Becoming an adult is a lot like when you’re trying to get one ice cube from a cup into your mouth and they all fall on your face.
—from “The Mixed-Up Files of Tilly Adams’s Journal”
Mick drove, for which Quinn was grateful. By the time they got to Paso Robles, Tilly had walked the few blocks to a convenience store and was sitting on the curb, looking pissed off.
Quinn jumped out of Mick’s truck and ran to her, looking her over carefully. No outward injuries, none that were obvious anyway. She stepped into the girl to pull her in close in a hug, but Tilly took a big step back.
“I changed my mind about needing a ride,” she said, apparently having found her bad ’tude.
Or maybe she’d been alone just long enough to realize she was in trouble and didn’t want to explain it. “What happened?” Quinn asked.
“Long story.” Tilly turned to walk away but Quinn caught her hand.
And held on when Tilly tried to tug free. “Let me go.”
“Soon as you tell me what the hell is going on.”
“Nothing’s going on! I don’t need you!”
“Tilly, it’s two in the morning. You’ve been missing for hours.”
“Like anyone cares.”
“I care,” Quinn said. From the corner of her eye she could see that Mick had parked the truck and gotten out. He was leaning back against it, giving them privacy but watching closely.
“Is there a problem here?” This was asked by the store clerk, who’d poked his head out of the store. “What’s going on?”
“This woman is stalking me,” Tilly said, jabbing a finger at Quinn.
The store clerk pulled out his cell phone. “I’m calling the cops.”
“No!” both Tilly and Quinn said in unison.
Look at that, the first thing they’d ever agreed on.
“I’m her sister,” Quinn told the guy. “And her legal guardian. We’re just having a family disagreement.”
The clerk looked reluctant to believe her.
Tilly looked stunned.
“I can give you the name and number of our attorney,” Quinn said. “You can call and verify this with him.”
The guy looked at Tilly. “Is this true?”
Quinn held her breath, because it was true—well, except for the legal guardian thing. But to her shock, Tilly didn’t call her out. Instead, she nodded.
“It’s true,” she said.
Looking annoyed, the clerk went back inside.
They got into Mick’s truck. Mick got in as well, not saying anything, for which Quinn was hugely grateful. She called Cliff. “I’ve got her safe and sound,” she said.
“Bring her here,” Cliff said. “To my office. We can talk and make our next move.”
“It’s the middle of the night,” Quinn said.
“You’ve got a better idea?”
Good point. “We’ll be there.” She disconnected and turned to Tilly. “What brought you to Paso Robles?”
“A friend,” Tilly said. “He was in trouble.”
“He?”
“Dylan.” She closed her eyes, looking so much younger than her fifteen years all of a sudden. “My best friend. But he walked away from me and just left me there.”
Quinn’s heart split in two. Just cracked wide open and exposed itself. “I’m sorry,” she said softly.
“He’s been pushing me away, acting mean, but I thought it was because of all he was going through.”
“If it has tires or testicles, it’s gonna give you trouble,” Quinn said without thinking, repeating Skye’s favorite mantra.
Mick’s eyebrows shot up an inch.
Tilly looked at her as well. “Please never say testicles again.” She paused. “And you lied to that clerk. You’re not my legal guardian. Which I’m glad about, ’cause maybe I don’t want to live with you either.”
“Maybe?” Quinn asked. “I thought it was a for sure you don’t want to live with me.” She liked the maybe. It meant there was a chance . . .
“Whatever,” Tilly said, and worked at trying to swipe away some of the makeup that had pooled beneath her eyes, giving her a raccoon look. She’d worn a lot of makeup tonight, unlike any other time Quinn had seen her.
“I never saw Carolyn wear any makeup,” Quinn said. “Did she mind when you did?”
Tilly stopped running her fingers beneath her eyes and stared at her. “You saw our mom what, once?”
The barb stung, but she’d just referred to Carolyn as “our mom,” so Quinn let it go. “To be clear, you’re saying you didn’t run away, you were just going after your friend Dylan?”
Tilly hesitated a beat too long, a look of vulnerability flashing on her face before she morphed back into the tough-girl act, which haunted Quinn.
“Tilly,” she said gently. “I thought you were happy at Chuck’s.”
“I was happy before my mom died.”
Quinn’s heart squeezed and she started to speak, but Tilly cut her off. “Don’t even try to tell me that time heals all wounds,” she said, arms crossed tightly over her skinny form, face turned to the window now. “Because people who say that are full of shit.”
Something else they agreed on. Look at that. “I get that,” she said.
“How could you? You’ve never been in my shoes. You’ve never had—literally—no one and nothing to your name. You’ve got a fancy car, a fancy job, and probably a fancy boyfriend too.”
Quinn, exhausted after the scene at her parents’ house, the long drive, the worry and fear for the teenager who hated her, felt something snap inside her head. “You really think you’re the only one who’s ever been hurt or disappointed?”
“The only one in this truck at least.”
Quinn stared at her in disbelief. “Hello, dead sister, remember? And Carolyn gave me away at birth, like yesterday’s trash. So please, say again that you’re the only one hurting here.”
Tilly blinked, like maybe she was possibly looking at it from Quinn’s perspective for the first time, and then retreated into silence.
At the moment, Quinn would take it.
Mick drove them straight to Cliff’s office. Quinn was surprised to see Chuck waiting in the reception area as well, face pressed to the window, looking out into the night.
When they walked in the office, Chuck moved past Quinn, exchanging a look with her that she couldn’t translate, and went straight to Tilly. “You okay?” he asked.
Tilly, staring at her shoes, nodded.
He let out a shaky breath. “Good. But Christ, Tilly. You can’t just sneak out like that. You just can’t.” He put a hand on his chest. “My ticker can’t take it.”
“I expected to be back before you woke up,” Tilly muttered. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”
More words than she’d ever managed to string together for Quinn and she watched them, wondering at their relationship. The clear concern, and even affection, in Chuck’s voice surprised her.
“What’s that shit all on your face?” he asked.
Tilly huffed out a sigh and glanced at Quinn. “Nothing.”
“Bullshit. It’s makeup. Your mom didn’t allow you to do that, why would you think I would?”
Score another point for the man, Quinn thought, starting to look at him in a whole new light.