“Walker!” The entire situation was difficult enough, but Quinn was starting to get angry. She trusted Nora, and even if Walker couldn’t understand her confidence in her sister, he could at least try.
His family was paramount to him. Loud and raucous, Cruz family gatherings were a riot of languages, laughter, and food. Tamales and Antonio Cruz’s famous beans that had been slow-cooked for hours and then refried with garlic and lots of queso fresco. But Walker’s mother, Ama, made sure there was plenty of dried cassava chips, kokonte, and her favorite fried plantain cakes. There was no such thing as a dinner around the table; instead meals were served buffet-style, standing up and sitting down, draped over counters with half-shouted conversations volleyed around the small eat-in kitchen of the Cruzes’ modest Murrieta home. And, unlike the Sanford family, no topic was off-limits. They argued about religion and politics, music and art. Once, Quinn had watched as her father-in-law smacked Ariel, Walker’s sixteen-year-old sister, upside the head for coming home with a hickey. It was good-natured, more or less, but Quinn had blushed crimson at the fact that Antonio had drawn attention to it at all. The Sanfords would never.
Quinn worked hard to accept and understand her in-laws. She wished sometimes that Walker made more of an effort with her family.
“Are you accusing Nora of kidnapping?” she asked quietly.
Walker reached for the mug of coffee that Quinn was cupping absently between her palms. She handed it over and passed him the cream. He gave her a hard look, his jaw set in an uncharacteristically stern line. “We need to call the cops, hon.”
“No.” Quinn was surprised by her own vehemence. “I promised Nora I’d keep her safe. That I wouldn’t tell anyone Lucy was staying with us.” Her mouth hadn’t promised anything, but her heart had.
Walker shook his head.
“A couple days. Give me a couple days to sort this out.”
“Have you called Nora? Demanded more information?”
Quinn had dialed her number a dozen times, maybe more. Nora refused to answer. And she wouldn’t respond to Quinn’s texts, either. “Of course,” she said. “Nora’s not a bad person. She would never do anything to harm Lucy, or any child for that matter. I’m sure of it. I trust her, Walker. She wouldn’t do something like this without a very good reason.”
“I’m not so sure of that . . .” Walker trailed off, eyebrows arching slightly as he gaped over Quinn’s shoulder. Then he smiled wide. “Well, good morning, sunshine.”
Quinn whipped around. Lucy was standing in the doorframe of the guest room, her mop of bright hair exploding from her head as if she had stuck her finger in an electrical socket. She was trailing the car blanket behind her and dancing lightly, hopping from foot to foot.
“Come on,” Walker said, sliding off his chair and motioning that Lucy should follow. “The bathroom is this way.”
She dragged the blanket after her as she ran, scooting into the bathroom and slamming the door behind her without a backward glance.
Walker spun toward Quinn. “Who is Lucy?” he asked quietly.
She rolled her eyes. “I’ve already told you what I know.”
“Have you looked at that child? Really looked at her?” Walker crossed the space between them in a few strides, his stare direct, insistent.
“It was dark.” Quinn fumbled over her words. “Last night, I mean. And she wouldn’t look at me.”
“Quinn, look again.”
“What are you getting at?”
Walker ran a hand through his hair and caught it at the top of his head. It would stay like that if he let it, a ’fro so impressive he sometimes got a thumbs-up from strangers on the street. But the movement made Quinn’s breath catch because his knuckles were white, the line between his eyebrows deep. “What?” she asked again.
“Her eyes,” Walker said, almost apologetically. “They’re kind of unmistakable.”
The truth was so simple and so devastating that Quinn felt her knees buckle. “But . . .” But what? It was astonishing. Unforgivable. A miracle. A blow. How could Nora keep such a secret?
Betrayal was a blade so thin it pierced Quinn clean through. She was hurt and angry and awed all at once, but what threatened to undo her was the way that her life was about to shift on the sand of Nora’s lie.
Lucy changed everything.
Thursday
8:17 a.m.
Quinn
I know who she is.
Nora
Just keep her safe, Q.
Quinn
How could you?
Nora
Promise me.
Quinn
I don’t know if I can ever forgive you.
NORA
NORA HAD DRESSED the part. Her pixie cut was freshly washed and smoothed away from her forehead, her long, angled bangs sleek and tucked neatly behind one ear. But there were already wisps escaping her careful combing and her makeup looked as if she had put it on in the dark. Faint smudges under her eyes hinted at the fact that she had pulled up in front of her apartment at just past 2:00 a.m. and spent the remainder of the night (morning?) pacing the floor. She was wound so tight she feared her ribs might snap beneath the pressure.
Throwing her phone into the depths of her messenger bag, Nora tugged the strap over her jade-colored silk blouse. Then she took a deep breath and stepped out of her car, locking the doors behind her with a decisive click. Her heels and pencil skirt were uncomfortable and unfamiliar. She stumbled a little on the curb and teetered as she tried to regain her balance. It felt glaringly obvious that she preferred Chucks and thrift store T-shirts. That she had recently cut her hair to remove the tangled dreadlocks she had spent three years growing. Nora felt like a bad actress playing a part so poorly it was downright painful to witness.
But what choice did she have? She and Tiffany had intentionally flicked the cornerstone in their house of cards and it was falling down all around them. The only thing they could do now was try to run for cover. And that’s exactly what they were doing.