Little Broken Things

by Nicole Baart

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.”

  “I don’t have to … I don’t …” He couldn’t finish.

  Quinn unbuckled her seat belt and slid across the space between them, catching Walker’s face in her hands and kissing the hollow beneath his ear, his jawline, his mouth. When their lips touched, it was electric, consuming. And by the way his tongue found hers, hot and insistent, Quinn knew that he was just as desperate for her as she was for him. In just as many ways. “It’s you,” she whispered against his mouth. “It will always be you.”

  Walker let her go reluctantly, and when Quinn was halfway out the door he snagged her hand and leaned across the passenger seat. “Be careful,” he said. “Try not to mention Lucy. This will all be over soon.”

  “Okay.” She nodded. But her pulse was high and fluttering in her chest.

  Quinn didn’t recognize anyone who had gathered in the fire chief’s office. Bennet was nowhere to be seen—presumably because Key Lake was out of his jurisdiction. But a man with salt-and-pepper hair and a faint, jagged scar on his cheek turned and gave her a warm smile as she entered the building.

  “Crazy business, this,” he said, extending his bear paw of a hand. The back of it was furred with white hair. “We haven’t dealt with an arson in a long while …”

  The interview was brief, to the point, and Quinn was in and out in a matter of minutes. The fire chief seemed more amused than concerned, grateful that nothing valuable had been damaged and quite convinced that the same people who were responsible for the graffiti that they were forever scrubbing off the band shell in the park could be blamed for this.

  “Call me if you think of anything else,” he told her, handing over his card as Quinn prepared to leave. But it was obvious he didn’t expect anything to materialize. And Quinn had no intentio
n of telling him about Lucy, the phone call, Nora’s insistence that they be careful, wise.

  “Of course.”

  The sun was directly overhead and beating down with a merciless zeal as Quinn jogged across the sidewalk. How many minutes had passed? How long had she been gone? Her distance from Lucy felt like an itch she couldn’t assuage.

  “You all right?” Walker said, searching Quinn’s face as she slid into the car.

  “Fine.”

  “What now?”

  “Have you talked to my mom?”

  “She texted a minute ago. All is well.”

  “Then I want to see Nora,” Quinn said, already tapping on the screen of her phone.

  “What?” Walker sounded shocked. “She’s in Key Lake?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where?”

  “That’s what I’m going to find out.”

  Nora responded to Quinn’s text immediately and suggested they meet at Malcolm’s.

  Why? Quinn typed.

  Mom. Lucy. Walker.

  Three reasons. And because Quinn wanted answers, she complied. “Can you drop me off?” she asked Walker, worried that he would balk.

  “Sure,” he said, giving her a sideways glance. “I want to pick up some locks from the hardware store anyway.”

  Malcolm’s on the Water was hopping on a late-summer Saturday afternoon, and the only table available was in the far corner of the patio. The lunch crowd—all dressed in swimwear and cover-ups, sundresses and board shorts—seemed to prefer the air-conditioning or the shade, and the little table the hostess led Quinn to was the only one bathed in a wide swath of direct sunlight.

  “Is this okay?” she asked Quinn with an air of defeat. It seemed the table had been turned down by more than one party already. But it was perfect as far as Quinn was concerned. Private, out of the way, situated next to a speaker that was crooning the Beach Boys. It was all so cheerful, so normal. Quinn felt conspicuous as she jittered and bobbed with nerves.

  “It’s fine,” Quinn told her, all but collapsing into a seat.

  “Great.” The hostess dropped a stack of menus on the wrought iron table and left without another word.

  When the waitress came by, Quinn ordered a sparkling water and the tower of onion rings. She wasn’t much in the mood for fried food, or any food for that matter. But one didn’t take up a table at Malcom’s in the summer without ordering. And onion rings had once been Nora’s favorite.

  She put on her sunglasses and scanned the crowd for any sign of Nora. A part of her wanted to slap her sister. To throw herself into the fray when Nora arrived and make a horrible, ugly scene. There would be tears and shouting, accusations of the reality TV sort. But beneath her anger and confusion, Quinn mourned the loss of her sister. The hurt that had brought them here. If their father had turned Nora away … It was unthinkable.

  When Quinn opened her eyes to find Nora weaving through the tables as she made her way toward the corner, what was left of her composure crumbled to dust.

  “Nora,” Quinn said, standing as her sister approached. Her voice trembled even as she fought the urge to reach for Nora and pull her into a crushing hug. Anger and affection made awkward dance partners, and Quinn couldn’t decide whether she loved her sister in that moment or hated her just a little.

  “Keep your voice down.” Nora’s sunglasses obscured her eyes, but the set of her mouth was grim. “What happened? You said he’s here?”

  “I don’t even know who he is, Nor. But there was a fire—”

  “What?” Nora looked shaken and leaned forward to grab Quinn by the arms. “Is everyone okay? Is—”

  “It was the shack just up from our cabin,” Quinn said quickly. “We’re fine. Everyone’s fine. But we think he did it. Whoever’s after Lucy, I mean.”

  “Oh my God.” Nora whispered. She sank into the chair next to Quinn’s and pulled it close. She said, “Sit down.”

  Quinn complied, but as she did so she realized that there was a man standing just behind Nora. He was broad shouldered and pleasant-looking, his tawny hair just messy enough to be natural and not the result of careful styling. His smile was small and serious as he pulled out a chair and joined them. “Nice to meet you, Quinn,” he said. “I’m Ethan.”

