“What?” Nora was so shocked she couldn’t stop herself. Of all the things he could have said. All the accusations he could have made. What did you do with it? It didn’t make sense. “What are you talking about?”
By the way he straightened, Nora knew that her reaction had been the right one. “Nothing. Never mind. It’s none of your business,” Donovan said, rubbing the back of his hand across his mouth as if wiping away a bead of sweat. He was done here, Nora could see that, but she didn’t know what it meant. She didn’t know what she had said—or not said—to make his attention shift elsewhere. To Tiffany? What had happened? What had Tiffany done? The possibilities made Nora’s knees go weak.
The whoosh of the swinging door caused them both to look up.
“Everything okay up here?” Ethan asked with a smile. But Nora could feel suspicion crackling off him like electricity. He came to stand beside her, close enough that his arm grazed her shoulder.
“Perfect.” Donovan grinned. And though he was handsome, though his teeth were straight and his chin chiseled, it wasn’t a pretty sight. He grabbed the mocha, sloshing a bit of it on his hand as he turned to go. “See you around, Nora Jane.”
She didn’t respond.
When the door chimed his departure, Nora felt herself deflate a little against Ethan.
“Who was that?” he asked. There was iron in his tone, something cold and hard, and Nora couldn’t help but be grateful that he wanted to protect her. Not that she was the sort of girl who needed protection. It wouldn’t do her any good anyway.
“Nobody,” she said, pushing herself away.
“Nobody? He certainly seemed like somebody.”
“You know, I’m really not feeling very good,” Nora finally admitted, grateful that she was able to keep a quiver out of her voice. “Maybe I’d better go home after all.”
If Ethan was exasperated, he didn’t let on. Instead, he reached out and snagged her wrist as she tried to breeze past. His touch was gentle but firm, and she had no choice but to look at him as he turned her around. He stared at Nora for a moment, searching her face, willing her to confide in him. But she kept her mouth shut tight. “Look,” he said after a few seconds, “if you need anything, anything at all . . .” He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to.
“Thanks,” Nora said. And then she tugged her wrist out of his grip and hurried away. She only paused for a moment at the back door, just long enough to tap one last desperate text.
What have you done?
LIZ
“I’M THROWING A PARTY,” Liz said, clipping a stalk of delphinium and adding it to the growing bouquet in her arm. She blurted it out partly to distract Macy from the pagan purples she was amassing and partly because she wanted to spread the word. Macy was forever hounding her about the unique hybrid flowers in the little garden by her front gate, and Liz wasn’t about to share her secrets. The party announcement was an offering, and Macy accepted it enthusiastically. Key Lake would be buzzing with the news by dusk.
“You are?” Macy gushed, clearly forgetting the cobalt flowers with their mulberry hearts. Truly, they were stunning. People were forever commenting on them.
“Tomorrow night.” Liz looped the clippers over her thumb and held the flowers before her in both hands. There were ten stalks or so, an impressive, towering display that would make the perfect centerpiece for the long table. All she needed were a few bridal bouquet hydrangeas to anchor the base. Maybe some bare branches. She wished pussy willows were in season.
“It’s been ages!” Macy clapped her hands together, delighted. “Will you put the flag out?”
“Yes.”
Macy sighed, smiling. “Remember the summer the boys turned ten?”
It was the same year that JJ turned eight and Nora broke her arm falling off the rope swing. A golden year in spite of the first hard cast among the Sanford children and the unusually hot summer. Golden because all the kids were out of diapers and pull-ups, capable of dressing themselves, independent. Liz felt like she could breathe again, and she hadn’t even realized that she’d been holding her breath. But suddenly, Quinn was sticking her own strawberry Pop-Tarts in the toaster every morning and slipping out the back door before Liz had finished her first cup of coffee. Who knew what the other two were up to? Really, who cared?
Since all her kids knew how to swim, and since there wasn’t much trouble they could get up to in provincial Key Lake, their self-sufficiency was a taste of freedom for Liz. She loved it. Her abrupt autonomy softened her edges and seemed to turn back time. After the chaos and confusion of what she began to think of as the “little years,” Liz felt herself relax . . . And the clock unwound. Her twenties had been spent mixing bottles of formula and hushing night terrors. Now, at thirtysomething, she looked at herself in the mirror—really looked—and found a beautiful, capable, strong woman staring back. I almost missed it, she thought. What a terrible shame.
That summer was golden because of champagne.
Twinkling lights and stars to match, the sound of laughter across the water, and her husband’s hand on her waist. Jack had the most spectacular, almost peculiar gray-green eyes and he spent much of that summer training the intensity of his gaze on her. On her sunbaked arms, her long, slim legs. On the coils of yellow hair that clung to her warm neck, and the place where her sundress gapped open just a bit when she bent over him with a bottle of ice-cold beer in her hand. It was fresh and new, a sort of falling in love all over again and for the first time because after the delirious years of making a family, her husband was a stranger. And she to him. It was intoxicating.
Almost enough to make her forgive him. But not forget. Never forget.
“How are your cherry tomatoes?” Liz said, and bit back the memories with a decisive snap. She didn’t have time for melancholy. Settling the flowers in a basket by her feet, she grabbed the handle and started making her way around the side of her grand two-story home. A cluster of hydrangea bushes crouched in the shade.
“Perfect.” Macy hurried to follow.
“The heirlooms?”
“My Hawaiian currants are ripe and so are the black cherries. I have a few yellow pears, but they’re still rather green.”
“I’ll stop by for them tomorrow morning.” Liz didn’t ask; she didn’t have to.
“Want me to post the party on Facebook?”
Liz couldn’t stop her nose from crinkling. She knew that nothing betrayed her age so much as her inherent dislike for all things technological, but she was finding that she didn’t really care. Some things weren’t worth getting her panties in a bunch over. “Sure,” she said. “Go ahead.”
Macy laughed, enjoying Liz’s obvious discomfort. “You’d love it,” she proclaimed for the umpteenth time. “Get yourself a tablet and figure it out. I’ll help you! It’s so fun to see everyone’s pictures. Never mind the ridiculous status updates.”
“Not interested.” Snip. A bloom the size and color of a honeydew fell into Liz’s outstretched palm.