by Nicole Baart
“Are you insane?” Bennet’s voice in her ear was accompanied by his arms around her waist. He hauled her unceremoniously away from the spectacle, down the hill a ways where they could still see the flames but were no longer scorched by the heat.
Quinn spun on him. “What is this?” she sputtered. “What happened here? Cabins don’t just spontaneously combust!”
“The fire department is on their way,” Bennet said. He emanated a cool, professional calm that only made Quinn feel more crazy. “They’ll put it out. The shack was abandoned, right? Everything is going to be okay.”
“What if … ?” But before Quinn could articulate all her fears, a shape emerged out of the darkness from the direction of the A-frame.
“Quinn?”
“Walker!” She rushed at him, uncertain until the last second whether she was going to throw her arms around him or beat his chest. In the end, he caught her up.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Quinn wiggled out of his embrace and searched his face. “Lucy?”
“Asleep in her room. I had no idea this was going on until I went to close the bedroom window a couple minutes ago.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know.” Walker ran one of his hands up and down her arm. Quinn didn’t realize until she looked down that his other hand was locked tight around the handle of the baseball bat. “It’s probably nothing, Q. Just a fluke thing.”
But they both knew that wasn’t true.
“The fire department is on their way,” Quinn said, motioning toward the spot where Bennet stood talking into his phone and openly examining the two of them. “That’s Bennet. He’s a cop.” She ignored the question in Walker’s eyes. “I’m going to check on Lucy.”
“Not without me.” He gave the bat a little swing as if testing its weight, and then laced his fingers in hers.
The house was just down the hill, but Quinn couldn’t shake the feeling that they shouldn’t have left Lucy alone for even a few short minutes. She found herself racing, clinging to Walker’s hand for purchase as they hurried toward the open front door.
The cabin was dark. Quiet. Almost hysterical, Quinn ran across the floor and wrenched open the utensil drawer to dig around for the ice pick. Then she raced over to Lucy’s door and popped the skinny metal rod into the hole in the door handle. She wiggled the ice pick until she heard and felt a tiny click.
Deep breath. Lights off. Quinn squinted, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dark and hoping with every fiber of her being that Lucy would be safe and sound. Asleep. She was, and when Quinn saw the little comma of Lucy’s body curled beneath the blankets, all the air went out of her in a rush. A tear slipped down her cheek and she pressed her knuckles to her mouth. Walker squeezed her shoulder and backed away so that he wasn’t framed in the doorway with a bat in his hand.
“The doors are all locked,” he whispered. “If there’s a cop on the hill and the fire department is in transit, I can’t imagine that anyone would dare to try anything.”
“Go,” she told him. “Go figure out what’s going on.”
“I won’t let the front door out of my sight.” Walker picked his phone out of his pocket and made sure the volume was turned all the way up. “Call me if you need anything at all.”
She nodded.
Walker brushed the back of his hand against her cheek, wavering, but Quinn gave him a little push. He turned and disappeared down the hallway, shutting the door carefully behind him. A second later Quinn could hear the key in the lock, sliding the dead bolt home. She couldn’t decide if it made her feel safe or terribly alone.
Quinn would have closed Lucy’s bedroom door and spent the night with her back against it, but as soon as Walker was gone, Lucy stirred in her bed and turned over.
“Quinn?” Her voice was small in the shadowy room. Tremulous. It was the first time Lucy had called her by name.
“Yes?” Quinn sniffed and ran a hand beneath her nose. She took a small step forward.
“Nothing.”
“Are you sure, honey?” Quinn struggled to make her voice sound normal, comforting. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Do you need a drink of water? The bathroom?”
Lucy was quiet for so long that Quinn thought maybe she had been asleep the whole time. Sleep talking. Quinn herself had been an epic sleepwalker back in the day. She’d once unlocked the front door and taken off down the driveway before her mother caught up with her. Quinn was about to back out of the room, but as she edged toward the door Lucy pushed herself up on her elbows. She said, “Would you lay with me for a while?”
