Little Broken Things

by Nicole Baart

  “This is exactly why I decided to throw a party,” Liz interjected, slipping one arm around Quinn and the other around Amelia. “Here we are, all living in the same town, and we never see one another. It’s a tragedy.”

  JJ and Amelia exchanged a look, one that clearly said less family time was hardly a tragedy in their books.

  “I suppose I’m feeling a little nostalgic these days,” Liz admitted. “And you will never guess who I ran into yesterday.”

  “I’m sure I have no idea,” JJ said, taking a pull on his beer and looking past his mother. He was clearly bored, and Amelia tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and pinched. Quinn could tell by the way he winced and gave his wife a sharp look.

  But Liz seemed unaware of his disinterest. “I ran into Tiffany Barnes,” she said with relish.

  It was a name that Quinn hadn’t heard in years. Nora’s high school best friend? So what? But the air between them was suddenly brittle, chilly. Amelia dropped JJ’s arm and looked away, the set of her jaw hard and angry. JJ moved to put his hand on the small of his wife’s back, but she shifted toward Quinn and his fingers brushed empty space.

  “She was at Walmart,” Liz said, apparently oblivious to the effect of her words.

  But studying her mother, Quinn realized that Liz knew exactly what she was doing. She had brought up Tiffany on purpose.

  And then Quinn remembered. Another night. Another party like this. Nora was looking for Tiffany, asking everyone where her best friend had disappeared to. She eventually found her on the dock with JJ. Tiffany’s hair was mussed, her lips flushed pink from kissing, and when she chased after Nora to try to explain, Quinn could see that her shirt was buttoned wrong. JJ? It was inconceivable, the worst kind of betrayal, even to Quinn, who at fourteen knew very little about the rules of love and friendship.

  It came to nothing, as far as Quinn knew. Tiffany chose Nora, or something like that, and her fling with JJ was nothing more than fuel for the gossip mill. It had all happened before Amelia, before they were of an age where they could make decisions that weren’t primarily based on hormones. A lifetime ago. What did it matter? And why would Amelia care now? She was clearly stunningly pregnant with JJ’s baby.

  “Well.” Quinn clapped her hands together, suddenly eager to get away. What was she supposed to do? Pretend that she was close with JJ and Amelia? That this bizarre conversation made sense to her? Quinn was still angry at her mother for other reasons. She hadn’t forgiven Liz for bursting in on her the morning before and was downright livid at her casual disregard of the fact that she had a granddaughter. It was unnatural. They were too far apart and far too close all at the same time. Perpetually missing each other. “I, for one, would love a glass of wine.”

  The proclamation was an excuse to leave, but it was also a bit of a jab at Amelia in her current state. And, if Quinn was perfectly honest with herself (why the hell not?), a challenge to her own womb and the life she hoped was taking root inside. A glass of wine would be a gauntlet thrown, an “I dare you” to her own broken body.

  Quinn was suddenly, irrationally angry. At Walker, at her brother and his blossoming wife, at Nora and Liz, at her out-of-control life. Her mother was saying something to her, but it didn’t matter, Quinn was already gone. Off in the direction of the nearest table where she could see a profusion of bottles. Her mother always mixed a drink or two for these occasions, but guests usually came bearing wine or fine whiskey, sometimes cheap tequila with a bag of key limes. There was never a shortage of options.

  But, apparently, there was sometimes a shortage of cups. There wasn’t a paper Dixie cup in sight, and Liz’s plastic reusable wineglasses (the ones she liked to stack in towers like champagne flutes) were clearly long gone. For a moment, Quinn stood at the table, contemplating whether she would stoop so low as to swig straight from the bottle of pinot grigio only inches from her fingertips. But before she could take the plunge, Quinn felt someone touch her elbow.

  She turned from the spread before her, thirsty and irritated and vulnerable, her composure thin. It was the worst possible state for her to be in when she spun around to find Bennet Van Eps standing before her. Of course, she knew that he was coming, but his proximity was still a shock. Quinn hadn’t seen him in five years, but he hadn’t changed a bit. Same quirky smile, one cheek creased as if he were laughing at a private joke. Same ashy blond hair, cut marine close and perfectly edged, a striking complement to his broad features. He would have looked dangerously handsome in fatigues, but instead of joining the military like he always said he would, Quinn had heard years ago that he became a cop.

