CHAPTER SIXTEEN

On Friday morning, Eve drove over to Amesbury and hiked around Woodsom Farm with Bear to clear her head. They walked down to the Powwow River, where the dog plunged into the water and paddled with such a joyful look on his face that Eve had to laugh.

Afterward, she toweled him off and he napped in the car while she went grocery shopping. It was late afternoon and starting to get dark by the time she got home, but she recognized the truck parked in her driveway. Even if she hadn’t, the island’s red dirt nearly covered the bottom half of it, a definite clue. Eve climbed out of the car in a hurry and opened the passenger door to let Bear jump out of her Subaru.

Darcy was resting his head against the seat and looked like he might be asleep. Eve rapped on the door, startling him awake. He grinned at her in a way that made her skin buzz and opened the door.

“Thought you’d never show,” he said and rubbed Bear’s head. “Well? You a Massachusetts dog yet? Or are you going to come back with me to Vermont?”

At the idea of Darcy taking Bear, Eve’s spirits fell. But of course he’d have to, since Bear wasn’t even his to keep, but his son’s. “I’ll miss him,” she said.

He studied her. “You mean that? Because I have a solution.”

“What?”

“My son says he wants to stay in Los Angeles after his MBA. You know, because they have so much spare water and so little traffic.”

She laughed. “And?”

“And he thinks Bear might not like the heat. I travel all the time, so I was wondering if you might want to have custody of this dog, and I’ll have visiting rights.”

She hugged him. “You made my day,” she said.

“Shoot. I thought I did that when I showed up.”

“You’re the second best thing that’s happened today.” Eve looped her arm through his as they walked up to the house. “Did you drive straight through?”

“Yep. And I have to get back to Vermont for a meeting on Monday.”

“You must be exhausted.” She hesitated, then added, “You’re welcome to stay here if you don’t want to drive straight back to Vermont tonight.”

“Music to my ears. Which reminds me!” He opened the car door again. “I brought you something.”

She laughed when he pressed a fiddle case into her hands. “But I don’t know how to play!”

“You have great natural musicality,” he pronounced, and winked. “And an even better teacher.”

Inside, she poured them each a glass of cabernet and laid out a platter of cheese, bread, and slices of salami. It was chilly enough to light a fire; they caught up about Darcy’s work before Eve filled him in on Zoe. Once again, she was struck by how intently he listened, never interrupting or offering to fix things. In her experience, most men were better problem solvers than listeners, so this was a relief.

Bear was snoring in front of the fire by now, having enjoyed his own small plate of salami and cheese rinds. “He looks right at home,” Darcy said. “Thanks again for looking after him. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t taken him off my hands. Work really exploded. I’m going to have to go back up to the island again before Christmas.”

“Me, too,” Eve said happily, envisioning more walks on the beach with Darcy. She wouldn’t have a relationship with him; she’d decided that. But it would be wonderful to have another chance to enjoy his company before the two of them went their separate ways.

“Good to know.” Darcy poured her a second glass of wine and refilled his own glass. “Your place up there has been busy.”

She nodded and told him about the roofing work and plumbing being done. “I need to get up there again before winter and do some more work on the house myself,” she said. “It’s too difficult to pick out wallpaper and trim paint long-distance. I have to stand in the rooms to decide what I really want.”

And to say good-bye one last time, she thought, but didn’t want to say. Why bring down the mood?

“Sounds like you’ve had a tough go of things with Zoe, but I’m glad for your sake that she’s all right.”

“Me, too.” Eve pinched the bridge of her nose, unwilling to cry. Where was all this emotion coming from? She had cried her fill when Zoe disappeared and again when Zoe returned. Zoe was here now. She seemed healthy. There was nothing to cry about.

Darcy was watching her closely. “Did you tell her about her father yet?”

“No. I’ve been waiting to see how stable she is.”

“Makes sense.”

Eve leaned against him. “I have made so many mistakes,” she said.

“Mistakes by the dozen?” he suggested, a smile in his voice.

“By the thousand!”

He laughed. “You and me both, baby.”

Eve made a face. “Don’t laugh. I mean it!”

