressed a little sigh and determined to bring it up with Quinn again. Just maybe not today.
Were there lights on? Sounds in the house? Liz couldn’t tell. So she took a few more steps and scanned the great room. The sitting area to her right was empty, but as her gaze flicked over to the kitchen, Liz found herself staring directly at Quinn. Her daughter was leaning against the counter, tank top bunched up in one hand and a small pen in the other. No, it wasn’t a pen. It was a syringe. And Quinn was giving herself an injection.
Liz didn’t mean to make a sound, but she must have done exactly that. Quinn’s head whipped up.
“Mom?!” She dropped whatever she was holding and hastily tugged her top down. As she kicked the vial beneath the edge of the cupboards, anger began to mingle with the shock already coloring her pretty face. “What in the world are you doing here?”
And just like that, Liz couldn’t think of a single reason for coming. A part of her wanted to scurry across the space between them and take her daughter into her arms. She looked so vulnerable in her pajamas. The girl wasn’t even wearing a bra, and because she was so young and lovely and perfectly perky she didn’t need to. Liz felt an ache in her heart that was exactly Quinn-sized. But another part of Liz was already pulling herself up, straightening the skirt of her tennis dress and lifting her chin a fraction of an inch.
“The renter’s agreement specifically states that the windows are to remain closed,” Liz said. She hadn’t even known the words were going to come out of her mouth until she uttered them, and though she wanted to take them back, to ask Quinn about the syringe and the sad downturn of her sweet mouth, something stubborn and unbending and distinctly Midwestern prevented her from doing so. One didn’t talk about such things.
“Oh, Mom.” Quinn put her forehead in her hand and took a deep breath. When she looked up she said, “You scared me half to death. I could have sworn I locked the door last night.”
Liz didn’t bother to tell her about the key. “Just out on a walk and thought I’d stop by.”
“You could have called first.”