  Bennet was tender and soft-spoken, skilled at long silences and careful listening. He had been quiet when Quinn was loud, steady when she was tossed in a troubled sea. Bennet was the opposite of Walker in so many ways that Quinn found it jarring to see him now, to be reminded of who he was and what he had been, when her life had taken such a different path.

  “Bennet,” Quinn said, and wasn’t sure if she was surprised or happy or just a little bit heartbroken. He had always been so patient with her, so quick to forgive. Quinn wondered if he had forgiven her betrayal. No, she didn’t have to wonder. There was no excuse for what she had done.

  “Hi, Quinn.”

  There was no playbook for this, no rules she knew to follow. Should she shake his hand? Laugh? Cry? It was more than Quinn could handle, and the chaos of her life in that moment tipped her toward him. It was the slightest hint of movement, just a shift in his direction, but Bennet fell a little, too. For just a heartbeat the world seemed to pause in its orbit, a fraction of a second that spun back the clock to a time when this was all that had mattered. Them. Together.

  When his arms went around her, the thought that wisped through Quinn’s mind quiet as a wish was: home.

  NORA

  “IT’S NOT A ROAD TRIP until there’s junk food.” Ethan swung into the car and tossed an armful of brightly colored packages at Nora.

  “I’m not sure I’d call this a road trip, exactly.” Nora shook her head, sifting through the detritus in her lap. “Doritos, Mike and Ikes, Slim Jims … Seriously, Ethan, what’s wrong with you?”

  “Hey, I got two Slim Jims. One for me and one for you.”

  “What in the world makes you think I eat beef jerky?”

  “It’s dried sausage,” Ethan corrected her as he put the car in drive and pulled out of the gas station. “And you don’t strike me as the Slim Jim type. That just means more for me.”

  When he wiggled his eyebrows at her, Nora couldn’t help but laugh. It was dry and short-lived, but it felt good to smile, to feel the weight in her heart lighten, even if it was only for a moment. “You should weigh twice as much as you do.”

  “I know, right? Good thing I work out.”

  “Are you trying to be funny?”

  “I’m trying to make you laugh,” Ethan said. “Clearly I’m not very good at it.”

  Nora shrugged, but she felt a warm little rush in the center of her chest. She wasn’t used to Ethan’s brand of attention. It had been a long time since someone had cared about whether she was happy.

  They drove in silence for a few minutes, watching the traffic as Ethan merged onto I-90. It would take them just over three hours to get to Key Lake, which meant they would arrive after midnight. Then what?

  If Nora had felt almost normal a minute ago, her fear redoubled as she considered what might happen when they arrived in her hometown. A wave of nausea turned her stomach and her palms went cold and clammy. What if Tiffany was nowhere to be found? What if she didn’t want to be found?

  Never mind the fact that Nora would have to contend with her own family in Key Lake. And she owed them more than just an explanation. She owed them an apology. But how could she ask for forgiveness? There could be no absolution for what she and Tiffany had done.

  And Ethan. What was she going to do with him? Like it or not, she was stuck with him now—and torn between relief that he had offered to com
e (and that she had impulsively accepted) and irritation that he was in the driver’s seat. Literally, of course. They both knew exactly who was in charge of this particular rescue mission. But Ethan had heard the whole sordid tale, and after he realized the kind of danger that Everlee was in, he refused to back down. I’m coming, he said. And then he cleared both of their schedules at the Grind and steered Nora toward his car. She let him.

  “I kind of can’t believe I’m going to see where you grew up,” Ethan said, either oblivious to her inner turmoil or intentionally trying to distract her. Nora couldn’t tell. He had set cruise control at seventy-five miles per hour, five miles above the speed limit but five below Nora’s preferred speed. She mentally recalculated their arrival time and forced her hands to be still in her lap.

  “Don’t get your hopes up,” she said. “Key Lake isn’t much to write home about.”

