Lucy wandered into the living room, picking up things as if looking at them through new eyes now that she knew Liz had pulled all the pieces together.
“Did you design these, too?” Lucy asked, her fingers raking through a small bowl of smooth glass shards.
“No.” Liz left her seat and went to join the child near the window. “That’s sea glass.”
“That’s not the sea,” Lucy said, pointing at the lake.
“No, it’s not. But a long time ago a ship sank in Key Lake and sometimes the glass from all the windows still washes up on shore.”
“What kind of a ship?”
“It was a steamboat. A boat with a big paddle on the back. Have you ever seen one of those?”
Lucy shook her head.
“Sometimes they’re called riverboats, but Key Lake isn’t a river so we just called it a steamer. It had two decks and a big red wheel on the back that rotated through the water to make it go.” Liz used her hands to demonstrate. “It took people on tours of the lake. And do you know what they called it?”
Lucy shrugged.
“The Queen Elizabeth. It was painted on the side in the same red paint they used for the paddle.”
Lucy seemed unimpressed.
“My name is Elizabeth,” Liz said, prompting. “I loved that boat when I was a little girl because I believed that it was named after me.”
“Your name is Liz.”
“That’s short for Elizabeth.”
“You were named after the boat, not the other way around,” Quinn reminded Liz, coming out of the bathroom with a wide-toothed comb in hand.
“Well, you didn’t have to tell her that part,” Liz said. “It kind of ruins the story, don’t you think?”
“Not really.” Quinn took Lucy by the shoulders and steered her in the direction of the sofa. She set her on the arm and began the slow process of untangling her shock of red curls.
Liz watched her daughter work in silence for a moment (brushing her granddaughter’s hair) and felt an ache so deep her breath caught in her throat. Had she done this? At the very least, had she been complicit?
No more pretending.
“I’m sorry,” Liz whispered. “I’m so, so sorry.”
Quinn heard her, but she shook her head urgently. No. Not now. But Liz never had a chance to explain what she meant because the sound of a key in the door made them all look up. A few seconds later Walker stood in the entryway, a grim look on his face.
“They want to talk to you, Quinn.”
She faltered, the hairbrush still in her hand.
“I’ve got this.” Liz stepped forward and carefully took the brush. “We’ll be fine,” she said, giving Quinn what she hoped was a fortifying smile. “We’re all going to be just fine.”
But the words were thick and heavy on her tongue. Bitter.
QUINN
“I WON’T BE GONE LONG,” Quinn said after she had collected her sandals and cell phone. She ruffled Lucy’s still-damp hair in goodbye. “My mom will take good care of you.”
Liz had finished brushing out Lucy’s tangles and had already commandeered the tote of Quinn’s fingernail polish. She was setting out the bottles in a rainbow on the counter. Why hadn’t Quinn thought of that? Lucy was mesmerized, picking up each little glass jar and studying the glossy contents so seriously Quinn wondered how she would ever decide.
“We won’t even know you’re gone,” Liz said, waving her away. “We’re having a spa day, aren’t we?” But her eyes were dull, worried.
“Well, have fun.” Quinn stalled for just a moment, then reached for the bottle of cotton-candy pink. “I think you should go for this on your fingernails,” she told Lucy. “And”—grabbing a polish in a pretty shade of mint green—“this for your toes.”
Lucy gave her a shy smile. A “You remembered!” smile that made Quinn so brave she gave the girl a quick peck on the forehead. “Be back soon,” she said. Over Lucy’s head she mouthed to her mother: “Lock the door.” They had already determined that Liz would call her cell at the slightest hint that anything was amiss. All the same, it felt wrong to Quinn to just leave her mother and her niece.
Walker was waiting for her on the front steps, his hands on his hips as he surveyed the scene before them. The shack was really and truly gone, the only evidence that it had been there at all was a circle of charred earth and a mound of cinders that still emitted a faint and stammering smoke. A puff of gray. Then nothing. A wisp of vapor that made Quinn think the ruins were sighing in defeat.
But the unmarked squad car was gone. The men, too.
“Where is everyone?” Quinn asked, casting around for her interrogators. They were nowhere to be seen.
“We’re going into town,” Walker told her. “I thought it would be better that way. So did Bennet. We’re trying to draw everyone away from Lucy. For now.”
Quinn wasn’t sure how she felt about that. “Are we going to the police department?”
“Nah. The fire house.” Walker gave his keys a shake and then headed in the direction of their car. “It was arson, but nobody was hurt. Nothing was really damaged. It’s not like the shack was worth anything. They think it was a bunch of kids being stupid.”
And yet: arson. Quinn remembered the crackle of the fire, the intensity of the heat. The thought that someone could do that on purpose, could inflict that sort of destruction, was leveling.
When they were safely buckled in and heading down the road, Walker cleared his throat and Quinn knew exactly what was coming. “So,” he said, staring straight ahead, trying to act casual, “that was Bennet.”
She looked out the window and pinched the bridge of her nose, willing the sudden headache that had materialized to dissipate. “Yeah,” she said, because what choice did she have? “That’s Bennet.”
Of course Walker knew about her former fiancé. About the way she had once desperately loved him. And how she had walked away. He had never seemed too traumatized by the story, adopting a cavalier attitude about her past that sometimes made Quinn wonder if he cared at all. Shouldn’t he want to punch her past lovers in the face? But she was being needy. Dramatic. However, it was obvious by the way he strangled the steering wheel that Walker wasn’t quite as nonchalant about the former love of her life after meeting Bennet Van Eps. He was rather impressive.
“And you were with him last night?”
“We haven’t seen each other in years,” Quinn said. “My mom invited him to her party.”
“Why?” The word was stiff with emotion.
“I don’t know.” Quinn shrugged, but she had her suspicions. “Because she wanted to talk to him about Lucy, I guess.”
“Or orchestrate a meeting between you and Bennet.”
“To what end?” Quinn asked.
Walker was silent for several miles. But when he pulled up in front of the fire department, he left the car running and swiveled to face Quinn. “He’s a great guy, Q.”
“I know.”