“So do I.” Darcy turned on the couch so they could face each other. “Don’t you think anyone who lives to be as old as we are has made mistakes? That’s the beauty of life! We get to screw up over and over, always believing we’ll do things better the next time around. Sometimes we do, and sometimes we don’t. But the human heart never stops hoping. If it did, it wouldn’t keep beating.”

“You are a silly old fool—you know that? A hopeless romantic,” she said. “Though I never really understood that phrase. Shouldn’t it be ‘hopeful romantic’?”

“Either sounds better than being a hopeless cynic. Or a hopeful one.”

“Now you’re talking nonsense.”

“No,” he said, “I’m talking to you, Miss Eve.” He put his hands on her waist and pulled her onto his lap, then lay back against the sofa so that Eve was lying on top of him, resting her head just beneath his chin.

“You’re so tall. You’re built like something meant to climb,” she teased.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” he said, and kissed her in a way that made her forget that they were too old and wise, too foolish and broken, to be this hopeless and hopeful all at once.

•   •   •

Willow had expected to be grounded for the rest of her life after last night. But Catherine seemed different in the morning. Nicer. She packed Willow’s lunch for her and gave her extra money for the snack bar.

“What’s going on?” Willow finally asked.

Catherine turned from the counter, where she’d been loading the dishwasher while Willow ate her favorite kind of cheesy scrambled eggs with a piece of raisin toast. “What do you mean?”

“You’re being so nice.”

Catherine dried her hands on a towel and came over to sit at the table across from her. “I feel bad about how I blew up last night. I’m sorry.”

Willow shrugged. “You were worried. I get it. But I’m not a baby anymore.”

“I know. And I get that you went to Salisbury last night because you want to find out stuff about your mom. I don’t blame you. I have questions for her, too.”

Catherine looked pretty today, Willow thought. More relaxed. Her hair was in a bun and she wore Willow’s favorite green sea glass earrings from Prince Edward Island. “So why don’t you invite her here, then?”

“You’re right. I should. Maybe she’d come over for dinner one night. Would you like that?”

“Yeah. I’d even help you cook.” Willow frowned. “What happens if my mom decides she wants me to live with her?”

She was immediately sorry she’d asked, because Catherine’s face closed down, like someone had turned out the light in her eyes. “I don’t know. I’m trying to find out what Zoe wants. Why she’s here.”

“She came to see me,” Willow said, stung. “She told me that.”

“I’m sure that’s true, honey. But the thing about Zoe is that she’s a very impulsive person.” Catherine put her hand over her mouth and shook her head. “I shouldn’t say that about my sister. I don’t really know who she is anymore, you know? For a long time, Zoe was a risk taker. But I don’t know how much of her behavior was from the drugs she was taking.”

Willow curled her feet around the rungs of the chair, feeling miserable. “Do you think she still takes drugs?”

Catherine wiped her eyes. “I hope not. She seems okay, right? But you can bet that if you ever wanted to live with her, or even stay with her for an overnight, I’d make sure she was clean and sober first.”

“Is that what you want?” Willow asked, swallowing hard even though there was nothing in her throat. “For me to live with my mom again?”

“Oh, honey girl. How can you even think that?” Now Catherine was crying for real, the eye makeup running so that her eyes were circled in black streaks. “You’re the reason I do everything. You’re my family. I want you to live with me. Always and forever, okay? But the truth is that I’m not sure what would happen in court if your mom wanted you back, or what I’d do if you really, really wanted to try living with her again. Do you want that?”

In answer, Willow threw herself out of her chair and into Catherine’s arms, even though she was far, far too old to sit on anybody’s lap. She didn’t know what she wanted, other than to stop Catherine from crying any more.

•   •   •

Work was busy, even for a Friday, with a slew of kids coming down with a virulent stomach virus that kept the mothers coming in for advice on rehydration that they probably could have gotten over the phone. Catherine found herself feeling patient with them, though, after Willow’s surprising show of affection this morning. Maybe she hadn’t screwed up everything after all. And each of these moms, no matter how misguided, was trying to do her best by her child.