  “That bad?”

  Nora shrugged, looking out her window at the green expanse of fields beside the interstate, and willed her heart to slow its manic pace. “It’s not bad, I guess. If you’re into walleye fishing. And small towns. And …”

  “And what?” he prompted.

  “And not much else. I’m trying to think of more ways to describe Key Lake and I can’t. It’s a cliché. Everything you’ve ever thought about sleepy little lakeside towns is true.”

  Ethan didn’t say anything and Nora could feel him looking at her. She whipped her head around to meet his gaze. “Watch the road!”

  He smiled and dutifully turned his attention to driving.

  “What?”

  “I just find your angst amusing. We’re twentysomething, you know.”

  “I happen to know you’re thirtysomething,” Nora interjected.

  He nodded. Touché. “Whatever. The point is, we’re past hating our hometowns and rebelling against our idyllic childhoods. Right?”

  “You had an idyllic childhood?”

  “You didn’t?”

  “No.”

  “Me neither.”

  Nora threw up her hands. “Then stop giving me such a hard time!”

  Ethan smiled, but it wasn’t patronizing. “We get older. We soften. You just seem so touchy about your past.”

  “Touchy.”

  “Yeah.”

  Nora bit her lip, considering. “I suppose I have some bad memories that are tied to Key Lake.”

  “And Tiffany is a part of them.”

  “Among others.”

  “Who else?”

  Nora didn’t know whether to be annoyed or amused. “You’re very persistent.”

  “We have a long drive ahead of us,” Ethan said as he turned on the radio. He found a preset station and smoky jazz created a muted backdrop in the car. Yet another side of him that took Nora by surprise. “Might as well get to know each other.”

  She was under the impression that they did know each other, but Nora was beginning to realize that her definition of friendship was rather insubstantial. What did she really know about the people she claimed to care about? Even Tiffany had disappeared on her without a word of warning. There was very little left for Nora to lose.

  “Fine,” she said, relenting. “I’ll tell you a story.”

  “I love stories.”

  Nora slapped his arm in warning. Be quiet. “When I was ten years old, my family went to Chicago for a week.”

  “I thought this was a story about Key Lake?”

  “Shut up. I’m talking.”

  Ethan gave her a grave two-fingered salute.

  Nora started again. “We stayed downtown in this huge high-rise with a view of the lake. And every day we went somewhere new. Shedd Aquarium, Navy Pier, the Art Institute, the Field Museum—that one was my favorite.” Nora paused, waiting for Ethan to insert a quip, but he didn’t. His hands were loosely gripping the steering wheel, his eyes trained on the taillights of the car in front of them. He was relaxed, at home in his own skin, and listening. Nora opened up the Mike and Ikes and tapped a few out into her palm, then passed him the box.

  “So, it was a really great vacation. I mean, we all had fun. It was exciting to stay in the big city and walk in the shadows of all those tall buildings … I think we were too tired and happy and overwhelmed to fight.”

  Ethan nodded.

  “I mean, not that we ever really fought. Sanfords don’t yell or throw things or anything like that. At least, not usually. We were pretty buttoned up.” She slid him a wry look. “And don’t bother telling me I still am.” Why did she want him to understand? Why did she care what he thought about her family, her upbringing?

  “So what happened?” Ethan asked.

  “The last day that we were there, we passed this homeless girl in the street. Don’t get me wrong, we had passed dozens of homeless people over the course of the week, but she was different.”

  “Why?”

  “She was my age. Or not much older. She was holding a piece of cardboard that said: Today is my birthday.”

  Nora was watching Ethan’s face and felt relieved to see his jaw clench. “That’s awful, right?” she said. “My dad had given each of us kids ten dollars to spend on a souvenir and I had saved mine. I wanted to give it to her. But he wouldn’t let me.”

  “Why not?”

  “He said it was probably her birthday yesterday and the day before and the day before that. I said I didn’t care. He told me she was manipulative and a liar and that she would likely spend the money on drugs anyway.”

  “That’s harsh.” Ethan had a handful of Mike and Ikes, but instead of eating them he shook them around in his palm. The soft clicking was comforting, somehow.

