CHAPTER NINETEEN

From the crash outside, Eve thought raccoons must have gotten into the garbage and tipped over one of the metal trash cans. She’d been watching television, nearly asleep in her chair. Now she sat bolt upright and muted the sound.

Her heartbeat drummed in her ears as she waited, listening. She hated dealing with raccoons. They terrified her, with their black masks and humanoid hands. Plus, they always looked like they were laughing at some secret joke. A joke at your expense. She didn’t want to go outside and chase them away from the trash, make sure the lids were securely locked in place. That had always been Andrew’s job.

Andrew. She closed her eyes and pictured him as he’d looked greeting Marta in their home, Marta towering and magnificent in her heels and red sheath. Then she remembered Marta’s grief-ravaged face as it had looked in the coffee shop.

Marta and Andrew had had a son. Had her husband offered Marta child support? She hoped so. Andrew had insisted on handling the family’s finances. Their investments. Retirement plans. Eve never would have suspected a thing. Idiot.

She should be angry at Andrew. Monumentally angry. Instead, she felt a creeping sorrow, a helpless compassion for both Andrew and Marta.

Oh, what fools they’d all been. Andrew had loved Marta. He would certainly have adored their child, his only son. And then he had lost his child in the end.

With so much pain in the world, Eve thought, it was a wonder that human beings had the courage to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

A series of loud thumps from outside startled her into action. She jumped off the couch and grabbed the broom in the kitchen. Slowly, she opened the back door and peered outside. The trash cans were still upright. What, then, was making all that racket?

Then she saw the body lying on the ground. Eve gasped and slammed the door shut, locked it, and went to grab her cell phone. Just as she was about to dial 911, though, the contours of the prone figure re-formed in her mind: a narrow waist encased in leather, a gentle curve of hip, a small white hand.

Zoe?

Eve raced back to the door, unlocked it, and yanked it open. She approached the figure tentatively as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. Then she squatted down next to the blond head and said her daughter’s name.

Zoe was lying facedown on the cement sidewalk that led to the side door of the house. She was breathing, thank God, her hands curled into fists on either side of her head the way Eve remembered her doing in her crib as a baby. Zoe was angry even as an infant, protesting every nap and bedtime, raging with her howls and fists. Of course, that was the age of letting your babies cry themselves to sleep; Eve used to stand in the shower until the crying stopped to keep herself from picking Zoe up.

How differently she would do things now.

“Zoe? Sweetie, are you okay?” Eve said, feeling for the cell phone in her pocket.

Just as she was again about to call 911, Zoe lifted her head, turned to blink slowly at Eve, and smiled. A sloppy grin. Drool on the pavement beneath her face. Or was that vomit? Eve sniffed and moved back a little. Definitely vomit. Was she sick? Drunk?

“Come on! Talk to me, Zoe,” Eve said more sharply now.

“Mommy,” Zoe said, and dropped her head again. “Nice Mommy.”

Eve swore under her breath, grabbed beneath Zoe’s arms, and managed to turn her and hoist her to a sitting position. “Can you stand up?”

“Stand up?” Zoe said happily, her head bobbing like a rag doll’s. “Stand up, no way!”

“Yes way,” Eve muttered. She used her legs—thank God for all that running—and managed to get Zoe to her feet, then half dragged her daughter into the kitchen. She propped Zoe up on one of the chairs by pushing it all the way in to the table, until Zoe was half lying with her head on her arms the way she used to fall asleep if anyone tried to make her do homework.

“I need another drink.” Zoe picked her head up again and looked dazedly around the kitchen.

“No. You need coffee,” Eve said.

She kept checking Zoe as she made the coffee. Her daughter seemed stable, even peaceful. Her face was damp; Eve wiped it off with a paper towel before tipping a glass of water toward Zoe’s lips. It didn’t work. Zoe just grinned, and the water ran down the side of her mouth. “Funny,” she said.

“Not really,” Eve said.

The coffee was ready. She put an ice cube in a mug and poured coffee over it, adding two teaspoons of sugar. She fed the coffee to Zoe by the spoonful, until her daughter was sitting straighter in the chair and looked shell-shocked rather than comatose. Finally Zoe picked up the mug at Eve’s prodding and drank the rest of it down. She did the same with a second mug, and even nibbled at a piece of dry toast with cinnamon sugar.

“Yummy,” Zoe said. Then her eyes filled with tears. “Sorry. I’m so sorry, Mommy.”