  “Nice to meet you, too,” she managed, but her mind was racing. Was this Lucy’s father? Impossible. Ethan wasn’t someone that Quinn remembered—definitely not from Key Lake—and Nora had to have gotten pregnant right after her senior year of high school. During? Close enough. The timing explained so much. Why Nora withdrew from the family. Why she abandoned her scholarship and ran away. Why she had never really come back.

  Quinn shot Nora a look that begged for a few more details, but they were all wearing sunglasses and her attempt at sisterly ESP was lost in the space between them. Questions burned on her tongue, making her feel tingly and just a little delirious, but she settled for: “I ordered onion rings,” because she didn’t know what else to say. Stupid.

  Nora didn’t seem to hear. “How could you?” she asked, pulling off her sunglasses to fix Quinn with a look of deep betrayal. “How could you let Mom know about Lucy?”

  As if Quinn was the one who needed to beg forgiveness in this impossible situation. “I didn’t let Mom know anything,” Quinn said. She felt a stab of righteous indignation and it was a thousand times better than the anxiety she had almost grown accustomed to. “She barged in the other morning and Lucy was there.”

  “Lucy?” Ethan asked softly, but both Quinn and Nora ignored him.

  “What was I supposed to do?” Quinn asked. “Lock her in a closet? This is ridiculous, Nora. Who is she?”

  But Nora just shook her head as if she regretted ever trusting Quinn with a secret so monumental.

  It made Quinn furious. “Fine. Don’t tell me. What is this all about?” She reached into her back pocket and yanked out the flyer that her mother had given her.

  Nora snatched it away and studied it with her bottom lip between her teeth. Quinn was surprised to see that the emotion that registered on Nora’s face wasn’t annoyance or even anger. It was fear.

  “Where did you get this?” Nora asked, crumpling the paper in her hand.

  “It was stapled to the pole of the streetlight outside Mom’s house. There are more. I saw another one on the side of the picnic shelter when I parked across from the public beach.”

  Nora put her forehead in her hand. She was still for so long that Quinn pulled off her own sunglasses and tried to catch Ethan’s gaze. He was having none of it.

  “If Tiffany is gone, would the courts just give her to him?” Ethan asked quietly, tucking close to Nora as if Quinn wasn’t even sitting there.

  “He’s the only father she’s ever known,” Nora whispered, still cupping her head.

  “But that doesn’t make him her legal guardian.”

  “Wait,” Quinn cut in. “What are you talking about? Who is ‘he’? Is someone trying to adopt Lucy? Why?”

  But Nora ignored her. She kept her voice so small Quinn had to lean in to hear her say: “If anything ever happened to Tiffany, I don’t know where things would land.”

  “If anything ever happened,” Ethan echoed. “You don’t think …”

  Quinn grabbed Nora by the sleeve and gave a quick jerk. “What in the world are you talking about?” she said, her voice far louder than she intended it to be. “What does Tiffany have to do with this? Are you talking about Tiffany Barnes? From high school?”

  There was a moment or two of stillness as Nora glared at her sister, but Quinn was just as annoyed and glared right back. She opened her mouth to unleash more questions, but before she could voice so much as a syllable a shadow fell across her face.

  “I couldn’t help but overhear a bit of your conversation.”

  Quinn let go of her sister and shielded her eyes to look up at the newcomer. He was midthirties, smirking and arrogant, handsome in a sleek, strangely artificial sort of way. His hair was as oiled and immovab
le as Superman’s, and he was overdressed for the casual patio, where flip-flops reigned supreme—downright out of place in his dark pants, black shoes, and long-sleeved button-down shirt. He’s hiding something, Quinn thought. Tattoos or scars or something else that he didn’t want people to see. It was so obvious Quinn almost felt sorry for him.

  “Donovan.” Nora’s voice was reedy and thin, and she had sunk back from him as if he emanated an odor she found repulsive. “What are you doing here?”

  “I wanted to see where Tiffany grew up,” he said, grinning. But the cheer didn’t reach his eyes—Quinn realized with a start that he looked predatory, hungry. Was this him? Phone calls and flyers and matchsticks. Lucy. What was he doing here?

  “Imagine my surprise when I heard her name across a crowded patio,” he continued. “And then looked up to see you. Small world. I’m assuming you think Tiff’s still in New Ulm?”

  “Yes.” Nora’s admission was quiet, defiant. Quinn realized that Donovan had phrased the question strangely, but before she could wonder at it Nora went on. “Visiting family.”

  “Hmm,” he said, considering. “Mind if I sit down?”

  Quinn had watched their exchange suspiciously, but when Donovan asked to join them she felt a chill race down her spine.

  “Sure.” Nora motioned to the empty seat across from her.

  “And what are you doing in town?” Donovan sat down and leaned back, stretching his legs out languidly as he studied Nora’s face.

  “Visiting family,” she said again. “I’m from Key Lake, too, you know.”

  “Of course.” Donovan’s eyes fell on Quinn. “And who is this?”

  “My sister,” Nora said woodenly. “But I’m afraid she was just saying that she has to go.”

  Quinn felt Nora’s hand fall on her arm. Her big sister squeezed almost imperceptibly, but there was a note of desperation in the air around her. A plea to be quiet, don’t push, no more questions. Leave now.

  “Yes.” Quinn fumbled for her purse and rose awkwardly. “I have to go. It was, uh, good to see you, Nora. Ethan.”

  “I’m Donovan Richter, a friend of your sister’s,” the man said, stopping her. He leaned forward and stuck out his hand to make it official.