It was so easy to judge parents from the outside, she thought, as she tamed a squirmy toddler by pretending he had an elephant in his ear while the mother sat, white-faced with fear because her son had his third ear infection in two months. She could tell this mother that her son would be fine, that tubes were no big deal, that someday he’d outgrow all this. She could tell this mother that sometimes ear infections went away by themselves with no antibiotics at all. That was her job, advising parents. Infections and viruses and broken bones, yes, she knew about those. She took pleasure in sharing that knowledge. But about the big things, like whether a child would turn out to be good or bad, happy or sad, she knew nothing. Look at her own sister and herself. They’d been raised by the same parents in the same house. Yet it was as if Zoe and Eve—the people with the “fun” names, as Catherine used to think of it when she was young—were one family, while she and Andrew—serious names—were in another. Who knew what, or where, the tipping point was, when it came to a child’s personality?

Willow had been flip-flopping lately between affectionate and critical, honest and not. How would she turn out? And would her fate—or even her personality as an adult—be determined by who she lived with or by her biology?

These questions were making Catherine feel fogged in by anxiety. So when Alicia, the receptionist, offhandedly invited her to a spin class during lunch hour at the local Y, she surprised them both by accepting; she happened to have her gym bag in the car and desperately needed to clear her head.

Catherine had never tried a spin class. She was startled by the ferocity of the instructor, a guy in his sixties who looked and acted like he was in the Marines. He barked commands at them over the throbbing music: “Catch that bike in front of you. Come on. The chase is on. You can do it! Pedal, people, pedal!”

Ridiculous, she thought, staring at Alicia’s bobbing ponytail and tight buns perched on the stationary bike in front of her. We’re not even going anywhere.

But then something kicked in. She pedaled faster and faster, determined to catch Alicia, to outpace her and her youth, too. To prove that she was still in the race.

Afterward, Catherine was spent and so sweaty that she braved the slimy floor of the Y showers to quickly rinse off before going back to work.

Her thighs and calves were still burning when she got home. The doorbell rang as she was gathering up a load of wash. Mike’s sharp barks echoed up the stairs. She glanced at the clock. Too early for Russell. He was teaching in New Hampshire today; it was his weekend with Willow and he had arranged to pick Willow up in time for dinner; it wasn’t five o’clock yet and Willow was still at school. Catherine had even called the photography teacher to check.

The doorbell rang again before she reached it. Someone must be feeling impatient. Mike was still barking.

Catherine opened the door, expecting Mrs. Hurley, an elderly neighbor who seemed to routinely lock herself out of the house, or maybe the UPS man. But it was neither.

“Oh,” she said, stepping back.

Russell stood on the porch, looking sheepish. “I know I’m early,” he said. “I just thought it would be easier if I came straight here from New Hampshire to pick up Willow instead of fighting traffic into Back Bay first.”

“That’s fine. She should be home soon. Want some coffee?”

“Sure.”

“I’ve got beer, too, if you’d rather.”

“No, no. Coffee’s fine.”

Catherine started the coffee, her mind scrabbling for small talk that wouldn’t incite either of them to say anything they might regret later.

“How’s it going at the school? Do you like it?” she asked finally.

“It’s good, actually. Not the same caliber of student as at Beacon Hill, but the faculty’s nice enough, and Tim has done a great job of introducing me around so that I’m not a pariah.”

“You must be relieved.” Catherine stared at the coffee dripping into the pot, surprised at how easily Russell had found another teaching job and wondering how she felt about that. He wasn’t exactly a predator, but he had taken advantage of one of his students. She still had trouble reconciling that fact with the husband she’d loved.

On the other hand, Nola was a young woman of eighteen and very independent. She could see where, in a contest of wills between Nola and Russell, Nola would win.

“You bet I am. So how is she?” Russell asked.

Startled, Catherine realized that she didn’t know who Russell meant: Nola, Willow, or Zoe?

It was liberating to feel so disconnected from him. But she was wary about it, too. Where had her self-righteous ire gone? How had it evaporated so suddenly, without her even noticing? And what did that mean if it had?

It means you’re moving on emotionally. That’s what Bethany would say. And a therapist, if she could have afforded one.

She brought the coffee to the table with a plate of cookies and sat down across from Russell. “How is who?” she asked. “Willow?”

“Of course, Willow. Who did you think I meant?”

