Instead, Nora sighed and patted her shoulder. “Come on, sweetie. It’s time to go, okay?” And because she still didn’t answer, didn’t protest at all, Nora slid her hands underneath the balled-up six-year-old and awkwardly cradled her. She should have been heavier than she was, at least Nora thought so, and she made a mental note to suggest that Quinn feed her more. Peanut butter and eggs and chunky guacamole with chips. Things to put some meat on her tiny bird bones.
It was difficult to ease out of the car with the child in her arms, but Nora managed. As she stood, she intentionally avoided looking at Quinn. She focused instead on securing the weight in her embrace, on the short list of things that she had to convey. Don’t overdo it on the dairy. Make sure there is a stockpile of ketchup. And whatever you do, keep her hidden.
“Nora?” Quinn’s voice was a high squeak. She hurried over to where her sister stood, still trying to shift and shoulder the bulk against her chest. Quinn extended a hand to fold back the blanket and regard the girl circled in Nora’s embrace. “Who is this?”
“A friend.” Nora rushed on before Quinn could ask more questions. “I need you to keep her for a while. It’s a long story and I’ll tell you later, but for now I need you to trust me. I need you to please just do what I ask.”
A note of desperation rang in her voice even though she had tried to sound casual. There was nothing casual about this. No way to downplay the fact that there was a child cradled between them.
“Nora.” Quinn’s wide eyes spoke volumes. “I don’t know if I can do that.”
“You have to.” Nora gave up trying to comfortably hold the girl and set her down on the gravel road. She unwrapped the blanket, folded it over once, and then settled it over the child’s narrow shoulders. Nora half expected her to start crying again, or at least complain, but she just stood there, mute, and stared at the ground by her feet. “Promise me you’ll keep her safe.”
“Nora—”
“Don’t let anyone know that she’s staying with you, okay? Not Mom and not—” Her voice snagged in her throat. She swallowed hard. “Not JJ, okay?”
“Yeah, ’cause I tell JJ everything.” Quinn rolled her eyes. “We’re BFFs. Come on, can we please talk about this? Alone?”
Nora put her hand over the girl’s mussed curls. “No. We can’t. I need you to take care of her for a couple of days while I sort something out. She’s the sweetest thing, Q. It’ll be a piece of cake. And when this is all over I’ll find a way to make it up to you.”
Quinn was shaking her head. “I don’t want you to make anything up to me, but you can’t do this. You can’t just leave her here, Nora. She doesn’t even know me. I don’t know her. What’s her name?” Seemingly thinking better of her question, Quinn sank to her knees and gave the child before her a warm, if hesitant, smile. “What’s your name, honey?”
Nora saw her chance. She ruffled the girl’s hair with what she hoped was a tangible affection and then hurried over to the car. It was running, her door open, and she was inside before Quinn could realize what was happening. Rolling down the passenger window, Nora called through it as she backed down the long drive. “Don’t tell anyone where she came from, okay? Just stay home for a couple days. Promise me, please.”
“Nora!” Quinn lunged up and jogged beside the car, her hand on the plane of the half-open window. “Please don’t do this to me. I don’t know anything about kids. She’s clearly terrified. I don’t even know her name!”
“It doesn’t matter,” Nora called through the open window. And then, changing her mind, she said, “Lucy. You can call her Lucy. Take care of her, Quinn. She’s one of us.” Tapping the gas a little harder than necessary, Nora resolutely looked away from her sister and rolled up the window. She left Quinn, and Lucy, in a billowing cloud of dust.
Day Two
* * *
Thursday
LIZ
MACY EVANS CALLED their little exercise group the Walkie-Talkies, and every time she did Liz had to repress the urge to slap her. It was so tasteless. So obvious. But Liz hadn’t been crowned Miss Congeniality in the Miss Teen Minnesota pageant for nothing. Instead of scowling like she wanted to, she patted her neighbor’s bare arm and said, “Now, Macy. We’re just some friends out for a little fresh air.”
And gossip. But apparently only Liz was classy enough to keep that particular to herself.
It was just the two of them this morning, a pair of ladies pushing sixty who were regularly mistaken for much younger at a distance. Macy wore spandex capris that hugged her every slightly sagging curve (Liz wouldn’t stoop so low as to call the leopard print trashy, but it was just a hair’s breadth shy) and a tank top that tied with a bow at her waist and concealed the little tummy bulge that her twins had left behind. Of course, the boys were grown now and long gone, but they had been gracious enough to bequeath reminders of their existence: several college loans, a hole in the basement wall where one of them had once thrown a cue ball in anger, and the gray hair that Macy regularly colored a deep brown several shades darker than her natural, mousy gray.
Liz’s own almost shoulder-length saltwater-taffy-blond hair (compliments of a subtler stylist than Macy’s) was pulled back by a pale pink headband, and she was dressed in a modest white tennis dress. It was a bit of an unusual choice for the four-mile walk that they took along the lake every morning. But Liz liked to be able to move freely, and to pop in for a coffee at Sandpoint Cafe mid-workout if she felt so inclined and not stand out like a sore thumb among the summer tourist crowd. Not that spandex ever stopped Macy from also sidling up to the bar and ordering a venti skinny white mocha with an extra shot of espresso. Venti. As if Sandpoint were a Starbucks instead of a refurbished bungalow with homemade lemon meringue pies and a plump proprietor who had to be told, repeatedly, exactly what venti meant.
Sometimes Liz wondered why she and Macy were friends at all.
Macy was particularly skittish this morning, as high-strung and spirited as a newborn filly, and as they started down the hill where they both lived at the end of a cul-de-sac overlooking the water, she could barely contain herself. “You are never going to believe what I found out,” she gushed, huffing just a bit as Liz had, somewhat perversely, set a pace that agreed with her long legs and forced Macy to all but jog.
“I’m sure I won’t,” Liz demurred, dipping her head in acknowledgment. Normally she would be very interested in what Macy had to say, but everything felt off this morning. She had meant to stay up and watch for Quinn’s late-night return to the A-frame across the lake, but she had fallen asleep instead. When she woke at sunrise, Liz was irritated with herself and prickling with something weightier than idle curiosity. She had tried to call Quinn’s cell, but there was no answer.
“It has to do with Lorelei Barnes,” Macy continued, unperturbed by neither the speed at which they clipped along nor Liz’s brittle manner. In fact, she seemed not to notice. “Remember her? She was the guardian of that girl in JJ’s class.”