CHAPTER TWENTY

By the time she arrived in Newburyport, Catherine’s palms were so sweaty that she had to keep wiping them on her coat. She was only a few minutes ahead of the 10:10 bus from Boston; people were already lined up to take the southbound bus, holding their places in line on the sidewalk with odd objects while they went inside to buy tickets: a pen, a thermos, a tiny plastic alien. She called her mother to see if Willow had been in touch, but she hadn’t.

Catherine remained outside the station, shivering in the November wind. When the bus arrived and disgorged its passengers, she scanned the faces anxiously for Willow’s.

Willow wasn’t on the bus. Jesus. Had they gotten things wrong? Maybe Willow had decided to take the train instead and was walking to her mother’s house from the commuter rail station across town. Or had she, God forbid, run out of money and tried to hitchhike? Or gone somewhere else entirely?

Catherine was nearly panting with fear, feeling like she might pass out. She paced outside of the bus station for a few more minutes, trying to decide what to do, then got back in the car and drove to her mother’s.

She wouldn’t let herself entertain the possibility that Willow might be somewhere else entirely. Willow knew Zoe was in Newburyport. She had to be coming here next! Willow had seen Mike, and now she would demand answers from Zoe about her father

Catherine intended to get answers as well. This mystery about Willow’s father had dragged on long enough. Willow was a teenager and deserved to know the truth, for medical information if for no other reason. If Zoe was going to remain in Willow’s life, she would have to tell her daughter who her father was; otherwise, Willow’s curiosity would continue to eat away at her.

A stranger’s car, some kind of low-slung black Porsche, was parked in the driveway behind her mother’s Subaru. At the sight of it, Catherine’s breath caught, the air trapped as suddenly as if someone had pushed a fist against her throat. Her sister had a job delivering exotic cars. Zoe must still be here.

She marched up the porch steps, her pulse roaring in her ears. Catherine wished she didn’t have to go inside; in her current state, it felt as if the house walls might not contain her. She wanted to stand out here on the front lawn and scream her sister’s name, make Zoe come outside.

And then what? In her worst imaginings, she saw herself slapping her sister. Or demanding that she go back to whatever pitiful life she’d been living in Florida. Anything but have Zoe stay here and make trouble.

Catherine entered the house without bothering to knock or ring the doorbell. “Mom!” she yelled, deliberately fixing her eyes straight ahead to avoid seeing her own white-hot reflection in the hall mirror.

Her emotions were so intense at this moment that it felt as if she might be dreaming, the sort of dream where the unthinkable happened: she would melt in the energy of her own gaze, or her body could float up to the hallway ceiling and then, in a strong gust of wind, be sent out the door like a balloon. Fairy-tale feelings.

The kind of fairy tale where witches cooked children and trolls lived under bridges.

“Mom!” she yelled again. “Where are you? And where’s Zoe?”

“Right here.” Zoe materialized in the kitchen doorway at the end of the hall, facing Catherine with her shoulders and feet squared.

She looked good. Catherine narrowed her eyes at her sister, taking in every detail. Zoe didn’t appear to be hungover or beat-up, other than a bruise on her cheek. She looked strong and calm. Focused.

“Where’s Willow?” Catherine demanded.

Zoe crossed her arms. “Not here.”

“You’re lying.” Catherine’s first instinct was to push past her and search the house.

“Why would she be here?” Zoe said. “She lives with you.”

“Because she wants to talk to you!”

Zoe shifted her stance but kept her eyes locked on Catherine. “Well, she’s not here. Look around if you want.”

Now Catherine’s chest was painfully tight, her breathing shallow. “You really haven’t talked to Willow today? Or texted her?”

“No,” Zoe said. “I came straight here last night after I saw you. Well, after a few drinks at the old watering hole, which apparently nobody thinks was a good idea. Including me.” She gave an odd, forced little chuckle. “Remember you and me at the Thirsty Whale? That time we pretended to be twins? That place hasn’t changed. Same sad sacks at the bar.”

Catherine nodded impatiently. Her memory of that night had more to do with trying to stop Zoe from going home with a man twice her age. “Give me your phone.”

Zoe pulled it out of her pocket and held it up so Catherine could look at it. “It’s dead as a door knocker. I forgot the charger.”

“Give it to me!”

Zoe tossed it over. Catherine pressed the buttons and discovered she was telling the truth. Another woman, short and stocky and dressed in peculiar clothes, appeared behind Zoe and stepped forward to stand next to her. The stranger was shorter than Zoe and had a strong face with a broad, flat forehead and round chin.

The woman stared at Catherine with unnerving dark eyes that looked solid to the touch, like fruit pits, and slipped her arm around Zoe’s waist. “You must be the sister,” she said.

“Yes. Who are you?” Catherine asked, though now she remembered that her mother had said Grey would be here. This woman must be Grey’s mother. The pulse beating at her temple had increased to a stab of pain behind her right eye, the first symptom of the blinding headaches Catherine got now and then, usually accompanied by vertigo so intense that she had to lie down, preferably on a cold tiled floor.

“I am Madame Justine.” The woman drew herself up another half inch. “Zoe’s friend.”

Zoe visibly relaxed as Madame Justine put an arm around her waist. “Catherine, what are you doing here, anyway?” Her sister’s tone was almost cordial. “Did you really drive all this way looking for Willow? Why didn’t you just call Mom?”

