by Teri Terry
I touch the bracelet, and sigh. No. I can’t sell it. I don’t know why, but I can’t. It must stay exactly where it is right now—around my wrist.
I shake my head. “I’m sorry, Wendy. I can’t part with it.”
“I understand. It was your mum’s; of course you want to keep it.”
We finish our tea. I start to say goodbye, then hesitate by the door. “Wendy, could you do something for me?”
“What’s that?”
“Could you not mention the bracelet to me again? I don’t want to sell it, but it’s hard to say no.”
“Of course. I won’t mention it unless you do. Now, are you sure you won’t borrow an umbrella?”
I shake my head. “No, I’ll be fine. I’m just going to the restaurant to see Zak. Are you in later?”
She shakes her head in turn. “It’s my night off.”
The rain is merely steady now. I almost asked Wendy the way to the restaurant—that would have confused her.
I wander up one street and down another and, after a while, find the main street. The restaurant is near. As I walk, I wonder: why did I ask Wendy to not mention the bracelet again? Do I want to hide its value from Piper, or do I care if she knows that it is meant to be a protection spell?
Maybe Piper already knows how much it’s worth, and that’s why she was so upset to see me wearing it. If it was knowledge of its value that had her so furious, not just the fact that I was in the house and our dad gave it to me and not to her.
But despite the logic of that possibility, somehow I know it isn’t true. I’m certain that she doesn’t know about the protection spell, or the pendant. If she did, it wouldn’t have been just left in Isobel’s dressing room with the rest of her jewelry.
And for some reason, I’d rather she didn’t find out.
Piper
I’m pacing Zak’s front room, but it’s too small—it feels like a cage. My world is upside down and confused. The anger starts bleeding away, replaced by an intense feeling of solitude.
I don’t understand Quinn. Why wouldn’t she give me the bracelet? And why won’t she tell me what I want to know? Until now, Mum was the only one who wouldn’t do what I wanted, the only one who could ever have this effect on me—make me feel crazy angry. Out of control, so I might do anything.
Add Quinn to the list.
It’s too quiet here alone. I want Zak. I could call him at work, but what if Quinn is there? She doesn’t know many places around here to go. How could he explain to Giles that he has to go home to be with me if she’s sitting there the whole time?
Or even Dad. He should be home by now—I could go see him.
But it’s the same thing. What if Quinn is there? She went there on her own once; she could do it again.
I flop down on the sofa. Ness peeks in around the door from the kitchen. She’s hesitant.
We scared her, being all angry, didn’t we?
I sigh. “I’m sorry, Ness. I’m OK now. Please come here.” She shuffles into the room and up to me, and licks my hand. I lift her up onto the sofa, and she settles against me.
Everything with Quinn is so confusing. There’s a lump in my throat, tears that want to come. With Mum gone, Quinn is the only one who might understand me, who might know what it’s like to be as we are: different from those around us. Isolated. I want her in my life in a way I’ve never wanted anything or anyone before: I need her. But everything I do and say seems to push her away.
Stuck here on my own, I feel like I’ve been excommunicated from my life by somebody I don’t understand. What does Quinn want? How do I get through to her?
Wait a minute. Is this how things have felt to Quinn—like she’s caged and cut off? With me asking her not to go out without checking, to be careful not to be seen?
That could be it. And if she’s angry about feeling cut off . . . then what she wants is to feel like she belongs to something.
She wants what I want. If only she trusted me, we could belong to each other.
“And that’s how we get through to her, isn’t it, Ness?” She licks my face.
Quinn
“Hello, beautiful!” Giles kisses my cheek. “Hope you’re feeling better?”
“Yes, thanks—apart from being soaked.”
Zak comes out of the back; he’s carrying plates of food to a table. He sees me, and smiles—a very warm smile, one that makes me feel all warm inside. Oh. He thinks I’m Piper. My smile falls away.
“Are you here for dinner?” Giles asks.
