Little Broken Things

by Nicole Baart

  But Nora wasn’t standing in the doorway.

  Tiffany was.

  She looked different than the last time Liz had seen her only days ago. No, not different, necessarily; her distinctive hair was just swept up in a colorful scarf, bohemian-style. It wrapped completely around her head like a turban and hid her lovely dark waves. But somehow it worked for her. It was her cheekbones, her eyes that slanted up just a bit at the corners. She looked exotic and lovely, as if she hailed from somewhere far more extraordinary than Key Lake, Minnesota.

  “Tiffany,” Liz exclaimed, fumbling for purchase. What was she doing here? What now? And though it was insane for the thought to pop into her head at such a heavy moment, Liz remembered the urn. The ashes of Lorelei Barnes. “I have something for you.”

  “I believe that you do,” Tiffany said quietly. “I’m actually here because—”

  There was a quick patter of light footsteps. A little gasp. “Mom?”

  Tiffany’s face crumpled and she fell to her knees, arms out for Lucy as her child raced across the space between them. When the girl threw herself against Tiffany, all doubt about her lineage was erased.

  “Oh, baby.” Tiffany buried her face in Lucy’s hair and pressed her close, hands tugging at her arms, her dress, the blunt ends of her hair. It was as if she was drinking her in, memorizing each line and curve with the urgent stroke of her fingers—a blind woman fumbling for sight. “Oh, honey,” she cried. “I’ve missed you so much.”

  Lucy pushed back from her mother, small hands squeezing her shoulders in reproach. She was sobbing, the tears sliding down her cheeks and off her chin in quick succession. “Why did you do that to me? Why did you leave me? Why—”

  Tiffany put her fingers to Lucy’s mouth, stopping the flow of words but not the accusation, the hurt that still poured from the child’s wide eyes. “Shhhh,” she said, her own lips trembling. “That’s enough now.”

  “But—”

  “Enough.” Tiffany stood up abruptly and brushed her own tears away with a determined swipe. She took Lucy firmly by the hand. “We’re leaving.”

  Liz reached out to stop her and realized at the last second that there was nothing she could do. “Wait,” she said, but Tiffany was unswerving in her confidence, in the set of her jaw and the hard look in her dark, flinty eyes.

  “Thank you for watching Everlee these past few days,” Tiffany said, keeping her eyes trained on the ground.

  Everlee?

  But before Liz could even formulate a question, Tiffany and Lucy (Everlee? Her granddaughter?) were gone, running across the browning August grass. Lucy tried to look over her shoulder once, to catch a parting glimpse of Quinn and the house where she had been fed and cared for, where her toenails had been painted the color of spring and moss. Of hope. But Tiffany held on tight and Lucy’s head snapped back around before she could make eye contact with either of the women who stood framed in the doorway.

  Liz wanted to do something, but she was frozen, her feet cemented to the ground and her throat strangled by a nameless, faceless panic that she couldn’t quite identify. This was wrong. Everything about it was horribly, terribly wrong, but she didn’t know why.

  There was nothing she could do. It was too late. There was a car at the end of the driveway and Tiffany yanked open the back door. She pushed her daughter inside and climbed in behind her.

  In the driver’s seat, the man with the square jaw and black hair gave Liz and Quinn a little two-fingered salute. And then he put the car in reverse and squealed out in a cloud of dust and exhaust that filtered slowly through the air to where Liz stood, choking.

  Saturday

  3:47 p.m.

  Quinn

  They took her.

  Nora

  Who?

  Quinn

  Tiffany. And the man from Malcolm’s.

  Nora

  Oh my God.

  Stay there. I’m coming.

  QUINN

  THE MOMENT AFTER she read Nora’s last message, Quinn texted Bennet. I need you.

  He wrote one word in reply: Coming.

  But the impending arrival of help, of people who would be able to make sense of what had just happened, didn’t begin to take the edge off Quinn’s panic.

  “Where are you going?” Liz half shouted as Quinn shoved her phone into her pocket and took off across the yard.

  She didn’t even pause to acknowledge her mother.

