by Nicole Baart
“I had a meeting this morning,” she managed, her voice only a little unsteady. Ethan would never know her heart was beating double time. Would he? “It’s why I was late.”
“Nothing serious, I hope?” Ethan looked genuinely concerned, but Nora shook her head to stop that line of questioning immediately. “Thanks for the coffee,” she said, changing the subject.
Because it was exactly what she was supposed to do, Nora grabbed a clean apron off the hook and knotted it at her waist. Then she set to work. She took a tray of stuffed croissants out of the refrigerator and turned the oven to 350 degrees. The box of yesterday’s muffins was waiting on the kitchen counter, and she hauled it to the front to arrange day-olds in the basket by the till. The stay-at-home-mom crowd was crazy for cheap muffins. Nora priced them at a dollar and a half and watched them disappear.
Ethan’s gaze was a tangible thing, and Nora felt a prick of anxiety. She had forgotten something, but what? The oven was on, she was wearing her apron, the muffins were in her arms … The coffee. Setting the box of muffins on the counter, she reached for the cup he had poured her and took the first scalding sip. It was perfect. “Thank you,” she said, but it came out in a whisper.
“No problem.” Ethan shrugged. “Everything okay?” He was focusing on positioning the chairs just right, making sure that the corners were squared and neat, the tiny space arranged to maximize movement, though the cafe would be crooked and cluttered soon enough.
No, everything was not okay. Nora’s ankle rolled yet again as she stretched to arrange the muffins, and she puffed a hard breath between her lips. Stepping out of her heels, she felt the bite of the cold, polished concrete floor of the coffee shop. The decor was all restoration hardware: thick barn-wood beams, chunky iron, chipped paint. It had once seemed too trendy to her, too hipster, but Nora was suddenly grateful for the cool, smooth cement beneath her toes and the rugged wood where her fingers found purchase.
“I’m fine,” Nora said, forcing a smile. “Those heels were killing me.”
Ethan gave her a sideways glance that was equal parts watchful and teasing. “You took them off? It might be against code to work barefoot.”
“Too bad.”
Ethan was a good guy; a friend, in fact. They had once tried to be more than that, but it hadn’t worked out very well. Nora was over it; she suspected Ethan not so much. But he was trustworthy. Earnest and wholesome in a boy-next-door sort of way. Brown hair, blue eyes, and an aw-shucks, all-American demeanor. A little plain, but that only added to his charm. She wanted to trust him.
But she couldn’t trust anybody. Not anymore.
Nora put the last muffin, banana nut, on top of the artfully displayed stack and disappeared into the kitchen. She was sliding the tray of croissants into the oven when Ethan came to lean against the doorframe and regard her with his mouth quirked in a half smile. He was forever smiling, always happy. A terrible fit for Nora in every possible way. What had she ever seen in him?
“You forgot these.” Ethan had her shoes hooked over his fingers.
“Sorry.” Nora stretched out her arms and gathered up the nude stilettos. She dumped them onto the desk unceremoniously.
“I won’t make you wear them,” Ethan said. “Stay behind the counter. Your secret is safe with me.”
If only.
Nora pushed down a ghosting cloud of fear, but she couldn’t stifle the shiver that made her shoulders tremble for just a moment.
“Are you sick?” Ethan took a step toward her, reaching out as if he would put his hands on her arms. He stopped himself.
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t look well.”
“Just tired.” Nora tried to give him a convincing nod, a confident, reassuring smile that communicated that her late arrival and uncharacteristic preoccupation were nothing more than a little sleep deprivation. And a mysterious appointment. Nora realized with a jolt that Ethan thought something was really wrong with her. For all he knew, she had just come from an oncologist. “I’m fine,” she added. “Really. Nothing to worry about.”
Whether Ethan believed her was irrelevant. The front door chimed just then, summoning him to the counter.