“I was thinking about Zoe, actually.” Sort of a lie: just then she’d been thinking about Grey, Zoe’s gypsy, and how ridiculous these bear-shaped cookies had looked in his hand. She’d found herself thinking of him more often than she would have admitted to anyone, even Bethany, picturing Grey’s black hair, his dark eyes, the way he’d looked on that motorcycle. Bad-boy alert! Luckily, she’d never been attracted to that sort of man, beyond her obvious and ridiculous physical response, unlike poor Zoe.

“Ah.” Russell stirred sugar into the coffee. “How are Willow and Zoe getting along? And how are you doing with it all?”

Funny, Catherine thought, watching Russell stir sugar into his coffee. He never used to take sugar. She was glad. The way his spoon clinked against the cup would have driven her mad through the years.

“I think they’re doing fine,” she said. “I was angry, of course, that Willow was sneaking off to see her. But then I realized how wrong that was. Why wouldn’t she want to see her mom, maybe get some answers? I’d like answers, too. I got Zoe’s address from her. I’m planning to see her tomorrow.”

“Really? Good luck with that.” Russell set the spoon down. “I imagine Zoe is as terrified of having a real conversation as you are. Does she know you’re planning to visit?”

“No. Not because I’m trying to ambush her, but either Zoe doesn’t have a phone or won’t give out her number, remember?”

“Christ.” Russell shook his head. “I’m sorry you’re going through all this, Catherine. But I’m glad for everyone’s sake that Zoe’s alive. So strange that she could pull off that total disappearing act. I wonder how she did it.”

“It couldn’t have been easy. She must have been looking over her shoulder every minute. It makes me wonder if she was running away from something.”

“Like what?”

Catherine shrugged. “With Zoe, the possibilities are endless. A drug deal gone sour. A gambling debt. An abusive boyfriend. A landlord suing her for back rent.” She sipped her coffee and winced; still too hot. “Anyway, my main concern is keeping Willow safe. I want to check out Zoe’s living situation before I give Willow permission to visit her alone, especially overnight.”

Russell frowned. “Willow wants to stay with Zoe? After everything her mother put her through?”

Catherine shrugged. “It’s an obvious next step. Willow is curious about her mom. I think, on some level, that Willow wants to take care of Zoe so she doesn’t leave again.”

“We can’t let her do that,” he said emphatically. “It’s dangerous. Zoe can’t be trusted.” His voice was rising in alarm.

“We don’t know that,” Catherine said, but she had to sweep her own panic into a dark corner of her mind. She’d visited Zoe in Worcester once, when her parents had pleaded with Catherine to talk her into a new rehab program. Willow must have been about three years old, a chubby preschooler with tightly coiled ringlets. It was a disaster of an apartment with scarcely any furniture.

Zoe was clearly high, grinning like a jack-o’-lantern and speeding around the filthy apartment, pretending to clean but really only moving clutter from one corner to the other. She’d asked for money right away, started sobbing when Catherine refused. Then she’d asked for vodka. Again, Catherine had said no, appalled.

“I need alcohol with my molly. You don’t get it. You just don’t get it. I’m going to crash!” Zoe had shouted, picking up one of the sofa cushions and flinging it hard across the room.

Catherine had taken Willow home with her, had given the girl supper and a bath. Willow had slept with her that night, her small sticky fist keeping such a tight grip on Catherine’s hair that she couldn’t turn over.

To Russell, she said, “Zoe told me she left Massachusetts because she couldn’t quit her lifestyle if she had the same friends. I think a social worker was threatening to take Willow from her, too, if I’m remembering right. Anyway, I don’t know how Zoe will do now that she’s back. She’s living in Salisbury Beach, not far from the people she partied with in high school. I think, in a way, that she came back not only to see Willow, but to test herself.”

“That sounds risky,” Russell said.

“I know. But all we can do is wait and see what Zoe’s next move is, right?”

“I guess. But I don’t like this a bit.”

At her feet, Mike circled between her chair and Russell’s, finally settling by Russell’s feet and looking up at him with a gaze groupies reserve for stage icons. She smiled. “Do you give that dog food from the table at your place?”

Russell reddened. “Sometimes. Accidentally. Maybe.” He glanced down at Mike and laughed. “It’s hard to resist that face.”