“If that’s all right?”
“Always. Let me take your coat and put it in the kitchen. It’ll dry better there.”
He eases it off my shoulders slowly, standing too close and running his hands down my arms with the coat. I’m confused. How would Piper react? Would she let him flirt with her like this? I don’t know, but stop myself from pulling away. He points me at a table in the back corner. Our “usual” one is occupied; it’s busy in here tonight.
A glass of wine arrives without request. It’s white. Is this Piper’s favorite? I sip it; it’s cold and tangy.
Zak delivers some menus to another table, then stops by mine. “Is everything OK?” he asks.
“Yes. Just wanted to get out. And I’m hungry, and I can’t cook.”
He laughs, leans down low to my ear. “That comment doesn’t help narrow down who you are.” And he’s off again.
He didn’t assume I’m Piper. Maybe that smile was for me?
Again without being asked for, food appears, and it’s good: lovely pasta with a garlicky sauce with fresh basil, like they grow in the hotel’s kitchen garden. It could be a great benefit having a boyfriend who works in a restaurant—even if he should be at Cambridge.
Zak is Piper’s boyfriend, I remind myself—not mine. He’ll never be mine, just like Piper’s life will never be mine. I sigh. That’s really why I got so angry with her, isn’t it? And it isn’t her fault, just like it isn’t her fault that Isobel kept her and left me behind.
I eat slowly and linger afterward, and the tables begin to thin out.
Zak finally comes to sit with me.
“So, have you figured it out yet?” I ask.
“What’s that?”
“Who I am.”
“Well. I’m pretty sure you’re Quinn.” Though he doesn’t look sure as he says it.
“Why’s that?” I ask, curious how he knew.
“You’ve been very polite. Though you could just be trying to trip me up.”
“I see. Anything else?”
“You ate the daily special without comment. Piper doesn’t like pesto.”
“Though I could just be trying to trip you up.”
He laughs.
“Can you really not tell?” I say, and my words are wistful. Somehow I’d like it if he could.
“You’re Quinn.” This time he says it decisively. “Piper would have hit me by now for being wrong.”
I reach out and punch him in the shoulder, and his look of doubt returns.
I shake my head. “You’re right; I’m Quinn. Sorry. I hope it’s all right that I came here.”
“Of course it is. Is everything OK?”
I shrug. “Piper and I kind of had a disagreement. I had to get out.”
“Ah, I see. Was it anything to do with you not wanting to tell her stuff?” I raise an eyebrow. “Just a guess,” he says.
“That was part of it,” I admit. “Also, I don’t want to be hidden away anymore. If I’m going to stay in Winchester, I need to be out in the open, and be myself.”
Zak nods, his dark eyes full of sympathy. He’s on my side about this, I can feel it. But what if he knew all the rest?
I’m not sure I want to tell him about the bracelet, but if I don’t, she will. It may be better to get my version of events in first. So I tell him the whole story—about going to their house, and our dad giving it to me, thinking I was Piper. He just listens, doesn’t comment. His eyes aren’t
judging, but I have to ask.
“Do you think I’m wrong to want to keep it?”
He shakes his head. “There’s no easy right or wrong with this one. I understand why you’d want something of your mum’s, something you remember. It’s only natural. It’s not fair of Piper to get so upset over it when she has had so much more of your mum in her life, and as far as your dad goes, you are still his daughter.”
“I’m sorry to put you on the spot like this. It must be hard to get caught between us.”
“It’s fine. I’ve known Piper for a long time. I know she isn’t always the easiest person to get along with. She’s stubborn, and she’s always very . . . focused. On what she wants.” A wry smile.
“And she wanted you.” I can’t believe I said that. Has just one glass of wine made me speak without thinking?
He laughs. “I like to think I had some say in the matter.”
But you didn’t. Unease prickles up my back at this unbidden thought.