  “That was my dad. Pull yourself up by your bootstraps, get a job, no free handouts. But to me, she was just a kid. I didn’t care if it was her birthday or not. I wanted to help her.”

  “Didn’t your mom say anything?”

  Nora pushed a hard breath through her lips. “Are you kidding? My mom was a pushover. She never stood up to Jack Sr. a day in her life.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Nothing,” Nora said, and for some reason the memory still stung. “I walked away. My brother laughed, my sister was clueless, and I walked away.”

  “You were just a kid, too, Nora.”

  “I know that,” she said quickly. “It’s not a big deal. You just wanted to know about my idyllic childhood. I think that pretty much sums it up.”

  “It certainly helps me understand you more.”

  “Oh really.” Nora forced a laugh. “Enlighten me.”

  “How about I save my observations for the end of the trip? And how about you pass me those pork rinds?”

  Nora wanted to ask him about his own childhood, and she did, but she couldn’t help feeling like she had revealed much more than Ethan did when he answered her questions. He was born in Washington State, moved to Minnesota when he was twelve, played hockey on scholarship in college. He was a defenseman with a pretty stellar slap shot from the point. His words. Ethan had graduated summa cum laude with a degree in engineering but decided after he had his diploma in hand that what he really wanted to do was study neoclassical literature.

  “That’s insane.” By this time, Nora had ripped open the bag of Doritos and they both had orange fingers.

  “That’s exactly what my parents said. Thanks for your vote of confidence.” Ethan stuck a Mike and Ike in his mouth and glared at her. Nora smiled primly back. He deserved it. Who drank water with Doritos? She was craving a Coke.

  “How did I not know these things about you?” she asked, popping the last Dorito in her mouth.

  Ethan lifted a shoulder. “You never asked. We talk mostly about specialty roasts and whether or not the new kid you hired for the after-school shift should be fired.”

  “We’re so boring. At least, I am,” Nora said. “You travel, study neoclassical literature, play hockey …”

  “It’s just a rec league.”

  “Still.”

  She didn’t mean to be
so pensive, but what in the world had she done with her life? The sun had set long ago and Nora could see at least a few of the stars in the sky. If they were on a dirt road, or out in the middle of Key Lake, there would be a thousand points of light, but speeding down the interstate she could only make out a few major beacons. The Big Dipper was just visible out her window, and a little to the left, Polaris. If it were earlier in the summer she knew she could star hop from the outer stars of the Dipper’s bowl to Leo. Nora had never been the sort to wish on stars, but she had once liked to chart them. And to hope that somewhere out there, in the midst of all the inconsistencies and little hurts of her life, someone cared enough to listen to the dreams of her lonely heart.

  Lonely. As if.

  “Where are we going?” Ethan asked, and Nora turned from the window quickly, caught in the act of … what? Daydreaming? In the darkness, she could see the corners of his eyes crinkle into a smile. “I’m not being existential, Nora. I think we’re close to the turnoff.”

  “Oh.” Nora looked around, taking in the landscape. The hours had flown by, and Ethan was right—the turnoff for Key Lake was only miles ahead. Of course, they would wind on country roads for a while, but this was the homestretch. The point in the trip when most people would lean in, feeling the pull of the familiar as steady as a magnet. Nora pressed herself deeper into her seat.

  She navigated easily, telling Ethan which direction to turn and when, but she didn’t elaborate on their surroundings or narrate through the small towns they passed. Truth be told, Nora was exhausted. She had traveled these very roads only two nights ago, and it was hard to grasp just how much things had changed in the time between. Her life was unraveling around her, the snag a seemingly fatal flaw in the fabric that was everything she knew.

  “Welcome home,” Ethan said quietly when they passed the Welcome to Key Lake sign. “Are we going to your mom’s house?”

  “No.” Nora glanced at the dashboard clock. It was just before midnight. They had made better time than she anticipated, but she still wouldn’t think of knocking on Liz’s door. And Quinn and Walker’s cabin was out of the question. “How do you feel about roughing it?” Nora asked.