“I know. But that dog’s going to be the shortest two-ton pony on the planet soon. Hey, how’s Nola doing? Only two months to go, right?” There. She’d done it. All right, so she’d compared Nola to a two-ton pony, but still. She’d brought Nola up in a civil tone.

Russell shifted in his chair. “About that, yeah. I’ve got something to tell you. That’s the real reason I came by early.”

Catherine grew very still. “What is it? Twins?”

“No. It’s Nola. She’s kicking me out.”

“What?” Catherine had to force herself to close her mouth. “Why?”

Judging from the circles under Russell’s eyes, it was more than financial pressure and his job loss making him look older: he was unhappy. “She thinks we’re rushing into things by getting married so soon,” he said.

“But what about the baby?”

“Nola wants the baby. And she loves me, I think. It’s just that she doesn’t feel like I really love her.”

“Do you? I hope to hell you do. You threw away fifteen years of marriage for her! Willow, too. You jeopardized your career for that girl. Doesn’t that count for anything in her eyes?”

He looked at her in surprise. “No, actually. She’s young. Romantic. Passionate. What matters to her is love. Nola says we don’t have any sort of true love built on longevity or deep emotions. She’s a smart girl and a thoughtful one. Now she’s questioning everything, and I don’t blame her. Nola’s parents got divorced before her mother died. Her dad abused her, I think, though Nola won’t talk about it. Anyway, Nola knows what Willow went through with Zoe and what Willow’s going through now with us. She doesn’t want to put her child—our child—through that kind of pain, she says. She only wants us to get married if we’re very, very sure of each other.”

“But aren’t you?”

“I thought so.” Russell rubbed his face again and blinked hard at her. “Now I don’t know.”

Catherine felt on high alert, as if the refrigerator were humming inside her skull. “Why not?”

His voice was gentle. “Because I miss you. I miss us. And our life together.”

“Of course you do,” she said slowly, trying to gather her wits. “You and I were habits for each other.” Could he possibly be serious? Or was this just Russell’s way of trying to reel everything back, as his life was spinning out of control? She must represent safety to him, as he did to her. “I miss it all, too, what we had. But I’m beginning to think you were right.”

His brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“You were right when you accused me of not being interested in your work or your biking or in most other things you do. I was putting more of my energy in Willow and in keeping up with my work and the house than I was in you most of the time. And I’m sorry about that.”

“That hurts,” Russell said.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “But I don’t think you and I have been in love for a long time. We were working on staying married. There’s a big difference between that and love. Somehow, when we weren’t looking, our love morphed into something else, like resigned contentment.”

“I don’t know about that,” Russell said. “It nearly killed me when I showed up here the other night and that guy was here, Seth. Seeing you with him made me wonder what the hell I’d done, letting you go. What kind of fool am I?”

She thought of Grey on his motorcycle. “One thing you don’t need to worry about is Seth. I promise.”

“That’s good.” Russell reached out and took her hand. “Because that wasn’t a rhetorical question. I really have been a fool, Catherine. Maybe there’s a way we can fix this. What would you say if I moved back home and we gave things another shot?”

Catherine felt the smile fade from her face so abruptly, it was as if a hand had suddenly covered her mouth. “You can’t be serious.”

Russell was looking at her steadily. “I am. Think how good it would be for Willow if I moved back in.”

“But what about the baby?”

“I’d support the baby. I’d make sure I had joint custody. And I know how much you’ve always wanted a baby. You could help me raise mine.” Russell was warming to the idea now, leaning forward so that she could practically count the lashes around his brown eyes. “Besides, if I moved back in, Willow would feel more secure. You’d have a better shot at keeping her if Zoe decides she wants to fight you for custody, too. What judge would rescind the guardianship of two loving parents who have always given Willow the best of everything, in favor of a drug addict who abandoned her kid for five years?”

“Former drug addict,” Catherine said.

Russell shrugged. “So she says. Zoe would have to go a long way to prove that.” He put his other hand over Catherine’s, too, effectively trapping her hand on the table. “What do you think? Can we start over, maybe add a baby to our household?”

Privately, Catherine had her doubts about Nola wanting her baby anywhere near their house, but that wasn’t her main objection. “I don’t know.” She was having trouble breathing.