“Go flirt,” Nora blurted, trying to regain some of the lightness that marked their relationship. Trying to be normal. The young moms couldn’t help but crush on Ethan, and when they lingered in the coffee shop they tended to keep making purchases. First a coffee and muffin, then a strawberry-banana smoothie to appease a little one. Next a pound of whole beans or a box of the pretty tea sachets in flavors like Moonlit Path and Birdsong at Dawn. Nora knew it was because they liked the excuse to talk to Ethan, not because they were so enamored with the coffee.
He saluted her and left through the swinging door, edging the bucket out of the way so that the kitchen was no longer visible from the shop. Nora wasn’t sure if he was giving her a little privacy or making it easier for himself—not too long ago, a petal-cheeked college student had slipped him her number. It didn’t bother Nora, but Ethan was clearly, inexplicably embarrassed. Because he was in his early thirties and a good decade older than the coquettish coed? Or because he was still hoping things would work out with Nora?
Either way, Nora didn’t care. She released a shuddering breath, weak with gratitude that she had been granted a moment alone. She couldn’t do this. She was a terrible actress.
“Stop it,” Nora hissed at herself. This was ridiculous. She was a Sanford, after all. Stiff upper lip and pull yourself up by your bootstraps and never let them see you cry. Her childhood had been all those clichés and more rolled into one. Hadn’t she learned a single thing in the years under her father’s roof? Nora tightened the knot of her apron and put her hands on her hips. Of course she could do this.
Reassuring herself that the croissants were browning nicely, Nora slipped her phone out of her purse and keyed in the passcode. Quinn had texted her—again—and after verifying that it wasn’t an emergency, Nora deleted it without responding. She chose to believe that Everlee was safe with Quinn—and right now, that was all that mattered.
But there was another text, another number, and this one made Nora’s skin prickle.
Bye, Nora.
Nora felt the blood drain from her face. For just a moment her vision blurred and she had to grip the side of the prep table to stop herself from falling as the floor seemed to tilt. Tiffany wouldn’t. Would she? No. As quickly as the thought crossed Nora’s mind, she dismissed it. Tiffany wasn’t the sort to take her own life.
But she was the sort to get going when the going got tough.
Nora decided she wasn’t sad. She was mad. Hissing, spitting, throwing things mad. This was not what they had planned. It wasn’t supposed to shake down like this.
The scent of warm pastry wafted through the kitchen. Surprise took the edge off her rage, and Nora dropped her phone on the table so she could lunge for the oven. The flaky croissants burned easily, but she had caught them just in time. She was grateful that Ethan wasn’t around to witness the tremor in her hands as she slid the baking tray onto a cooling rack.
Ethan poked his head in the back room as Nora was trying to plot her next move. If Tiffany was gone … ? Nora was plagued with doubt, queasy with worry, and she could see concern instantly register in Ethan’s kind face.
“Seriously,” he said, pushing into the back room. “You’re pale as a sheet, Nora. Go home.”
“I’m fine,” she insisted. She shoved her phone into her purse and began transferring the croissants to a narrow serving tray. “Thanks anyway.”
“I can handle the shop today.”
“Midmorning rush is about to begin.”
“Nah, the summer crowd is always a little thin and—”
Nora forced a laugh, but it was brittle and joyless. “I’m fine.”
Ethan sighed, giving up. “Whatever. There’s someone here to see you.”
“What?” Nora’s hand froze in midair, fingers still tight around the spatu
la. Maybe … ? She tossed the utensil on the counter and edged past Ethan, not even bothering to be polite as she did so. Pushing through the swinging door, she steeled herself for a quiet confrontation. “We can do this,” she would say. “Stick to the plan. Be strong.”
But Nora never had the chance to whisper ultimatums.
He was picking through the muffins, turning them over in his hands one by one before discarding them. But when she appeared, he dropped the last one on the counter and with a smirk watched her come. Nora knew that many would consider him attractive, with his dark hair and brooding gaze, the hint of a tattoo peeking out of the collar of his shirt, but he was repulsive to her. Terrifying.
“For God’s sake, Nora. What did you do to your hair?”