“I know,” Eve said, and patted Zoe’s hand. “What happened? Why are you here?”

“To see you, because Catherine, she hates me.” Tears were sliding down Zoe’s cheeks, rinsing the rest of the mascara out of her eyelashes. Her face looked like she’d crawled out of a coal mine, streaked black with angry red patches, a nasty bruise on one cheek.

“Oh, honey, your sister doesn’t hate you,” Eve said.

“Yes. She does.”

“Why are you saying this? Did you see her?”

Zoe nodded in slow motion. “I told Cat what happened with Willow, why I really left. That guy, the bastard who hurt her. He’s why I left, you know? I told Catherine that, and now she says she’s ashamed to be my sister. She says I shouldn’t have Willow and I don’t think she’s right—is she? I’m her real mom! I took her baby blanket from when she was born everywhere, to Florida, even, to the shelters where I told everybody they couldn’t steal it or I’d cut them. But Cat says I don’t deserve Willow, because I keep putting her in danger. She doesn’t get that I’m not like that anymore.”

“Hush, now. Everything is going to be all right.” Eve put a hand on Zoe’s cheek to break into her dizzying monologue, remembering all of the times that Zoe had come to her like this, high or drunk or just in despair. Rambling. “Standing at the brink,” as she and Andrew said to each other: “Zoe’s standing at the brink again.”

“You need a shower and some pajamas,” Eve said. “Things will look better in the morning.”

Zoe did that slow blink at her again, processing this. “Morning is the fun time,” she pronounced, and giggled, though one fat teardrop still clung to her long lashes.

Eve sighed. “Let’s hope so, honey.”

She stayed in the bathroom while Zoe showered, finally turning off the hot water when she realized Zoe had fallen asleep standing up and was leaning in one corner of the glass enclosure. She noted two new tattoos—an owl on her lower back, Chinese letters scrawled down one arm—as she helped her into a clean T-shirt and sweatpants. Zoe’s head was heavy on her shoulder as Eve walked her into the bedroom and tucked her in, sitting on the chair next to the bed for a while to make sure Zoe wouldn’t vomit again.

Downstairs, Eve fished in her handbag for the business card Grey had given her with his number on it. She hesitated; it was late, after ten o’clock. But then she dialed with trembling fingers. Grey was close by and seemed like the only real friend Zoe had right now. She reached him on the second ring and explained the situation.

“I want us to talk to her together,” Eve said, pressing the phone hard enough against her cheek that she could feel her molars beneath her skin. “Can you come here tomorrow morning?”

“For an intervention, you mean?” he asked.

“Let’s call it a conversation. We need to help Zoe stay straight. She’s come this far. I can’t let her go again.”

“Agreed. I’ll be there,” Grey said.

“Thank you.”

Next, Eve dialed Catherine. She sounded groggy and irritable and was far less amenable to Eve’s suggestion that she come to Newburyport in the morning. “Mom, it’s almost eleven o’clock and I’m in bed,” she said. “Couldn’t this have waited until morning? I can’t think straight. And it’s not like this is an emergency.”

“You don’t know what kind of state your sister was in.”

Eve could practically hear Catherine’s eyes rolling as she said, “Oh, I think I can imagine it. Hardly a news flash if she’s drunk.”

“Catherine, that’s unfair. She’s been sober for months. Something must have happened to make her relapse.”

“Not necessarily.”

Eve heard it in Catherine’s voice, though: a note of guilt. “What happened between you two?”

“You don’t want to know, Mom. And I don’t want to talk about it. You’re on her side. I get that. It’s always been that way: you and Zoe, Dad and me.”

“No,” Eve said, though of course Catherine was right.

“Yes,” Catherine insisted. “And now you’re asking me to come over and help fix Zoe like I always have. To be her second mother. Well, I’m sick to death of that. I am beyond done with being her caretaker. Nobody has ever held Zoe accountable for her actions. That’s why she’s the way she is.”

“Are you implying that your father and I are responsible for your sister’s behavior?”

Catherine sighed. “Go to bed, Mom. I’m not playing the blame game now.”

Eve swallowed what was left of her pride and said, “I need you to be here tomorrow morning to talk to Zoe with me. Please. Do it for me, if not for your sister.”

“I don’t know if I can stomach that. I really don’t.”

“Catherine, please. Grey is coming, too. We need to work this out together. I’m not letting Zoe slip away again. I want Willow to be here, too.”

