NORA
QUINN WAS GONE, and for the moment, that was all that mattered. The thought that Donovan was here, in Key Lake, that he knew her sister’s name, had touched her skin, made Nora’s vision blur at the edges. If he had started the fire in the shack—and Nora had no reason to doubt that he had—Donovan knew what type of car Quinn drove and where she lived and what exactly she looked like when her guard was down. When she was alone. Never mind that Quinn was decades older than Donovan’s preferred type. She was young and lovely, still softly round in the way of someone much younger than her years.
Nora had seen the way he looked at her.
“I have an order of onion rings and a mineral water here.” A waitress hovered at Nora’s elbow, eyeing the empty seat where Quinn should have been.
“Yeah,” Nora said, grateful for the brief interruption. Her mind was spinning. How had Donovan found them here? It wasn’t a coincidence. Nothing with him was a coincidence.
The waitress plopped down a green bottle of Perrier in front of Nora and stuck the metal tower of onion rings in the middle of the table.
“Thanks, Nor.” Donovan plucked the top ring and dredged it through the little cup of sauce.
Nora didn’t know what to say.
“Your sister’s a real looker. How old is she?”
What was he trying to do? Scare her? Make her angry?
Unnerve her.
After Tiffany found Donovan touching her daughter in a way that no grown man should ever touch a child, she tried to find as many excuses as possible for Everlee to have sleepovers at Nora’s house. She didn’t dare to just run; their lives were too entwined, her dependency on Donovan and his paycheck absolute. Her surrogate mother was dying, her lover was terrifying, and when she gave the cops an anonymous tip in an effort to get Donovan out of the way, nothing came of it. What was he capable of? They just didn’t know.
So while they laid their plans, Tiffany started bringing Everlee over to Nora’s apartment. Hours at a time. Sometimes overnight. Nora gave the child warm baths and toast for breakfast. Peanut butter and Nutella, milk with so much Nestlé’s Quik she could practically stand a spoon up in it. But bubble baths and food couldn’t erase the things Everlee had seen. The things that had been done to her? Nora couldn’t bear to think about that.
One night when Everlee was supposed to be sleeping over, Donovan had shown up at Nora’s door. His eyes were rimmed in red and watery, but his hands were almost preternaturally steady. And his intent was clear. “Hey there, big girl,” he said, pulling Everlee into his arms. “Time to come home.” She was exhausted, already in her pajamas and on her way to bed, but she didn’t protest. Donovan held her close, arms wrapped full around the child, and he fixed Nora with a look that told her clearly: Know your place. She’s mine.
“You can’t have her,” Nora said suddenly, louder than she meant to on the patio where everything seemed sunny and bright.
“Excuse me?” Donovan had a mouthful of onion ring but that didn’t stop him from talking. And though the food in his teeth took the edge off his words, his entire countenance shifted at Nora’s proclamation. He arched like an animal catching a whiff of his prey. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Her birth father hasn’t signed away parental rights.” It wasn’t something Nora and Tiffany talked about. Ever. At least, not since Tiffany told her the truth about what happened that night. And they had promised each other never to speak of it again. To pretend that Everlee was immaculately conceived and wholly theirs. They were stupid, young. They had made a decision that would affect the rest of their lives when they were emotional and irrational and barely nineteen years old.
“She doesn’t have a daddy,” Donovan said, picking at one of his teeth with a fingernail. “At least, not yet.” He gave her a Cheshire grin, but it was menacing.
Nora felt Ethan’s hand brush against her leg beneath the table. If he was trying to comfort her or warn her, she couldn’t tell.
“I know who Everlee’s real father is.”
“You do.” It was a statement, not a question, and Donovan sat back again, folding his hands behind his head as if preparing himself for a good story. A funny one.
“Yes, I do.”
“So what?”
“So I’m going to tell him the truth.”
“You think he’ll believe you? You think he’ll care after all this time?” Donovan sneered at her, warming to his own narrative. “I think he’ll slam the door in your face. You can’t prove a thing.”
“DNA.”
He waved his hand, dismissing her. “Consent, sweet cheeks. DNA tests require a signature from the person whose samples are submitted.” It sounded rehearsed, memorized.
“He’ll consent.”
“I’m not sure he can.” Donovan leaned forward, hands flat on the table, and glared at her. But there was an emotion behind his eyes that Nora couldn’t place. Glee? He was delighting in this, but she couldn’t figure out why. “It’s been a long time, Nora. Things have changed.”
“Listen.” Nora angled forward, too, erasing the space between them until they were nearly nose-to-nose. “I know exactly what you are. And if you think I’m going to let you have Everlee, you’re dead wrong.”
“No need to be so nasty, Nora. I thought we were friends.” He reached out and ran a finger along her jawline before she could jerk away. “Besides, I don’t think you have a choice in the matter.”
She knew she shouldn’t take the bait, but Nora couldn’t help it. She felt like she was careening out of control, fierce and dazed as she spun round dizzy corners and tried to chart a new path, though the terrain was unfamiliar. Savage. “Of course I do. Everlee is my—”
“What?” he hissed. “Everlee is your what? I’ll tell you what. She’s not yours and she never was. You have no claim to her—or Tiffany. Tiff is that girl’s mother and she will call the shots.”
“Yeah, well, Tiffany’s not here right now, is she?”
Donovan pushed himself back roughly and stood, tugging the sleeves of his shirt as if he had just been in a fight and needed to right himself. “Funny you should mention that.” He smirked. “Turns out she’s not in New Ulm at all. Turns out Tiffany is right here.”
As Nora watched, he pulled a phone out of his back pocket and unlocked the screen. It was an old smartphone with a hot-pink case. Nora didn’t have to see the rhinestones or the skull and crossbones to know that it was Tiffany’s phone. A sense of dread slid through her, cold and sharp as a blade.
“How—”
“We’re soul mates,” Donovan told her, his lip pulled back in an ugly sneer. “Till death do us part.”
Nora spun around in spite of herself, scanning the crowd at Malcolm’s for a hint of the familiar. Please, God, she begged. Let Tiffany be here. But even before her desperate gaze had skittered over half the crowd, she knew that her search was futile.
When Nora turned back to Donovan, he was gone.