“Of course,” Quinn whispered, her voice breaking.
Lucy pushed back the covers and slid over to make room in the queen-sized bed. If she cared that Quinn was still in her party dress, that she smelled like smoke, she didn’t let on. Instead, she blinked in the darkness as Quinn crossed the room and climbed in beside her. Then she rolled onto her side and pressed her back into Quinn, yawning as she settled her cheek into the pillow.
Clearly, blessedly, Lucy knew nothing of what was going on outside, the fire and the fear, the huge trucks that would come racing down the gravel road. Quinn could already see the flicker of their lights between the blinds and was grateful that the fire department had a policy of not using the sirens in the dead of night. Grateful that Lucy was beside her, already more than half-asleep.
“Good night,” Lucy whispered.
It was so natural, so sweet. In the midst of the madness that roiled outside, Quinn automatically put her arm around the little girl and tucked her in close. She was bone and muscle, sinew and air. But her skin was creamy soft and warm, and Quinn traced circles on the back of her hand that held the stuffed red fox. Lucy’s breathing was deep and steady in no time, but Quinn kept rubbing, smoothing her curls away from her face and running her palm along the curved line of Lucy’s spine.
Quinn fell asleep like that, one arm snug around Lucy as her silent tears dampened the pillow they shared.
NORA
“SHE MUST HAVE USED the hand pump in the yard.” Nora plucked the box of hair dye out of the dry sink and held it between her fingers as if it were something filthy. Vile.
“If the water and electricity are turned off, why would the yard pump work?” Ethan swept the beam of his iPhone flashlight app around the tiny bathroom, illuminating the gossamer strands of broken cobwebs and highlighting the years of dust that had settled on every flat surface. Mirror frame, bathtub ledge, shelf. Nothing had escaped the thick, gray film except the sink where Tiffany had obviously changed her appearance. Dramatically. Beneath the cardboard box, the bowl was filled with long dark hair.
“Because it draws from a cistern. We used it when we were kids to put out bonfires. Lorelei used to hang a five-gallon bucket from the handle. It might still be there.”
“Nobody cared that you had bonfires out here? This place is a tinderbox.”
“Obviously we didn’t have fires in the house.” Nora rolled her eyes, but Ethan’s back was turned to her.
“Still.”
“It probably bothered Lorelei. But it wasn’t like she could stop us. Besides, out of sight, out of mind. There’s half a mile and an old oak grove between the farmhouse and this shack.”
Ethan spun toward her and smiled. In the slanting, shadowy light he looked slightly maniacal. “You’re such a badass.”
“Were,” Nora corrected. She tossed the empty box of dye back into the sink and left the bathroom. “I’m straight as a pin these days.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Ethan followed close behind, illuminating her path as she led him back to the abandoned living room. It was just as tiny as the rest of the house, with barely enough space for a sagging couch and a plaid La-Z-Boy. “This whole situation is a little off the grid.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Nora had stopped abruptly, and Ethan walked right into her. “Sorry,” he said, catching her about the shoulders. But No
ra didn’t want to be touched. She pulled away. “I didn’t mean anything by that,” Ethan said, holding up his hands. The light from his phone glowed white on the water-stained ceiling.
“No, you did mean something by that.”
“I’m sorry.” Ethan searched her face, his gaze earnest. “Bad joke. Nerves. I don’t know. I’ve never done anything like this before.”
“Neither have I.”
But that wasn’t entirely true. Hadn’t the last several years of her life been one giant lie? A game of hide-and-seek—except the people who were supposed to be seeking her never came. Until now. And Donovan was the last person she wanted on her trail.
“I don’t understand,” Ethan said slowly. Carefully. “Why can’t we go to the cops for help?”
Nora brushed past him and sat down on the couch with a sigh. A cloud of dust puffed up around her and she sneezed. Twice in quick succession. “Because they’d take Everlee away. Tiffany is not exactly the mother of the year now, is she?”