“Come on. You know it’s the best thing for us. For Willow, too. Just say yes!” He was smiling now, his brown eyes creased at the corners.

She’d always loved Russell’s smile, but her hands were sweating inside the cage he’d made of his palms. She pulled out of his grasp and wiped her hands on her jeans. “It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?” Russell’s voice was patient, but she could tell he was agitated by the way he was bouncing one knee.

Catherine didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until she blew it out again, trying to relieve the pressure that had built in her chest. “Because I don’t think I love you anymore.”

“What?” Russell sat back in his chair.

For one absurd moment, Catherine nearly laughed at Russell’s shocked expression. Had he really expected to convince her so easily?

A faint and nauseatingly petty voice inside her was saying, See how it feels, buddy? Huh? See how it feels? But she had to ignore that voice and give Russell’s suggestion serious thought. This was their marriage they were discussing, after all. The rest of their lives. Everyone was allowed to make mistakes. And if it came down to a custody battle with Zoe, Russell was right: the court might be more likely to let them keep Willow if they were a couple.

“I’m not saying I don’t love you,” Catherine said, wishing she could sort through her words and feelings more easily. And alone.

“Yes, you are. You just said exactly those words!” Russell argued. “How could you say that? I’ve said all along that I still love you!”

“You sure have a funny way of showing it,” Catherine snapped. “Look, Russell. Don’t rush me. I need to think. This is very sudden, and not at all what I was expecting.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Russell wrapped his hands around his coffee mug again, his expression contrite. The portrait of a well-behaved man. Mr. Manners. “I got carried away. I love the idea of a new start with you, Catherine.”

Russell was feeling at a loss because Nola was rejecting him, Catherine reminded herself. “I appreciate that,” she said slowly. “We’ve been through a lot together. It’s tempting to say yes. But I can’t just jump back into bed with you.”

“We wouldn’t have to,” he said quickly. “We could be roommates. I’ll stay in the guest room. I mean, while we work things out,” he amended, catching her expression. “We’ll take things slowly.”

She shook her head. The thought of Russell moving in was making her feel claustrophobic, as if the kitchen walls were moving in toward the table. She stood up and went to the sink to get a glass of water. “We can take things slowly without living together. I’m sorry,” she repeated, relieved to hear the front door open and Willow’s voice.

“Hey!” she called. “I’m home. Where are you?”

“In here, waiting for you,” Catherine called, and went to the hallway to meet her with a hug.

•   •   •

The excitement on the couch led them to the floor, and then, when both of them admitted they might be too old for that, to the bed.

At first Eve was hesitant about bringing Darcy into the bed she’d shared with Andrew, but none of the other beds were made-up. A bed is just a piece of furniture, she told herself as Darcy slowly undressed her. It can’t have any meaning you don’t give it.

But, oh, how wrong she was, Eve thought, her skin still humming as she and Darcy walked Bear down to Plum Island Roasters by the waterfront the next morning, where they had coffee and scones outside in the bright November sunshine. She would never look at that piece of furniture in the same way, now that Darcy had shown her all of the marvelous ways there were to not sleep in a bed.

They wandered through downtown Newburyport with silly grins, hands and hips touching. It was too early for the shops to be open, but they stopped here and there along State Street anyway, so Bear could drink out of the water dishes shopkeepers put out for dog visitors.

Back at the house, she came up behind Darcy and wrapped her arms around him. She wondered even as she did it who this new woman was, reaching for him. Andrew had always been the one to initiate. Malcolm, too. Not her.

She steadily unbuttoned Darcy’s shirt as he tried to do up the buttons, playing this game until they were both laughing hard, the same kind of stupid giggles she used to get with her sister when they were children and having a contest of faces. That giddy laughter of childhood, that mirth. Where did it go when you grew up?

It was still inside her, Eve was relieved to discover, as Darcy, still laughing, turned in her arms and said, “If you insist, madam,” and led her back to bed.

She did insist. Oh, yes, she did.

•   •   •

Willow and Nola had finished their homework by noon on Saturday. Russell was at the grocery store when Nola dropped her newest bomb. “So, Russell’s moving out,” she said.

“What do you mean?” Willow’s body froze in place.