“Absolutely not,” Catherine said fiercely. “Willow’s at Russell’s for the weekend. She texted me to say she’s going straight to school from there on Monday. Anyway, I refuse to subject her to one more second of her mother’s irresponsible behavior. You have no idea how much danger Zoe has already put her in.”

Eve shivered, feeling the icy floor through the soles of her slippers. “What do you mean? What kind of danger?”

“Ask Zoe,” Catherine said, and hung up.

•   •   •

Catherine didn’t sleep well. How dare her mother ask her—no, expect her—to give up her Sunday to drive all the way the hell up to Newburyport, for some family intervention with Zoe that would be just as useless as anything else they’d ever tried?

She felt hot beneath the covers. She was so irritated with Zoe and with her mother, too, that the sheets might as well have been woven out of fiberglass. Her skin was on fire.

She got up and took a shower, then finished the book she was reading as the darkness finally started to lift and the sun stained the gray sky a watered-down pink. She made scrambled eggs and read the newspaper, waiting until midmorning to get dressed. She refused to kowtow to Zoe’s needs, not ever again. Especially not after her sister’s horrible revelations about Willow’s abuse.

Now she and Russell would have to deal with that, too, on top of everything else. They’d have to take Willow to see another therapist. Someone who specialized in sexual abuse. Her stomach turned at the thought. What, exactly, had the poor kid been subjected to?

It didn’t bear thinking about. Yet Catherine knew it had to be dealt with and that she was the one who would have to do it. Otherwise, Willow could end up with bigger trust issues than she already had.

Meanwhile, what good was Zoe? None whatsoever. She’d followed her usual pattern: obliterated herself with alcohol or drugs, then gone to their mother for absolution. Oops! So sorry, Mommy! I was bad!

Fine. Let Zoe live her miserable life. Catherine wanted no part of it. She was an adult. An adult in charge of a girl, now a teenager, who was more troubled, even, than Catherine had suspected when Willow had first come to live with her. No matter how much it cost, she vowed to fight Zoe for custody if things came down to that.

Her phone rang as Catherine was leaving to meet Bethany for a walk. She was relieved to be walking outside and breathing in the cold air. “Hello?”

It was Russell. “We need to talk about Willow.” His voice was grim.

Catherine had forgotten her Bluetooth; she pressed the cell phone to her ear as she navigated the crowded sidewalk and tried to hear Russell over the steady throbbing noise of traffic. “Why? What’s going on?”

“That’s what I want to know. Willow gave Nola some lame excuse about needing to leave our place early yesterday so she could study instead of spending the day. She took off while I was at the grocery store yesterday morning. I wasn’t going to make a big deal out of this, but after thinking about it more last night, I decided that was a mistake. I need you and Willow to understand that when it’s my weekend, I call the shots.”

“What are you talking about? What are you accusing me of, exactly?” Catherine stopped walking so suddenly that a man behind her bumped her shoulder. He muttered something and kept moving past her while she stood there.

“You let her come home yesterday, and it was my weekend,” Russell said angrily. “That’s not playing fair, Catherine. You always accuse me of bringing Willow home too soon when it’s my night for dinner, but when it suits you, when you’re lonely on the weekend, you let her come home whenever she pleases.”

“I do not! Russell, she’s not here!” Catherine said, feeling her heart start racing. “Willow never came home yesterday. In fact, she texted me to say she planned to spend Sunday night at your place because you were going to help her with a paper. I thought you were taking her to school tomorrow morning. Why? What did she tell you?”

“She didn’t tell me anything!” Russell roared. “That’s what I was saying! Willow texted me while I was at the store yesterday morning and said she was leaving to study with a friend at your house.”

“Oh my God,” Catherine whispered. “So where is she?”

“I don’t know. Jesus. Where’s Zoe? Could Willow have sneaked off to see her?”

“That must be it,” Catherine said. “Mom called last night and asked me to come to Newburyport to speak to Zoe. Apparently Zoe had some kind of relapse and was drinking. She’s at Mom’s house in Newburyport right now, and Mom wanted Willow to come with me to talk to Zoe. Some kind of family intervention, I think. Mom asked Zoe’s friend Grey to be there, too. I told Mom I didn’t want to do it, but maybe Mom called Willow and asked her to come anyway.”

“She wouldn’t do that,” Russell said. “Your mother would never tell Willow to come up to Newburyport alone. And, anyway, that still doesn’t explain where Willow was last night.”