  Quinn banged on the door to the boathouse, two-fisted and frantic. Lucy was gone and Quinn was so heartsick she was weeping. When had that happened? She hadn’t even known she was crying until she heard the ragged intake of her own shuddering breath.

  Her palms landed on Walker’s chest as he wrenched open the door. He caught her wrist in one hand and held on tight. His grip was desperate, his eyes wild. “What happened?” he barked. “Are you okay? Is Lucy okay?”

  “She’s gone!” Quinn shouted. “They took her!”

  Walker’s jaw tightened and he sprinted in the direction of the driveway, but it was too late. The car was long gone. Lucy was long gone. And they still didn’t know why her disappearance was so terrifying. But it was. Quinn could feel panic roil in her stomach like acid.

  “You have to tell me what happened,” Walker called, hurrying back to her. He still held a power drill in one hand and it made him look slightly dangerous. Unhinged.

  “Tiffany Barnes took Lucy.” Quinn didn’t bother to sweep the tears off her cheeks.

  “Who’s Tiffany?”

  “Her mother.” Liz was only steps away from them, striding down the incline toward the boathouse. Quinn watched her mom come, the wind whipping her white-blond hair around her face. Her expression was so frosty, her spine so ramrod straight you could practically see the fury coming off her in an icy blast. Quinn recoiled a bit.

  “What is going on here?” Walker waved the drill, looking for all the world like he wanted to hurl it against a wall. It was so unlike her husband that Quinn reached out for him. Their fingers caught, held.

  “We’re not entirely sure,” Liz said. She stopped a few feet away and put her hands on her hips. “But we do know that Tiffany is Lucy’s mother. And I’m not sure her name is Lucy.”

  “What?” Walker squeezed Quinn’s fingers. “That doesn’t make any sense. I thought Nora—”

  “Nora lied to us about everything,” Quinn said. She passed the heel of her hand beneath her eyes, took a steadying breath.

  “I don’t understand.” Walker shook his head, looking between his wife and his motherin-law as if they had lost their collective minds. “Why would she change Lucy’s name? Why would she lie to us about that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Come on.” Walker tugged Quinn’s hand and started leading her back toward the house. “Both of you,” he said over his shoulder. Though his tone was no-nonsense and his voice carried the bite of authority, Quinn was surprised when her mother complied.

  Walker led the ladies into the cabin, shutting the door behind them with a decisive snap. “Where’s Nora?”

  “On her way.”

  “Do we need to call someone else? The cops?”

  “I texted Bennet.”

  At this, Walker nodded once, resigned. Studying Quinn, his face softened. “You look pale. Have you eaten anything today?” he asked, his knuckles grazing her cheek in a gentle touch.

  “I’m pale because I’m worried.” She grabbed the front of Walker’s T-shirt. “We have to go. We have to find her.”

  “And do what?” he asked. “Run them off the road? We’re going to wait for Nora. For Bennet.”

  He was so cool, so logical. Quinn didn’t know whether to hug him or hit him.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” Walker prompted.

  Quinn tried to think back to the morning, to breakfast and Lucy’s sweet smile as they shared their favorite things. She’d tasted a single bite of the blueberry pancakes she’d so casually whipped up. The rest had been deposited, c
old and congealing, in the garbage can beneath the sink. What time was it now? A quick peek at the clock above the stove indicated it was almost four in the afternoon.

  “I’ll take that as a no,” Walker said. Then he instructed her: “Sit.”

  Quinn did as she was told. Liz, on the other hand, tried to come around the island, to take her spot in the kitchen beside Walker. But he would have none of it. Without even looking properly at his motherin-law, he put both his hands on the small of her back and ushered her out of his space. It was such a bold move Quinn caught her breath. She couldn’t believe that Walker dared to touch her mother. She half feared Liz’s wrath would turn him to stone. But rather than unleash on him, Liz just gave Walker a long, hard look. Then she climbed up on one of the barstools. There would be peace—for now. But Quinn knew that her mother wasn’t being obedient. She was biding her time.

  While Walker boiled water for coffee and removed a loaf of rosemary garlic bread from the basket on the counter, Quinn and Liz told him as much as they knew. About Quinn’s meeting with Nora, the ominous poster with Lucy’s face on it, and Tiffany’s sudden appearance at the cabin.