“He’s moving out of my house.” Nola looked like she always did, saying this. A cross between pretty and smart, sweet and mean. Like she couldn’t decide who to be. Even in a blue striped maternity top that made her look, well, like a top.

Sometimes, looking at Nola was like looking at those drawings her art teacher had shown them that could look like different things depending on your perspective: an old lady or a young woman, a flower or a tiger.

“But why? And where’s he going to go?” Willow felt a hummingbird flutter of fear in her throat. Where would she go, if not here? Catherine always said she wanted Willow to stay with her, but would Catherine still want her if it meant having her all the time, now that she was used to having some weekends free and going out with Seth or Bethany?

Maybe Zoe would just take her someplace, like Florida, if Catherine and Russell didn’t want her. Willow pictured palm trees and alligators. She didn’t know if she wanted that. In fact, she was pretty sure she didn’t.

“I need my space. Guess Russell didn’t tell you like he said he would, huh? Figures.” Nola rolled her eyes. “He’s a nice guy, but kind of a coward, your dad.”

“He’s not my dad,” Willow said automatically, then felt guilty. Russell did everything a dad should do for her. Well, except be predictable. Predictable might be nice for a change.

“Whatever. He still should have told you.”

“Is it you or him?” Willow asked.

“Me, I guess. But sort of both.” Nola was sitting cross-legged on her Yogibo, where she’d been watching videos to help her study for her GED test; once she earned her high school degree that way, she was going to the community college part-time, she’d announced earlier today. Willow had been studying at Nola’s desk and was turned around now, straddling the chair. In this pose, Nola looked like a Buddha, with her belly sticking out and resting on top of her legs like it was a pillow shoved up under her shirt.

Her stomach wasn’t fake, though; Willow had seen the ultrasound photos. Nola had put them on Facebook and Instagram, even Twitter. Pretty much the whole world had seen how the baby was sucking his thumb inside Nola, his eyes closed. And, yeah, it was definitely a boy. That much was embarrassingly obvious.

Willow had felt the baby move, too. Nola had made her put a hand on her belly when it was happening. It was terrifying, like that ancient movie Alien. Willow had imagined Nola’s body splitting open and the baby coming out, all head and snapping jaws on a long neck.

“Why?” Willow asked again.

“I’m just not sure this is absolutely for me, you know, this whole playing house thing. Marriage.” Nola waved a hand. “I mean, I definitely want a baby. That’s cool. But marriage? Not so much. Every marriage is a train wreck waiting to happen. Just look around.”

Willow hated to admit that Nola was right, but she was. “What about Russell, though? Don’t you love him?”

“I don’t know. What is love, anyway?” Nola said, nibbling on a cuticle.

Love, thought Willow, meant knowing somebody would be on your side no matter what, which was what Russell had totally done for Nola. “So what’s going to happen?”

“No clue. I mean, I felt bad when I told him, no lie,” Nola said. “I really did. I know I pretty much fucked up his whole life. Yours, too. I get that. But it is what it is, right? That’s what my dad always says. He thinks it’s better to cut your losses before you get in too deep. Daddy says he’ll pay for a nanny. Carmen can’t do everything, I told him, and Daddy totally agrees with me. Plus, Russell will take care of the baby sometimes, like on weekends. That way I can still have a life.”

Willow wanted to choke her, but she reined it in. One thing she’d learned lately was that (1) you couldn’t change crazy, and (2) she’d better take care of herself. Her best bet now was to find her backup parent. Mike. It was time for him to know she existed.

“Okay, well, good luck,” she said. “I’ve been thinking about finding my real dad, anyway. Maybe spend some time with him.”

“That’s cool. Where does he live?”

“I don’t know. I guess I’ll have to look online or something.” Willow knew this was like feeding catnip to a cat. Little Miss Internet Addiction would grab at it.

Sure enough, Nola lit up and said, “Let’s do it! That bastard should at least give you college funds. What’s his name?”

Willow told her. Nola tapped Mike’s name into her iPad. Google brought up a bunch of junk. She tried Facebook next. There were tons of Michael Navarros, though, even when they typed “Massachusetts” into Facebook’s search bar. Willow felt discouraged. “This is harder than I thought. Maybe we should give up.”