Catherine was having trouble breathing. “With another friend, maybe? So she could go to Mom’s this morning on her own without telling us? She knows how we feel about Zoe. And, if Mom thought it would help Zoe to hear Willow ask her to stay sober, Mom would do it.”

“Did she have money?”

“I don’t know,” Catherine said. “But the bus doesn’t cost much. She’d figure out a way. Look, I’m hanging up now to call Mom. I’ll call you back.”

“All right,” Russell said.

Catherine dialed Willow’s number. When there was no answer, she called her mother; when Eve picked up, she barked into the phone, “Is Willow there?”

“No, of course not,” her mother said. “You said she was at Russell’s.”

“I thought she was, but Russell just called me to say that Willow didn’t spend the night at his house,” Catherine said, fumbling for the right words. Her throat was tight with fear as she explained what was going on.

“Could she have spent the night with a friend?” Eve asked.

“I don’t know! Did you talk to her? Tell her what happened with Zoe last night?”

“I didn’t tell her about Zoe’s behavior, but Willow did call me this morning. She wanted to know if she could come up here next weekend and maybe see her mother at my house, since you don’t want her seeing Zoe unsupervised. But I would never, ever tell Willow to see her mother without your permission. I certainly didn’t tell her to come up here this morning.”

Catherine thought about this, biting her lip hard enough to hurt. “Did you tell her Zoe’s at your house, though?”

“Yes.”

“All right. Keep Zoe there, will you, please? I’m betting Willow might try to come up and see her. I’ll head up to Newburyport and catch up with her there.”

“That doesn’t make sense, honey. Willow wouldn’t come up here without you, would she?”

“Why not? She went to Salisbury by herself,” Catherine said. “I don’t know what Willow’s capable of anymore, Mom. Look, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you when I know something.” She hung up and dialed Russell as she hurried back up her porch steps. She told him what her mother had said, adding, “Can you stay home today, in case Willow shows up back at your place? I’m going up to Mom’s. Zoe’s there, and Willow talked to Mom this morning, so she knows that. I’m betting that Willow’s on her way to Newburyport.”

“Wait,” Russell said.

Catherine heard a voice in the background: Nola. She waited several moments before he came back on. “Nola says she knows where Willow might have spent last night.”

Catherine unlocked her front door, grabbed the car keys off the table in the front hall, and let herself out again. “Why would Nola know?”

“She took her there, apparently,” Russell said. “They drove out to Framingham. Willow wanted to meet her real dad. Some guy named Mike Navarro. Have you heard of him?”

Catherine swore under her breath. Nola’s fault, again! “Yes. He used to be Zoe’s boyfriend. Then they were roommates for a while. I don’t think he’s really Willow’s dad. Did Nola give you his address?”

“Yes. She’s finding the number for me online right now. Hopefully the guy has a landline. Wait for me to call him before you start driving north, all right? Otherwise you might be on a wild-goose chase.”

“All right. But hurry,” Catherine said, because she couldn’t imagine waiting at the house and doing nothing if Willow was in some kind of danger.

But maybe she wasn’t. Maybe—in the best of all possible worlds—she really had found her father, and it was as simple as that: locating Mike Navarro, whom Catherine vaguely remembered as a skinny nerd who used to love playing Ping-Pong with them in the basement of their house in Newburyport. Mike had come up to Chance Harbor with them once, too, and entertained them with magic tricks.

Russell called a few minutes later. “All right,” he said. “I talked to Mike. He says Willow spent the night at his house. She told him she’d cleared that with us.”

“That little sneak.” Catherine felt a pulse start in her temple, like someone was pushing something sharp there. “Why is she lying to us about everything all of a sudden?”

“I don’t know,” Russell said, sounding grim, “but I’m sure you’re going to say this is all my fault.”

Catherine wanted to blame him. To blame someone. But she said, “No, it’s not all you. It’s everything.”

They were both quiet for a moment. Then he went on. “Mike thinks you’re right that Willow’s trying to see Zoe. He says he dropped her off at the bus station in Framingham this morning. She told him she was taking a bus to her grandmother’s house.”

“Did he know which bus?”

“No,” Russell said. “But according to what he told me, and to the schedule I found online, she probably got on the eight o’clock from Framingham to Boston. If she got directly on the nine o’clock bus to Newburyport after that, she’d be there by ten ten.”