If she faltered, it was only for a second. A flicker of panic in her eyes, a rigidity in her jaw that betrayed just how deeply she loathed him. But she sped right through the shock, her course not wavering as she went to the counter and stood opposite the man she loathed with a hatred so powerful it seemed to be a living, breathing thing. Nora wanted to throw herself across the counter and take him by the throat. Instead, she smiled. Dug her fingernails into the palms of her hands and pulled herself together.
“I combed it,” Nora said. He liked her sharp and sassy, the bitchy, girl-power best friend of his lover. It was a role Nora had learned to play—not because she felt the need to acquiesce to him, because it was the easiest way to control him. Or, at least, his opinion of her. “What are you doing here, Donovan?”
“Isn’t it obvious, Nor? I came to see you.” He leaned on the counter, giving her a wolfish smile that was supposed to be sensual, coy. Donovan had done more than flirt with her over the years. An errant hand, a wayward touch, a look that spoke volumes. And Nora had never, not once, been tempted.
Nervous and needing to do something with her hands, Nora grabbed the bag of dark roast beans and poured a small amount into the grinder. “Mocha?”
“You remembered.”
“How could I forget?”
Donovan watched her as she went through the motions, tamping down the grounds and then steaming milk while the espresso filled the creamer. She wished there was a way she could slip something into his drink, but when she presented it to him in a to-go cup it was perfection, rich and chocolaty with a swirl of melting whipped cream on top. It smelled like cozy nights and long talks and comfort. He didn’t deserve it, but she was desperate for him to leave.
“It’s on the house,” Nora said.
Donovan raised his cup to her and then set it back down on the counter untouched. “I think you know why I’m here.”
“Coffee?”
He gave her a look that froze her heart. It stuttered painfully, and she forced herself to say, “She’s not here.”
“Clearly. The question is, where is she?”
“Tiffany’s mother died,” Nora said, sticking to the script they had cobbled together. It was makeshift and full of holes, but it was better than nothing.
“She doesn’t have a mother.”
Nora swallowed. “I mean, her aunt.”
“That’s the thing.” Donovan reached out and put his hand over Nora’s where it rested on the counter. His palm was hot, clammy, and it swallowed her hand whole. “Tiff wasn’t going to the funeral. We talked about it. A lot. She didn’t want to go.”
“I never said she was in Key Lake. You didn’t let me finish.” Nora’s skin flamed where Donovan touched her and she longed to yank her hand away. But she didn’t dare. She straightened her chin and tried to glare at him.
“Where are my girls, Nora?”
“They’re in New Ulm. Visiting family.” A lie. Tiffany had no family. Besides Everlee.
“Why won’t she answer my calls?”
“Oh?” Nora finally tugged her hand away, busying herself with the glass gallon of whole milk that she had left on the counter. It took her three tries to twist the lid on properly. “I don’t know. Last I checked I wasn’t Tiffany’s keeper. You were.”
A vein in Donovan’s neck flushed crimson as he leaned toward her. “That’s right. She chose me, Nora. She chose me over you. But I’ve been patient, I’ve let you stick around and leech off our family even though all you’ve done is try to poison the well.”
When his fist hit the counter it made Nora jump. Her eyes shot to his and she was shocked to see bald-faced hatred burning there. Donovan wasn’t hiding it; he wasn’t pretending. Not anymore. “What did you do with it?” he whispered, each word landing like a blow.
“What?” Nora was so shocked she couldn’t stop herself. Of all the things he could have said. All the accusations he could have made. What did you do with it? It didn’t make sense. “What are you talking about?”
By the way he straightened, Nora knew that her reaction had been the right one. “Nothing. Never mind. It’s none of your business,” Donovan said, rubbing the back of his hand across his mouth as if wiping away a bead of sweat. He was done here, Nora could see that, but she didn’t know what it meant. She didn’t know what she had said—or not said—to make his attention shift elsewhere. To Tiffany? What had happened? What had Tiffany done? The possibilities made Nora’s knees go weak.
The whoosh of the swinging door caused them both to look up.
“Everything okay up here?” Ethan asked with a smile. But Nora could feel suspicion crackling off him like electricity. He came to stand beside her, close enough that his arm grazed her shoulder.