  “Wait.” Walker stopped them at this juncture. He carefully slid a mug of hot coffee across the counter to Quinn. It was just the way she liked it: creamy with milk and just a pinch of sugar. A sip-sized comfort. “If Tiffany is Lucy’s mother, what’s the problem?”

  “Something’s not right,” Liz said. “Lucy was happy to see Tiffany, but there’s something else going on here.”

  “That man.” Quinn gave a little shiver.

  “I think Tiffany was being forced.” Liz nodded.

  Walker looked skeptical. “Against her will? By whom?”

  “Him.”

  “Lucy’s father,” Walker suggested.

  “No, he’s not,” Quinn said, repulsed by even the thought.

  When the door slammed open they all looked up. Nora appeared moments later, Ethan not far behind.

  “What happened?” Nora demanded. She was distraught and disheveled, spots of high color on her cheekbones. But despite the unruly sweep of her hair and the way she seemed to shimmer at the edges—trembling, Quinn realized—Nora looked unyielding, battle ready.

  It awakened something in Quinn. “Hang on,” she said, jumping off the stool so she could stand toe-to-toe with her sister. “You tell me what happened. What is going on here?”

  “I’m not sure it’s any of your business.”

  “Oh, that’s rich!”

  “This doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

  “Excuse me?” Quinn knew she was yelling, but she didn’t care. “You think you can drop her in my lap without a word of explanation, let me grow to care about her, and then just whisk her out of my life without so much as a thank-you?”

  “Thank you!” Nora spat.

  “I don’t want your damn thank-you! I want to know who Lucy is!”

  “It doesn’t matter right now, Quinn. What matters is finding her. What—”

  Nora was stunned out of her tirade by a hand on her shoulder. Quinn watched as her sister blinked, fumbling for purchase on something solid, steady. It was Walker. He was standing between them, a Sanford girl in each hand. “Take a breath, Nora,” he said, but it didn’t come off condescending. It sounded like the first sane thing that had been said since Nora and Ethan walked in.

  Clearly, Nora wasn’t in the market for sanity. She shook him off. “Stay out of it, Walker.”

  “Oh, I’m very much in it,” he said, weaving his fingers through Quinn’s. “We all are. And we can’t do anything about it, we can’t help, until we know what’s going on.”

  “Don’t be so dramatic,” Liz called from her perch on the stool. They all turned as if they had forgotten she was there at all. “We know the bones of it. You’ve just got to flesh it out a bit for us, Nora.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked warily.

  “Well, we know that Tiffany is Lucy’s mom. And that Lucy isn’t her real name.” Liz pinned a stare so cool, so direct on her eldest daughter that Quinn felt herself lean back into Walker. She could feel it coming, the coup de grace: “And we know that she’s a Sanford.”

  For a moment, Nora’s face didn’t change at all. She peered at her mother, unblinking, like Liz had spoken in a foreign language and the words did not compute. But then she folded a little, her shoulders sagging and her mouth, too, the wind in her sails gone suddenly still. All the hope and ferocity that had held her taut fell slack.

  Quinn was there to catch her.

  It was an awkward embrace, made even more uncomfortable because Nora was still fighting it, still pushing away. Still angry. “What am I going to do?” she whispered over and over, pulling back from Quinn and then clutching her wrists so hard Quinn had to stifle a cry.

  “Come on, Nora,” Liz said. She stepped forward and enveloped both of her daughters. They stood there stiffly for a moment, uneasy in the fragile affection that was second nature to so many. Not them. Not their family. But they were good at other things. “Sanfords get shit done,” Liz said with conviction, and Quinn gaped at her mother’s use of language. It was so out of character it was downright unsettling. But Liz went on: “Let’s fix this thing. Just tell us what’s going on so we can figure out what to do.”

  And Nora did. The story was halting and spartan, and in some ways brought up more questions than it answered. But Walker supplied their motley crew with tall glasses of lemonade and thick sandwiches of his homemade bread slathered with unsalted butter and roasted red pepper hummus. They ate standing up, quickly, like they were fueling for whatever awaited them outside the walls of the cabin. And though it felt strange at first, Walker kept working, kept slicing bread and spreading it thick, pressing sandwiches and coffee and tall glasses of cold lemonade in their hands. They ate. They talked. They felt stronger.