“I’m driving up there,” Catherine said. “Oh, and tell Nola thanks very much for continuing to make my life such a fucking nightmare.”

•   •   •

Zoe sat bolt upright in bed, as if an alarm had gone off. Her short hair was pushed to one side of her narrow face, giving her the look of a molting bird. The bruise on her cheek was an extravagant blossom of red and purple. “Why am I in my old room?” she asked in astonishment.

Eve had been sitting beside her since Catherine’s call, the cell phone in her hand, about to wake Zoe and ask if she’d talked to Willow last night. “I put you to bed here. What do you remember about last night?”

“Not a lot.” Zoe looked quickly around the room, then stared intently down at herself, as if checking for wounds.

Eve waited quietly beside her. She imagined this must be a routine that Zoe had developed over the years. She shuddered a little, thinking of all the times Zoe must have been as out of it as she’d seemed to be last night. So much could have happened to a young woman in that vulnerable state. Probably had happened, in Zoe’s case.

Then Eve remembered what Catherine had said about Willow. The poor child. What had she seen and heard through the years? And where could Willow be now? Eve had to hope that Willow was sensible enough to keep herself safe.

Zoe took a deep breath and looked at her now with troubled eyes. “I remember you finding me outside,” she said. “I was pretty drunk.”

“Yes. Did you do anything else?”

“What do you mean?”

“Drugs, honey.”

Zoe shook her head. “I was on my way home from Cambridge, but I was upset, so I stopped at a bar in Newburyport. Some guy kept buying me drinks. I made myself throw up in the ladies’ room because I realized I’d had too much, but I knew I still shouldn’t drive. I walked here. God. I don’t even remember where I left the car.”

“Where were you before the bar?”

“Catherine’s.” Zoe put a hand to her mouth for a minute, wincing, then said, “We had a fight. A bad one. She threw me out of her house.”

“What was it about?”

“Willow.” Zoe lay back down on the pillow and pulled the covers to her chin. “Cat hates me now because of some things I told her.”

“What things?”

Zoe closed her eyes and thrashed her head hard against the pillow. “I don’t want to tell you. I shouldn’t have even told Catherine. I was just trying to explain why I left Willow. How I was trying to protect her. But Catherine told me I’ve fucked up Willow’s whole life.” She opened her eyes again and stared up at Eve. “Do you think that’s true?”

“No,” Eve said with as much certainty as she could inject into her voice. “Willow is resilient and smart and loving. Anyone who knows her can see that.”

“I’m not sure. That’s what Willow lets us see,” Zoe said miserably. “I think she might be unhappy, Mom. Really unhappy. And that’s my fault.”

She could be right, Eve thought, but there was no point in speculating about that. “Did you talk to Willow last night, honey?”

Zoe shook her head. “No. Why?”

Eve debated about whether to tell Zoe that Willow was missing, then decided there was no point in saying anything about that, either, because it might upset Zoe. She couldn’t chance that now, with Grey on his way. She could only hope that Willow had spent the night with a friend and was perfectly fine, just feeling rebellious because Catherine wouldn’t let her see her mother.

Not that Eve blamed Catherine for being protective, but the sisters were going to have to work something out that would allow Willow more regular contact with Zoe, at least if they could keep Zoe on the straight and narrow. Which was her main goal this morning, in asking Catherine and Grey and Willow to come to Newburyport: Eve wanted to convince Zoe that her actions affected all of them, not just herself.

Finally, Eve said, “No reason. I just wondered. Anyway, I’m glad you came here last night. I’ve been trying to find time to see you alone. I need to tell you some things that might help you. I fucked up, too.”

Zoe gave her a sharp look. “Mom! I can’t believe you said the F word.”

“I meant it, though. I royally fucked up.”

“Quit saying that! It doesn’t sound like you!”

“I’m sorry, honey. But there really isn’t another word for what I did. For so many mistakes I made.”

“Like what?” Zoe challenged, then instantly raised both hands to ward off an answer. “No. I don’t want to know.”

“Yes, you do.” Eve sat up beside her. “And I don’t have any choice. I have to tell you these things because they concern you. You and your father,” she added.

“Daddy,” Zoe said mournfully. “He hated me as much as Cat does.”

“No, sweetie. He just couldn’t see you as a person.”

“What does that even mean?” Zoe chewed on a thumbnail.

Eve put a hand on her daughter’s wrist, tugged Zoe’s fingers away from her mouth. “Daddy wasn’t your real father.”

