“Pretty,” Lucy said, turning it in her fingers.
“That’s turquoise.” Quinn pulled back and turned to the stove so she could flip a pancake that was turning golden in the frying pan. “Not the same as blue at all.”
Lucy murmured her assent gravely and popped another bite in her mouth.
“Favorite food?” Quinn asked, still standing at the stove. It seemed almost ridiculous to act as if nothing was wrong, but what else could she do? So much better to keep Lucy in this sweet, curious state than worry her with all the ugly that waited for them outside.
A beat of silence and then: “Blueberry pancakes.”
“Oh really?” Quinn twisted, the second pancake balanced on a spatula. She flipped it expertly onto a waiting plate and slid Lucy a tired smile. “That wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that you happen to be eating the world’s best blueberry pancakes at the moment, would it?”
Lucy giggled. It was a rapid burst of sound, a gravelly rasp in the back of her throat that was over before it even began. But it was music to Quinn’s ears. She schemed, trying to come up with a way to make the girl laugh again. She could never tell a joke properly; she screwed up the punch line every time. And slapstick just wasn’t her thing. She’d have to simply keep talking—and hope.
“Okay,” Quinn said. “My favorite food is maple-glazed doughnuts, with bits of crispy fried bacon on top.” She almost added, “Don’t tell Walker,” but realized at the last second that the mention of him might send Lucy into an emotional scurry.
“That’s a thing?” Lucy asked, wrinkling her nose. “I don’t think you can put bacon on a doughnut.”
“Oh, but you can. And you should. Everyone should. It’s the most delicious thing in the world.”
Lucy was still unconvinced. “I would try a little bite.”
“You’re very brave.” Quinn smeared a pat of real butter on her own pancake and drenched it in syrup. Walker would probably have a heart attack just looking at her breakfast. The butter melted and pooled on her plate, and she cut a big bite and dredged it through the glistening goodness. “And if you don’t like it, I promise to finish it for you.”
“You’re very brave, too,” Lucy said sagely. “Two doughnuts at once is kind of a big deal.”
So she had a sense of humor! “It’s true.” Quinn nodded. “But then I’m kind of a big deal.”
“Me too.”
“Yes, you are.” Quinn could feel her cheeks glow warm and was pleased in spite of the situation. In spite of everything. Darling girl.
When the doorbell rang, Lucy froze, a forkful of pancake halfway to her mouth. “Who’s that?” she asked carefully, setting her utensil down on the side of her plate. Such manners for someone so young. Such vigilance.
“I don’t know,” Quinn said. She didn’t know what to do. Walker had said they would be left alone for a while. Long enough, hopefully, to formulate a plan. To talk to Nora. What now? Should she ignore whoever was at the door? Ask Lucy to hide? Or pretend that the little girl in her kitchen was the child of a friend and she was simply babysitting for an hour or two? Each option seemed flimsy and fraught with risk. “Maybe you’d better . . .”
But Lucy had already climbed down from the stool and was making her way to her bedroom. She shut the door, without once looking back at Quinn.
The doorbell rang twice more as Quinn walked toward the entryway. “Hold your horses,” she muttered, attempting irritation, though what she really felt was a ripple of fear. You can do this, she told herself. Be firm. Send them away quickly.
But when she turned the handle on the door, the person on the outside pushed it wide open.
“Quinn!” Liz burst through the door and grabbed her daughter by the upper arms as if she intended to shake her. “I’ve been texting you and texting you!”
“I think my phone is in my purse,” Quinn said, trying to pull away. Liz only held on tighter. “I haven’t checked it lately.”
“That’s ridiculous! Who doesn’t check their phone? How are people supposed to get in touch with you?”
“I’ve been a little preoccupied.”
“What happened?” Liz looked frantic, downright disheveled. It was such an unusual state for her that Quinn wasn’t quite sure what to make of it.
“Is everything okay?” Quinn asked. A drop of panic seeped into her stomach and blossomed like blood in water.
“Clearly not. What is going on here?”
Over Liz’s shoulder Quinn could see an unmarked car still parked by the side of the road. Nearby, a small circle of men hovered over the crime scene. Two in uniforms. They were no longer combing the site of the fire, sifting through the ash as if it contained the secrets of the universe. Instead, they were talking determinedly, comparing notes, and apparently continuing to question her husband. Walker stood in their midst, sandals planted firmly on the scorched earth, arms folded across his chest.
“There was a fire,” Quinn said. She reached around her mother and shut the door. Locked it.
“At the shack? But there’s nothing there. No electricity, no wires, nothing.”
“I know.”
“Do they think . . . ?” Liz left the question hanging and Quinn nodded, against her better judgment.
Liz rummaged around in her purse for a moment and handed Quinn a folded piece of paper. “This was stapled to my light pole this morning,” she said.
Quinn knew it was Lucy the second she looked at that grainy photo on the flyer. No matter that the picture quality was poor (obviously taken on a cell phone and blown up) or that it was wrinkled and creased with folds. Lucy’s hair was long and silvery blond instead of short and red, but those eyes were unmistakable. “What are we going to do?”
“Where’s Lucy?”
Quinn shook her head as if to clear it and then tucked the flyer into her pocket. “She’s right here. She’s fine.” Quinn walked over to the guest room and opened the door. She gave Lucy what she hoped was a warm smile. “My mom is here. Remember her? You met her the other day.”
Lucy looked skeptical, but she came out of the room and reclaimed her place at the counter. It seemed the pull of the pancakes was too much to resist.
There was an awkward moment or two as Quinn watched Liz study Lucy. They were mother, daughter, granddaughter caught in some strange, bewildering rite. It shouldn’t have to be like this, the three of them circling one another like strangers, and Quinn felt a stab of anger at her sister. Nora. Sometimes it felt like everything came back to Nora. But she didn’t have time for spite.
“Would you like a pancake, Mom?” Quinn wasn’t aware that she was going to say the words until they were out of her mouth. But the look of surprise on Liz’s face, and the accompanying half smile, made Quinn’s heart stutter. Such a simple kindness, and yet her mother looked as if Quinn had offered her the moon.