“Hell no. What else do you know about this deadbeat?” Nola said.

“Don’t call him that. He might not even know I’m his.”

Nola’s eyes practically popped out of her skull. “Whoa. Your mom was a total player.”

“She was a total drug addict.” Willow bit her lip, feeling guilty about outing her mom that way. But nobody seemed to be playing by the rules anymore. Why should she? “My dad was a teacher and a magician,” she remembered.

By now she’d moved over to stand next to Nola, close enough to smell her strawberry lip gloss. It was funny how she’d stopped seeing Nola as sexy hot. Now she saw Nola as a hot mess. Like, that lip gloss probably drove guys insane with lust, but personally? Willow thought lip gloss was beyond gross. Wearing it made her feel like her mouth was glued shut.

Plus, she could see the baby moving under Nola’s shirt. The alien. So creepy. Definitely not hot. At all.

Willow fixed her eyes on the screen as Nola scrolled through Google searches, and wondered what this baby would think when he got old enough to know his mom was once the hottest girl in high school, until she screwed a teacher and got knocked up. Would she and Nola even know each other then? Probably not.

Weirdly, that thought made her sad. At least Nola, unlike most of the other people in Willow’s life right now, was always honest. You never had to guess what she was thinking.

As Nola next tried searching Mike’s name plus “teachers,” Willow suddenly remembered something else. “Try Montessori schools in Massachusetts with his name,” she said. “How many of those could there be?”

Not many. Most had Web sites listing the faculty with photographs. And there, in one of the Montessori schools in some town called Framingham, was a Web site listing Mike Navarro as the middle school science teacher.

“Where’s Framingham?” Willow asked, almost chewing through her cheek with excitement.

“An hour away.” Nola bent over to squint at the thumb-sized profile picture. “Holy shit. Your real dad’s hot.”

Willow yanked on a piece of Nola’s hair. “Stop. Be good.”

Nola laughed. “Yeah, yeah. Anyway, who’d want me now?”

So Nola knew she was over. Willow wondered if she minded. She didn’t think so. In fact, the more Willow thought about it, the more she thought that maybe Nola was glad. It must get pretty tiring to look like Nola.

“So all I have to do is get to Framingham.” Willow used her phone to search bus and train routes. “There’s a bus in an hour from South Station,” she said. “But then what would I do? We know where he works, but not where he lives.”

Nola was still moving her hands across her iPad like spiders. “White pages,” she said when Willow came over to watch again. “Here’s his address. And look. We can Zillow his house.”

Another few seconds, and there was the house, a white Cape.

“See?” Nola said, obviously pleased with herself. “Wow.” She squinted at the photo. “Looks like a doll’s house. So cute. I’d say your dad’s doing pretty good for a teacher. Zillow says it’s worth six hundred and seventy-five K. Trust fund?”

“Yeah, like everybody in the universe has one of those,” Willow said, rolling her eyes.

“Okay, so maybe your dad married somebody rich. That’s good, right?” Nola looked up at her expectantly. “You need to get some of that, girlfriend. You don’t want college debt.”

Willow felt uncomfortable. “That’s not why I want to find him.”

Nola was indignant. “It should be, though. Your mom didn’t get pregnant all by herself. That would be like saying Russell shouldn’t support his son.” She rested a hand on her belly.

Privately, that was exactly what Willow thought: Why should Nola get money from Russell, if she was the one who seduced him and then dropped him without a blink? Nola had plenty of money and now she was kicking him out. The poor guy wouldn’t even get to live with the kid he was paying for.

Then Nola took her by surprise again, saying, “We should go right now and catch your dad at home. It’s Saturday. He’s probably mowing the lawn or whatever.”

“Oh no. You are so not coming with me,” Willow said. “We’d probably give Mike a heart attack. And I can’t go now. Russell would kill me even if Catherine didn’t. I’m already in huge trouble. And I don’t have bus fare.”

“No probs. I’ll give you a ride.” Nola put the iPad on the pillow, where it always lived, stood up, and pushed her feet into a pair of striped Toms. “We’ll get back before Russell does. He said he was going to the store after the gym, and that guy can take a long time to pick out a chicken.”

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Willow said, but she was already tucking her phone into her pocket and looking for her shoes.