“What?”

Eve had never actually seen someone’s mouth drop open in surprise before, but her daughter’s did now. It was almost comic.

“See?” she said. “You’re not the only one who fucks things up.” Eve watched as a series of complicated emotions passed over her daughter’s pretty freckled face. Waited for the inevitable questions.

Finally, Zoe said, “Did Daddy know I wasn’t his?”

“Oh, yes.”

“So you had an affair after Catherine was born? Wow. Why?”

Eve hesitated as she formed a response. She was so sick and tired of lies. Lying had obviously never done their family any good at all. “Your father was seeing another woman and I was hurt. Devastated, really. I thought it was somehow my fault that he wasn’t satisfied. I had an affair because of that, only the affair turned into something more. I fell in love with that man and got pregnant with you.”

Zoe’s face was pinched with shock. “Who was he?”

“Your dad’s cousin Malcolm. He was a fisherman on PEI.”

“Did I ever meet him?” Zoe looked panicked now, her eyes darting about the room.

“No.” Eve felt the weight of her old sorrow, heavy and damp, as if she were lying facedown in a chilly field, a boot on her neck.

One therapist she’d seen after Zoe disappeared, when Andrew was trying to convince her to have a memorial service for her, had tried to explain to Eve that each person’s sorrows harken back to some original pain. The past is always with us, the therapist said, so there’s no point in ignoring any of it. “Love yourself as you were in childhood, during adolescence, and as a young woman, and you will love yourself now,” she had promised.

Eve hadn’t ever tried following that advice. But now she knew that the therapist was right. She could see in Zoe’s adult face how she’d looked as an infant, her cheeks round, her hands chubby. She remembered the satisfying physical sensation of Zoe clinging to her neck when she cried, hot with fever or murmuring in her sleep.

At the same time, Eve could picture Zoe exactly as she’d looked as a skinny girl in elementary school, wearing a hot pink snowsuit and tunneling through snowdrifts with Catherine. She could also envision Zoe as a teenage girl in tight jeans and tank tops with armholes cut dangerously low, a girl who’d learned the power she had to attract boys and men, and as a harried single mother scraping by in an apartment where every day there were noisy arguments in the apartments around her, the sounds of despair and anger filtering through the floor and ceiling.

Yes. The past was with her, and with Zoe, too, going all the way back to Eve’s own feelings of anger and abandonment with Andrew, to her affair with Malcolm and Zoe’s beginning, to Eve’s love for this daughter and her mistakes winding through Zoe’s life, through Zoe’s own love for Willow and mistakes as a mother, all of that twining together like strands of the same rope.

“Mom?” Zoe said, startling Eve into wakefulness again, though she’d been sitting there with her eyes open. “What happened to my real dad?”

“Malcolm drowned before you were born,” she said.

Zoe’s eyes swam with tears. “Oh.”

“But he does have family. They would love to see you, if you wanted that.”

“I’m not sure I do. Did Daddy know it was Malcolm?”

“Yes. He said he didn’t care. Daddy just wanted me to stay with him. He wanted you, too,” Eve added.

“But he didn’t really, did he?” Zoe raked a hand through her hair. “That’s why everything I did drove him crazy. It makes sense now. Why he couldn’t love me like he loved Catherine.”

Eve waited. She had thought Zoe would be angry: furious that her father had died, or that Eve had stayed with Andrew, or at the very least, that they’d kept this information from her. “I wanted to tell you before,” she said.

“I bet.” Oddly, Zoe didn’t seem angry. She simply drew her knees up to her chin and clasped her arms around them, rocking a little on the bed. “Thank you for telling me now,” she said. “That must have been hard, Mommy. All of it.”

“It was,” Eve said. “Especially because one of your father’s—I mean Andrew’s—conditions for our marriage was that we didn’t tell you. He was afraid you might not accept him as your father if you knew.”

“Maybe he was right,” Zoe said as the doorbell rang.

Eve glanced at the clock on the bedside table. “Good God,” she said, “it’s getting late.”

“So? Are you expecting someone?”

“Yes.” Eve scrambled out of bed and dashed across the hall to her room, calling, “I invited Grey for breakfast.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I thought you could use a friend,” Eve said, hoping this would go over well, that Zoe wouldn’t feel tricked or ganged up on when Catherine showed up, too.

