“She was at Walmart,” Liz said, apparently oblivious to the effect of her words.
But studying her mother, Quinn realized that Liz knew exactly what she was doing. She had brought up Tiffany on purpose.
And then Quinn remembered. Another night. Another party like this. Nora was looking for Tiffany, asking everyone where her best friend had disappeared to. She eventually found her on the dock with JJ. Tiffany’s hair was mussed, her lips flushed pink from kissing, and when she chased after Nora to try to explain, Quinn could see that her shirt was buttoned wrong. JJ? It was inconceivable, the worst kind of betrayal, even to Quinn, who at fourteen knew very little about the rules of love and friendship.
It came to nothing, as far as Quinn knew. Tiffany chose Nora, or something like that, and her fling with JJ was nothing more than fuel for the gossip mill. It had all happened before Amelia, before they were of an age where they could make decisions that weren’t primarily based on hormones. A lifetime ago. What did it matter? And why would Amelia care now? She was clearly stunningly pregnant with JJ’s baby.
“Well.” Quinn clapped her hands together, suddenly eager to get away. What was she supposed to do? Pretend that she was close with JJ and Amelia? That this bizarre conversation made sense to her? Quinn was still angry at her mother for other reasons. She hadn’t forgiven Liz for bursting in on her the morning before and was downright livid at her casual disregard of the fact that she had a granddaughter. It was unnatural. They were too far apart and far too close all at the same time. Perpetually missing each other. “I, for one, would love a glass of wine.”
The proclamation was an excuse to leave, but it was also a bit of a jab at Amelia in her current state. And, if Quinn was perfectly honest with herself (why the hell not?), a challenge to her own womb and the life she hoped was taking root inside. A glass of wine would be a gauntlet thrown, an “I dare you” to her own broken body.
Quinn was suddenly, irrationally angry. At Walker, at her brother and his blossoming wife, at Nora and Liz, at her out-of-control life. Her mother was saying something to her, but it didn’t matter, Quinn was already gone. Off in the direction of the nearest table where she could see a profusion of bottles. Her mother always mixed a drink or two for these occasions, but guests usually came bearing wine or fine whiskey, sometimes cheap tequila with a bag of key limes. There was never a shortage of options.
But, apparently, there was sometimes a shortage of cups. There wasn’t a paper Dixie cup in sight, and Liz’s plastic reusable wineglasses (the ones she liked to stack in towers like champagne flutes) were clearly long gone. For a moment, Quinn stood at the table, contemplating whether she would stoop so low as to swig straight from the bottle of pinot grigio only inches from her fingertips. But before she could take the plunge, Quinn felt someone touch her elbow.
She turned from the spread before her, thirsty and irritated and vulnerable, her composure thin. It was the worst possible state for her to be in when she spun around to find Bennet Van Eps standing before her. Of course, she knew that he was coming, but his proximity was still a shock. Quinn hadn’t seen him in five years, but he hadn’t changed a bit. Same quirky smile, one cheek creased as if he were laughing at a private joke. Same ashy blond hair, cut marine close and perfectly edged, a striking complement to his broad features. He would have looked dangerously handsome in fatigues, but instead of joining the military like he always said he would, Quinn had heard years ago that he became a cop.
Bennet was tender and soft-spoken, skilled at long silences and careful listening. He had been quiet when Quinn was loud, steady when she was tossed in a troubled sea. Bennet was the opposite of Walker in so many ways that Quinn found it jarring to see him now, to be reminded of who he was and what he had been, when her life had taken such a different path.
“Bennet,” Quinn said, and wasn’t sure if she was surprised or happy or just a little bit heartbroken. He had always been so patient with her, so quick to forgive. Quinn wondered if he had forgiven her betrayal. No, she didn’t have to wonder. There was no excuse for what she had done.
“Hi, Quinn.”
There was no playbook for this, no rules she knew to follow. Should she shake his hand? Laugh? Cry? It was more than Quinn could handle, and the chaos of her life in that moment tipped her toward him. It was the slightest hint of movement, just a shift in his direction, but Bennet fell a little, too. For just a heartbeat the world seemed to pause in its orbit, a fraction of a second that spun back the clock to a time when this was all that had mattered. Them. Together.
When his arms went around her, the thought that wisped through Quinn’s mind quiet as a wish was: home.
NORA
“IT’S NOT A ROAD TRIP until there’s junk food.” Ethan swung into the car and tossed an armful of brightly colored packages at Nora.
“I’m not sure I’d call this a road trip, exactly.” Nora shook her head, sifting through the detritus in her lap. “Doritos, Mike and Ikes, Slim Jims . . . Seriously, Ethan, what’s wrong with you?”
“Hey, I got two Slim Jims. One for me and one for you.”
“What in the world makes you think I eat beef jerky?”
“It’s dried sausage,” Ethan corrected her as he put the car in drive and pulled out of the gas station. “And you don’t strike me as the Slim Jim type. That just means more for me.”
When he wiggled his eyebrows at her, Nora couldn’t help but laugh. It was dry and short-lived, but it felt good to smile, to feel the weight in her heart lighten, even if it was only for a moment. “You should weigh twice as much as you do.”
“I know, right? Good thing I work out.”
“Are you trying to be funny?”
“I’m trying to make you laugh,” Ethan said. “Clearly I’m not very good at it.”
Nora shrugged, but she felt a warm little rush in the center of her chest. She wasn’t used to Ethan’s brand of attention. It had been a long time since someone had cared about whether she was happy.
They drove in silence for a few minutes, watching the traffic as Ethan merged onto I-90. It would take them just over three hours to get to Key Lake, which meant they would arrive after midnight. Then what?
If Nora had felt almost normal a minute ago, her fear redoubled as she considered what might happen when they arrived in her hometown. A wave of nausea turned her stomach and her palms went cold and clammy. What if Tiffany was nowhere to be found? What if she didn’t want to be found?