“But—”
“No buts. We can’t lose her.”
“You’ve lost her now.”
“She’s safe now,” Nora said, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand.
“With Quinn?” Ethan put his phone on the table between them, then sat down in the La-Z-Boy. Another explosion of dust. They both sneezed. “That’s not a permanent fix, Nora, and you know it.”
Did she ever. “That’s why we’re going to find Tiffany.”
“What about Everlee’s birth father?”
Nora froze. Breathing shallowly, she attempted a joke. “She was immaculately conceived.” It came out brittle.
“Tiffany never struck me as virginal.”
“He’s not in the picture, okay?”
“Why not?” Ethan pressed. “Seems to me we could use this information against Donovan.”
“It’s complicated. Look, you don’t understand. It’s been over six years. We worked so hard to keep Tiffany and Everlee together that—”
“He doesn’t know, does he?” There was no judgment in the question, just a calm statement of the truth, but Nora’s blood fizzed just the same. She shivered.
“If I have my way, he’ll never know.”
“Why not?”
“He doesn’t deserve her. He never did.”
Ethan didn’t ask any more questions after that. He sat on the edge of the rocking chair, elbows on his knees, and stared at Nora across the dim room. She couldn’t see his eyes.
“Sometimes you have to take matters into your own hands,” Nora said quietly, as if in explanation. She felt the need to make him understand that whatever they had done was for love. “Tiffany and Everlee are supposed to be together—and far, far away from here.”
“But Tiffany took off. Without Everlee.”
“We’re going to fix that.”
He didn’t say anything, but Nora could almost hear the questions swirling in the air between them.
“There are a couple of motels in Key Lake,” Nora said, changing the subject. Her tone carried a note of finality, but it was diminished when she broke into a wide yawn.
“I thought we were roughing it.”
“This is definitely roughing it. The house is dingier than I remember,” Nora admitted. “Tiff and I used to keep the place in decent shape. We shook out the cushions in the spring and swept the floors … We spent the night in the summertime when we could open the windows to catch a breeze.”
“This place is a museum, Nora.” Ethan looked around, taking in the velvet print above the couch and the crocheted doily on the end table.
“When Tiff’s grandparents moved out, they only took a few things with them. They were …” She fumbled. “Unique people. Kept mostly to themselves, didn’t much care for the stuff most people get all caught up in.”
“I can tell.” Ethan leaned over and tapped the face of his phone. “It’s one thirty,” he said. “Are we going to stick around and see if Tiffany comes back?”
“She won’t.”
“But Donovan?”
Nora glanced around and felt the skin prickle at the back of her neck. She felt like someone was watching her, just outside the room, and she wrapped her arms around herself to ward off the sudden chill. “He’s already been here.”
“What?” Everything in Ethan tensed. He perched on the edge of his seat, vigilant. “How do you know?”
Nora pointed to the front door, clearly visible from the tiny living room where they sat. It was hanging open a couple of inches, the bolt still protruding from the casement. “I have the key,” she said, holding up the set that she had taken from the piece of loose siding next to the tiny front porch. She hadn’t needed it because the lock had already been popped, forced open by a blunt instrument that hacked away at the soft, moldy wood. Tiffany would have used the key.
“Why didn’t you say something?”
Nora shrugged. “You were walking around the perimeter of the house when I let myself in. It didn’t seem relevant until now.”
“Relevant?” Ethan was visibly upset. “It didn’t seem relevant to share that someone had already broken in? You’re insane, Nora.”
“I just know Donovan. It’s not like he’s going to walk in here and kill us both with a chain saw.” But her words, so blithely spoken, made her stomach somersault. What did she know about Donovan Richter? How could she claim what he was and was not capable of? She said, with more conviction than she felt: “If he was here and she was gone, there’s no reason for him to come back.”
Ethan looked skeptical, but he asked: “Can you sleep? Here?”