And Willow? Where could Willow be? Eve wondered, her palms slick with nerves as she dressed quickly and made it downstairs just as the doorbell rang a second time. When she opened the door, she was startled to see a woman with Grey.

“This is my mother, Madame Justine,” he said. “She cares a great deal about Zoe. I thought it might help if she was here, too.”

“It’s nice that you both made the trip,” Eve said. “Thank you. Please come in.”

Madame Justine was short and round, with her son’s deep olive complexion and intelligent dark eyes. She wore a long black skirt and a short blue jacket with a brightly patterned purple shawl wound at her neck. Her long black hair was silvered with gray and she wore silver hoops in her ears.

“Please, sit down,” Eve said.

“You have a lovely home.” Madame Justine’s voice was a rich alto, almost as deep as a man’s.

“Is Zoe still here? Is she all right?” Grey asked.

“Yes. She is now. But she wasn’t in great shape last night.”

Before Eve could say more, Zoe came downstairs, wearing a pair of Eve’s leggings and one of Andrew’s white shirts. Andrew wasn’t a big man, but the shirt hung nearly to Zoe’s knees. She wore the sleeves rolled up.

“Hey, Mama Justine,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

Zoe didn’t sound alarmed, only curious, Eve was relieved to see. Now she regretted her decision to call Catherine. Perhaps, given what the sisters had gone through last night, it would be better not to involve Catherine.

“You sit down right here, Zoe,” Madame Justine commanded, patting the couch cushion between herself and Grey. “You gave your poor mama a scare, daughter.”

Eve started at the word, feeling immediately defensive. This woman knew more about Zoe’s life, past and present, than Eve did, and that rankled. “Can I get anyone coffee or tea? Something to eat?” she offered.

Zoe and Grey both asked for coffee. Madame Justine shook her head.

Eve was glad to escape to the kitchen, where she started a pot of coffee and then, still not ready to return to the living room, made toast and put it on a tray with butter and jam. As she brought everything into the living room, Zoe was laughing at something Madame Justine was saying about telling a couple’s fortune at the Salisbury Beach boardwalk.

Once she’d sat down on the chair across from Zoe and Madame Justine, Eve fumbled for words. “Thank you both for coming,” she said.

“Why did they, Mom?” Zoe said. “I have my car in Newburyport. I can drive myself back to Salisbury. I mean, as long as I can find it and the car hasn’t been towed.” She looked momentarily chagrined. “It isn’t even my car. I’m supposed to deliver it to Maine tomorrow.”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Eve said. “Anyway, that’s not why I called them.” She took a deep breath, wondering how to begin the conversation.

•   •   •

“You sure you don’t want me to pick you up?” Nola had hissed into the phone when Willow called her Saturday night to say Mike wasn’t her real dad but she was spending the night there anyway. “You don’t even know this guy.”

“He’s gay,” Willow said. “Don’t worry. Nothing bad’s going to happen.”

“I still don’t get why you want to stay there,” Nola said.

“Because Mike was with my mom at the university. He says he doesn’t know who my dad is, but I think he has to, since she got pregnant right after they broke up,” Willow said, thinking things through as she talked to Nola. “Anyway, I’m going to find out whatever he knows. Just cover for me, okay? You owe me that much for all the shit you’ve pulled.”

Nola had finally promised, so Willow had hung up and told Mike she was tired. “Is it okay if I spend the night? Mom says it’s fine.” She waved the phone at him. “I was just talking to her.”

He had frowned. “How will you get back?”

“Oh, no probs. I told my mom I’d meet her at my nana’s house in Newburyport. We go there almost every Sunday. To visit her, you know, since my grandpa died. If you drive me to the bus station in Framingham, I can just take the bus to Boston and get another one to Newburyport.”

On Sunday morning Willow woke to the smell of pancakes and bacon. Sammy served her a plate with a pancake made up to look like a face, with a bacon smile, banana slices for eyes, and whipped-cream hair. Mike was still in the shower, he said, and then Sammy went to the gym and Mike came downstairs, wearing a striped shirt and jeans.

They ate together and looked at the newspaper. Finally, as Willow helped Mike clear the table, she said, “You must remember the guy my mom dated after you broke up, right?” she said.

Mike shifted his feet at the sink and looked worried. “I know what you’re trying to find out, Miss Nancy Drew, but I don’t know a thing. Your mom wasn’t really dating anybody steadily.”

“All right. Who did she hook up with, then?”