  “I did what I had to do,” Nora said, but it sounded more like a confession than an apology. “Tiffany said that JJ didn’t want anything to do with her—that he told her to abort the baby.” Nora stalled, reaching for words, for a way to explain everything that had happened and her role in it. She settled on: “It’s my fault. All of it. I talked her into keeping Everlee.”

  “I’m glad that you did,” Quinn said quietly.

  “I convinced her that we could bring up a child together.” Nora shook her head. “Without JJ. Without any Sanford family help at all.”

  “I still don’t understand why you felt like you had to do it alone,” Quinn said.

  “Because even if JJ didn’t want her, Dad would have taken control. He would have forced Tiff to take care of the problem if he didn’t want the scandal, or fought to have Tiffany labeled an unfit mother and removed Everlee from her custody if it suited his purposes.”

  Quinn saw her mother start to say something, but she clamped her lips down tight. Nora was right and they all knew it.

  “Why’d you call her Lucy?” Quinn asked. “If her name is Everlee, why didn’t you just say so?”

  “I was afraid it would make you curious,” Nora admitted. “She’s named after the bridge. It happened at the Everly dance—only a couple days after our high school graduation. JJ was home from college, remember? And Tiff was masochistic enough to want that reminder every day of her life.” Nora drummed her fingers on the countertop, an indication of her growing impatience and the urgency of the situation. “I thought that if I showed up with a mysterious little girl and called her Everlee—an obvious connection to our community—you’d start wondering. You’d see hints in her mannerisms, her long legs, her eyes. She’s the spitting image of JJ—down to how she hums herself to sleep—but I thought if you weren’t looking for it, maybe you wouldn’t see it.”

  “We saw it,” Quinn said. “Walker knew the second he laid eyes on her.”

  “And now?” Walker said as he cleared away the glasses. “Who is this man? Why are you so afraid that Lucy”—he caught himself—“Everlee is with him?”

&n
bsp; Nora shivered a little and Quinn felt a tremor pass through her own body. “He’s evil,” Nora said simply. “He’s going to hurt her. And Tiffany. Both of them. I don’t know.”

  “Why’d he show up at Malcolm’s?” Quinn asked. “If Tiffany was with him, why’d he bother to track you down?”

  “To let me know he won,” Nora said. “He has exactly what he wants. And Tiff isn’t strong enough to stop him.”

  “Then we’ll have to.” The voice came from outside of their circle, from the hallway where Quinn suddenly realized the cabin door still stood wide open. The summer sun was careening down the hallway, bouncing off the walls and illuminating the place where Bennet stood haloed in the slanting afternoon light. He was dressed in street clothes, but there was a radio on his hip and as Quinn watched him it crackled to life, spilling static and indistinct phrases into the silence. It sounded very official. Very ominous.

  It made everything feel stark, surreal—and filled Quinn with an indefinable fear.

  NORA

  THERE WAS AN AWKWARD beat of silence while the whole room watched Walker regard Bennet. His face was blank, impassive as he looked between his wife and the newcomer, this stranger with a slightly thickening middle and generic good looks. Bennet was neat and clean shaven, immaculate compared to Walker’s ripped jeans, wrinkled T-shirt, and five o’clock shadow. Walker’s rowdy hair was escaping the short, sloppy ponytail he had pulled it into at the back of his head, and the wiry curls were little exclamation marks around his smooth forehead. The two men couldn’t possibly be more different.

  But in the second before things got downright uncomfortable, Quinn reached for Walker and slid two fingers through the belt loop of his sagging jeans. Her touch was possessive, unmistakable, and the strange hush in the room evaporated.

  “What can I do to help?” Bennet asked.

  “What do you know?” Nora spun on him, wary at the sudden appearance of a cop and yet grateful for the authority in his tone.

  “Not much.” Bennet took a small step back and put his hands on his hips. “I take it we’ve got a missing girl.”