“Not that I’m trying to change the subject or anything,” he says, “but can I ask you something? Don’t answer if you don’t want to.”
“All right; go.” I’m expecting one of Piper’s questions—the who, what, where, when, or why of my life.
“Apart from Piper being annoying about it, why don’t you want to answer questions about where you come from?”
This is a new one. I stare back at his open, warm eyes. They don’t hide secrets; at least, not megasecrets like mine do. Would he even understand? But I want to try.
“There are a few things mixed up together, so it’s hard to give an answer—there isn’t one answer. My life hasn’t been like Piper’s. In a lot of ways, it hasn’t been that great.” I hesitate. “I’d have to really trust somebody to want to tell them about it, but even then? To be honest, there are things I just don’t want to talk about.”
He reaches a hand across the table. His fingers are warm, and lace between mine. “That’s fine. Talk—or not—when you’re ready. Do you want me to try to explain that to Piper and ask her to back off?”
“Would it do any good?”
“Probably not.”
“Best to leave it, then, I think.”
“Can I make a suggestion?” he says, and I nod. “Tell her what you just told me.”
The light, warm pressure of his fingers is still on mine, and I add silent words: If I ever was ready to talk, it’d be to you, Zak. He lets go abruptly, as if he suddenly realizes we’re holding hands, and not just in a friendly way.
“I’ve got a few things to do here before I can leave. Do you want to wait for me, or walk back alone?”
“I’ll go. I think I need to face Piper on my own.”
“OK. Try to make it up with her. Believe me: it makes life much easier.” He gives me another wry smile, and then goes to fetch my coat.
The rain has stopped. As I walk, I think about what I said to Zak.
Is this an issue of trust—that I don’t trust Piper? Is that why I have this huge reluctance to tell her things? Or maybe it is because the things Piper wants to know are the only things I have that she doesn’t. She has so much, and I have so little.
I walk slowly, holding my arms close around myself against the chill, coat still damp. I didn’t tell Zak about my ultimatum. What will Piper say?
It was so tempting earlier to open up to Zak completely. But there are things I must hide. I can’t let Zak, Piper, or anyone else learn the truth: the real reason I was isolated and kept away from my family—why I didn’t even know Isobel had another daughter, or that she lived with my twin and our father.
Like Isobel told me many times: it’s the danger, the threat, that I present. That Gran warned me about, over and over again.
The darkness inside me.
Piper
It’s late when the door finally opens. Ness lifts her head from my knee. “Stay,” I whisper to her.
Footsteps in the entrance hall are slow, hesitant. Then Quinn stands in the doorway, the light from the hall a halo around her red hair. I still can’t get over the weird feeling I have when I see her: like looking at myself from outside of me.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hello,” Quinn answers.
Silence stretches. As if Ness remembers the arguing earlier, she is poised, looking to Quinn, to me, and back again.
“I’m sorry,” we say, in unison. Then both laugh—a little awkwardly, but it’s better than nothing.
“We need to talk,” Quinn says.
“Yes.”
Quinn sits in the chair opposite the sofa, her back straight. “I’m sorry we argued. Maybe I could have been more tactful about it, but I meant everything I said.”
“You were right. About some of it.” I’d been practicing saying the words before she got here—the you were right part, so I could put conviction into the delivery, but never meant to add about some of it.
“Which bit?” Quinn is amused, and I try not to let it rankle.
“I haven’t been fair. This is your family, too; not just mine. You should be part of it if you want to be. And it isn’t up to me what happens, or how. It’s up to you.”
Her eyes open wider. “Really?” she says, voice hesitant. “Do you mean it?”
“Absolutely.”
“So the two of us could just go to our dad right now, and say, ‘Surprise! There are two of us!’ And you’d be all right with that?”
“I wouldn’t put it that way. But if you want to tell him, it’s your decision.”
“So you’re not all right with that.”