Mike sighed. “You need to ask her that.”

“I can’t!” Willow said in desperation. “My mom’d been gone for five years. If I start bugging her about things now, I’m afraid she’ll leave again!”

Mike put his arms around her, drew her close. “That’s the risk you’ll have to take if you bring up this subject. But I know your mom. Zoe is always honest if she’s not on anything. If she does choose to answer your questions, she’ll tell you the truth. Wouldn’t that be better than me guessing who your dad is and getting it wrong?”

Willow wanted to resist being near him. Being near anyone. But Mike smelled good—lemony from the shower or the dishwasher soap, she wasn’t sure. She rested her head on his shoulder for a moment before pulling away again. “I don’t see why this has to be such a big secret.”

“Me, either,” he said. “But Zoe obviously feels uncomfortable talking about it.”

“Maybe she doesn’t even know which guy was my dad,” Willow said. “Maybe she was hooking up at parties.”

By the way Mike’s arms stiffened, she sensed she’d stumbled onto the truth at last. “Oh God,” she said softly, and pulled away to look up at him. “That’s what happened, isn’t it?”

“Willow, I cannot discuss this with you, truly,” Mike said. “It would be disrespectful to your mother, for whom I still feel a great deal of, perhaps misplaced, affection. Please do not ask me again.”

He dropped her off at the bus stop. Willow boarded the next bus to Boston like a robot, handing the driver her ticket blindly and dropping into the first available seat next to a fat old guy with his nose practically resting on his phone. He smelled like coffee and bananas. Willow bit the inside of her cheek to take her mind off the stink, tasting salt and blood, swallowing hard.

At South Station, she got off the bus and called Nana before going in to look at the schedules. She had to see her mother—her real mom—alone if she was going to find out any more about her dad. When she asked Nana if she could meet with Zoe at her house in Newburyport, there was a hesitation.

“What is it, Nana?” Willow demanded. “Has something happened to my mom?”

“No, no, honey. She’s fine. She’s right here, in fact. Zoe spent the night at my house last night. And I think it’s fine if you want to meet her here next weekend, but you have to ask Catherine. She’s still your guardian, and it’s her job to look out for you. We have to respect that. Please don’t make a plan with Zoe behind Catherine’s back. That’s all I’m asking.”

Willow was infuriated. Who were these so-called adults in charge, telling her what to do? None of them could even manage their own freakin’ lives. Why should they be allowed to manage hers?

“Fine,” she said. “Listen, I’ve got to go. Talk to you later.”

She hung up and wandered into South Station. It was noisy with weekend travelers this morning, but it had been nearly empty the night her mom left. Willow’s teeth had chattered so hard that night that she was scared other people could hear them. She’d been so cold and scared, and her jacket had been wet from the rain. She’d pressed her forehead into one corner of the wooden bench after calling Catherine, praying for her aunt to come fast even though she didn’t believe in God. If he existed, why would he let her end up in a bus station with a mom who hated taking care of her so much she ran away?

Of course, now she knew why: It was because her mom wasn’t in love when she got pregnant. Hadn’t wanted a baby at all.

Why didn’t Mom have an abortion? Maybe she wanted one but she was too broke or found out she was pregnant too late, Willow thought miserably.

She didn’t want to go back to Russell’s. She didn’t want to go back to Catherine’s, either. Most of all, she didn’t want to face anybody’s questions about her life. Her life was her own now.

Willow stared up at the departures board. Where could she go, just for the day? She felt around in her pocket and came up with fourteen dollars. Where would that take her?

For the first time, she imagined her own mother doing this: running away. Picking out a new place and just getting on a bus to go there so she could start over.

Willow wanted a new start. She wanted to feel in charge of her own life, instead of always being at the mercy of the adults.

Maybe just for today, she’d pretend to be a girl who didn’t have a home. Plenty of kids her age figured out how to live on the street. And this would be good practice for a time when her mom wigged out again, Catherine decided she couldn’t keep her, and Russell had no place for her anymore.

It was time she learned to fend for herself in the world. She’d be fine. She had fourteen dollars and pepper spray with her. More than most people had.

Willow studied the bus station departures board again and made up her mind: a one-way bus ticket to Salem. Not too far, but not too close, either. Nobody would think to look for her there. She’d pay cash when she bought the ticket so she couldn’t be tracked. Just like her mother.

She turned off her phone and went up to the counter, keeping one hand on the pepper spray in her pocket.