“Perfect.” Donovan grinned. And though he was handsome, though his teeth were straight and his chin chiseled, it wasn’t a pretty sight. He grabbed the mocha, sloshing a bit of it on his hand as he turned to go. “See you around, Nora Jane.”
She didn’t respond.
When the door chimed his departure, Nora felt herself deflate a little against Ethan.
“Who was that?” he asked. There was iron in his tone, something cold and hard, and Nora couldn’t help but be grateful that he wanted to protect her. Not that she was the sort of girl who needed protection. It wouldn’t do her any good anyway.
“Nobody,” she said, pushing herself away.
“Nobody? He certainly seemed like somebody.”
“You know, I’m really not feeling very good,” Nora finally admitted, grateful that she was able to keep a quiver out of her voice. “Maybe I’d better go home after all.”
If Ethan was exasperated, he didn’t let on. Instead, he reached out and snagged her wrist as she tried to breeze past. His touch was gentle but firm, and she had no choice but to look at him as he turned her around. He stared at Nora for a moment, searching her face, willing her to confide in him. But she kept her mouth shut tight. “Look,” he said after a few seconds, “if you need anything, anything at all …” He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to.
“Thanks,” Nora said. And then she tugged her wrist out of his grip and hurried away. She only paused for a moment at the back door, just long enough to tap one last desperate text.
What have you done?
LIZ
“I’M THROWING A PARTY,” Liz said, clipping a stalk of delphinium and adding it to the growing bouquet in her arm. She blurted it out partly to distract Macy from the pagan purples she was amassing and partly because she wanted to spread the word. Macy was forever hounding her about the unique hybrid flowers in the little garden by her front gate, and Liz wasn’t about to share her secrets. The party announcement was an offering, and Macy accepted it enthusiastically. Key Lake would be buzzing with the news by dusk.
“You are?” Macy gushed, clearly forgetting the cobalt flowers with their mulberry hearts. Truly, they were stunning. People were forever commenting on them.
“Tomorrow night.” Liz looped the clippers over her thumb and held the flowers before her in both hands. There were ten stalks or so, an impressive, towering display that would make the perfect centerpiece for the long table. All she needed were a few bridal bouquet hydrangeas to anchor the base. Maybe some bare branches
. She wished pussy willows were in season.
“It’s been ages!” Macy clapped her hands together, delighted. “Will you put the flag out?”
“Yes.”
Macy sighed, smiling. “Remember the summer the boys turned ten?”
It was the same year that JJ turned eight and Nora broke her arm falling off the rope swing. A golden year in spite of the first hard cast among the Sanford children and the unusually hot summer. Golden because all the kids were out of diapers and pull-ups, capable of dressing themselves, independent. Liz felt like she could breathe again, and she hadn’t even realized that she’d been holding her breath. But suddenly, Quinn was sticking her own strawberry Pop-Tarts in the toaster every morning and slipping out the back door before Liz had finished her first cup of coffee. Who knew what the other two were up to? Really, who cared?
Since all her kids knew how to swim, and since there wasn’t much trouble they could get up to in provincial Key Lake, their self-sufficiency was a taste of freedom for Liz. She loved it. Her abrupt autonomy softened her edges and seemed to turn back time. After the chaos and confusion of what she began to think of as the “little years,” Liz felt herself relax … And the clock unwound. Her twenties had been spent mixing bottles of formula and hushing night terrors. Now, at thirtysomething, she looked at herself in the mirror—really looked—and found a beautiful, capable, strong woman staring back. I almost missed it, she thought. What a terrible shame.
That summer was golden because of champagne.
Twinkling lights and stars to match, the sound of laughter across the water, and her husband’s hand on her waist. Jack had the most spectacular, almost peculiar gray-green eyes and he spent much of that summer training the intensity of his gaze on her. On her sunbaked arms, her long, slim legs. On the coils of yellow hair that clung to her warm neck, and the place where her sundress gapped open just a bit when she bent over him with a bottle of ice-cold beer in her hand. It was fresh and new, a sort of falling in love all over again and for the first time because after the delirious years of making a family, her husband was a stranger. And she to him. It was intoxicating.