The tricky part. “It’s just that Dad has really been struggling with things. Let me tell you what he said the other night. That with Mum gone, it’s like the sun has gone down, and it won’t come up again. It would destroy his memory of her to know she kept his other daughter away from him. I don’t think he can handle another shock so soon after her death.”
“Yet you’re saying it’s my choice. So if we go to him and he has some kind of nervous breakdown, it’s my fault. And if we don’t, you’ve got things the way you want them.”
“I didn’t say it was an easy choice. But there is another option.”
“What’s that?”
“What you’ve already done. You went to my house, and Dad thought you were me. You could do that again. You could get to know him a little and see for yourself if you think he can handle suddenly being the dad of twins. Then you could start to be part of our family. You belong with us.”
“But I’d have to be there as you.”
“Just for a little while. We can coordinate times and places between us so there is no chance of running into each other when we shouldn’t. And you can check it all out and then run for the hills if you want to. If you don’t want to run, if you want to stay, at least you’ll know what you’re getting into.”
“What about the bracelet?”
“How about you keep it for now, and if and when we tell Dad about you, we’ll leave it to him to decide who gets to have it.” As I say the words, I struggle to keep my face neutral, to hide the anger that Quinn has Mum’s bracelet. I know Dad will never refuse me anything. I’ll get it back.
Quinn hesitates, then nods. “I guess that’s fair. But there is one more thing we need to deal with.”
“What’s that?”
“There are things about my past I don’t want to talk about. Letting me go to your house isn’t going to change that.” The way she says this, it sounds like she’s thought about what to say and how to say it. Has she been rehearsing her lines on the way here like I was before she arrived?
“I won’t lie—not knowing stuff makes me crazy with curiosity. But it’s up to you what you want to tell me. I’ll try to back off.”
“Well, as long as you try.” She’s amused again; I ignore it.
“All right, then. Do we have a deal?”
A pause. And then she smiles, and it looks like a real smile. She holds out her hand and I take it
in mine to shake. “All right. Deal.”
Quinn
I feel like a secret agent, like George Smiley right out of a John le Carré novel on the dusty bottom shelf at the hotel. A long list of Piper’s dos and don’ts is tumbling through my head as I walk over to her house. Our house: it’s mine, too. Isn’t it? Piper has even given me her fancy smartphone so I can call or message her tablet with any emergency queries.
There is a car in the drive and lights on upstairs, as Piper predicted. He always waits up for her, she said, and will probably be in his study this late. I’m to go to the kitchen, make two cups of tea, then take them upstairs—this is our evening ritual.
I enter the door code and pause. Which way is the kitchen? I start across the room, then retrace my steps to take my shoes off and leave them by the door.
Tea bags are in a canister in a cupboard near the kettle. Which cupboard? I open doors to find the right one, then lift lids off canisters to find the one with tea bags. The mugs are waiting by the kettle as she’d said they would be. Piper’s favorite has a picture of a dog on it—Jinny, her dog since Piper could barely walk, who died of old age last year. Dad’s is a massive red mug, a present from Isobel.
When Piper was telling me everything I needed to know to come here and masquerade as her to our father, she didn’t mention that she might have doubts about whether he really is our father. Dad had told her that Isobel turned up with Piper and said she was his. When Piper told me this, she looked skeptical about whether Isobel was telling the truth.
But I can’t believe Isobel could lie about that. After living so long with Gran and Isobel telling me lying is dangerous and brings the darkness, how could she herself possibly lie? He must be our father.
The kettle boils. My tea at night is weak and milky; Dad’s is strong always, with only a splash of milk.
I walk up the stairs, carefully balancing the two mugs of tea. The treads are deep, a little deeper than most, and I concentrate to avoid stumbling, feeling like an idiot that I’m finding stairs tricky. It’s the bundle of nerves deep in my belly that makes me feel like this. The last time I was here—when Dad gave me the bracelet—meeting him was an unexpected shock. I didn’t have time to get nervous or think about anything. This time is different.