Nora folded her arms behind her head and closed her eyes. “Can you?”
“I can sleep anywhere.”
“Me too,” Nora said. But that was a dirty lie.
“And tomorrow?”
“We find Tiffany.”
But Nora wasn’t sure what they were going to do. And she doubted she’d be able to sleep, but Ethan tactfully pretended not to notice her distress. He pushed himself out of the chair and cracked open the double-hung window on the wall behind him. Then he grabbed a straight-backed chair from the kitchen table and shut the front door as firmly as he could, securing the chair beneath the wrecked handle. As if that would save them.
“Thank you,” Nora said softly.
Ethan just eased back into the La-Z-Boy with an elaborate sigh. Yanking up the footrest, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Good night, Nora.”
“Night.”
Within minutes, he was snoring lightly. Or pretending to.
There wasn’t really a breeze, but the cool night air ghosted into the room and raised goose bumps on Nora’s arms all the same. She felt clammy and restless, haunted by memories of this place and the friendship that had taken her so far from herself. Tiffany was more than a friend to her, more than a sister even. They shared a secret, and in some ways a little girl.
It seemed everyone wanted to stake their claim on Everlee.
• • •
Nora thought she wouldn’t sleep, but when Ethan touched her shoulder she bolted upright and realized that the sun was streaming through the windows of the old Barnes house.
“Good morning,” he said with a smile. “I hate to wake you, but I was afraid you were about to fall off the couch.”
The cushions had slipped sideways in the night and Nora was indeed teetering on the edge. She must have had a rough night. She hoped that she didn’t call out in her sleep or do something equally embarrassing.
“Hi,” she said, running her hands through her short hair. No doubt she was a walking disaster. Mussed and wrinkled, bleary-eyed and in desperate need of a shower, a toothbrush, a fresh start. At least Donovan hadn’t come back to the house. But, then again, neither had Tiffany. “Have you been up long?”
“Nah. Fifteen minutes or so. I grabbed my bag and cleaned up by the pump outside.” Ethan smiled crookedly at her and Nora realized that he looked exhausted. He clearly hadn’t slept a wink all nigh
t long. But his teeth were white and he smelled of peppermint and soap. Irish Spring, if her nose could be trusted.
“I’m a wreck,” she said, standing up. She was a little unsteady, but Ethan didn’t reach to right her. Instead, he handed over her backpack.
“Take your time,” he said.
The water was icy, but the morning was already warm. Nora scrubbed her teeth first, brushing away the film of the night and the fear that had turned her tongue sour. Then she began to wash her face, but, thinking better of it, dunked her whole head under the stream of well water. Short hair, don’t care. She finger-picked it out and shook her head. It would settle into a tousled, beachy style that would fit in perfectly in Key Lake. Not that it mattered.
While Nora changed her clothes in the bedroom, Ethan straightened out the house and erased the signs of Tiffany’s presence. Donovan had already seen the evidence (or maybe he had witnessed the transformation?), but it seemed imperative that they destroy any trace of what Tiffany had done. Her hair and the box of dye went into an old grocery bag that Ethan stuck in the trunk of his car. Then they tried to lock the damaged front door of the shack and replaced the key in the hiding spot.
“Where to?” Ethan said, rubbing a hand over his face.
“Why are you doing this?” Nora asked suddenly. She was surprised by her own boldness but compelled by the guilt that she felt. It hurt to see Ethan like this. To know that she was the one who had etched lines across his usually smooth, carefree forehead. “Seriously. I don’t know why you’re here.”
But rather than trying to defend himself, to offer up some trite, made-for-the-movies answer, Ethan just gave her a small smile. Something about him softened. Fell away. For just a moment he looked younger than he was. And scared, too. “You need me,” he said simply.
It was true. It was so true Nora didn’t know what to say. She swallowed hard. “You need to eat,” she finally offered. “Cinnamon rolls? Coffee?”