“Mom called me,” Catherine said. “She wanted me to come up here and take part in some kind of intervention with family and friends. She wants us to talk you into staying on the straight and narrow.”

“Oh. Sweet of her, but you’re too late. We did that already.”

“Doesn’t matter. I wasn’t going to bother coming for that,” Catherine said. “I mean, why would I? There’s never any point. But then Russell called and said Willow didn’t spend the night at his house like she was supposed to, and now we’re looking for her.”

“You must be out of your mind with worry,” Eve said, joining them in the hall and standing behind Madame Justine. The color had been rinsed from her face and she looked exhausted. “No word from her yet?”

Catherine shook her head. “Not unless Zoe’s lying.”

Zoe rolled her eyes. “Why would I lie? And why do you and Russell think Willow wants to see me so badly that she’d sneak up here by herself to do it?” she asked Catherine.

“Because Nola took her to Mike Navarro’s house yesterday. . . .”

“What?” Zoe interrupted. “Mike’s house? Why?” Now she looked worried, too.

“Willow thought Mike was her real dad,” Eve said. “She told me that when we were up at Chance Harbor. But he’s not, is he?”

“Oh, God,” Zoe said softly. “Mike? No.” She looked wobbly suddenly, and Madame Justine squeezed her waist to keep her upright.

“Come and sit down, daughter,” she said, guiding Zoe back into the living room.

Daughter? Catherine thought, following them.

She stopped at the sight of Grey, who was entering the living room from the kitchen, carrying a pot of coffee. His gaze felt hot on her skin. She felt her cheeks burn.

“Hello, Catherine,” he said. “I was hoping you would decide to come this morning.”

Zoe looked at Grey and rolled her eyes. “Oh, Jesus,” she said. “I should have known you’d fall for the virgin.”

“Shut up, Zoe,” Catherine said automatically. “I need to talk to you.”

Zoe shrugged. “So talk. Who’s stopping you?”

“Not here. Alone.” Catherine pointed to the stairs, determined not to look at Grey.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, honey,” Eve said, looking from her to Zoe. “Say what you want. We’re all family here. That’s why I wanted us all together today.”

“I didn’t come here to help you with Zoe,” Catherine said. “I came because I’m worried about Willow and Zoe owes me some answers. I need to talk to her alone.”

“No, thanks.” Zoe dropped onto the couch next to Grey and folded her arms. “Mom’s right. Whatever you want to say to me, do it here. No more secrets. We’re all worried about Willow. Meanwhile, everybody here should know just how supportive my sister is.”

“That is true,” Madame Justine said. “We are all very eager to hear this.” She perched on the arm of the couch next to Zoe.

Grey, to Catherine’s shock, now put an arm around Zoe’s shoulders. “Eve’s right,” he said. “Say your piece, Catherine, whatever it is. Let’s all work things out together. We need to show a united front where Willow is concerned.”

“This is none of your business!” Catherine said, finally daring to look at him square on. He didn’t flinch.

“Of course it’s his business,” Eve corrected her impatiently. “Grey cares about Zoe. He lives with her. Zoe was his sister’s friend. And he cares about Willow, too.” She was standing in the living room doorway, effectively blocking Catherine’s exit from the room.

Catherine felt trapped. She might as well have been a rabbit surrounded by coyotes, quivering in the middle of a field as the other three stared her down. She felt anger rise like heated mercury up her spine. How had it come to this—that she, who had done everything right all her life, had ended up on the outside of her own family, looking in?

Catherine swiveled to face Zoe, hands fisted at her sides. “All right. I’ll say what I came to say: I hate you,” she told Zoe, speaking under her breath at first, her words steadily gaining volume as she continued. “Know why? Because you’re a selfish little bitch. You always have been, and you haven’t changed. Anything for attention, right? Tantrums when you were two. Night terrors in elementary school, or climbing too high or running too fast. Always falling down and crying your head off, because it never failed: Mom or Dad came running to pick you up. Or I did!”

“I was clumsy as a kid,” Zoe said, not taking her eyes off Catherine. “And adventuresome. Not a great mix.”

“Yeah, well, who was there to pick you up? I was! All my life I’ve been trying to keep you from hurting yourself. From killing yourself! Drugs, alcohol, screwing all the wrong guys: you kept making sure you fell down, didn’t you?”

“It wasn’t all my fault,” Zoe said. Her eyes were glazing over, as if a fog were coming in now over the blue irises.

“I don’t care,” Catherine snapped. “The point is I’m sick to death of always having to be responsible for you. I’m done! If you want to run away again or get wasted, be my guest. I. Don’t. Care. But I do care about Willow, and if you dare try to take her back, you’ll have a real fight on your hands!” She was shouting by now, her fists curled so tightly that her nails dug into the fleshy pads of her palms like talons.

Zoe jumped to her feet, ignoring the pleas by Grey and Madame Justine and even their own mother to please sit down, stay calm, talk this out. “You think you’re the absolute shit, don’t you?” She took a step toward Catherine. “You always have. Just because school was easy for you and Dad thought you were the bomb, and you pussyfooted around with guys and married the first decent one who stuck his dick in you, you think you’re better than me. Better than anyone! And that’s a laugh, because your life is as fucked-up as anybody’s!”

“I do not think I’m better than anyone,” Catherine said. “I only know I’m better than you.”

She heard a sharp intake of breath from her mother. “Girls! Please, that’s enough! You’re sisters. We need to support each other, not tear each other down.”

“Fine,” Catherine said, not taking her eyes off Zoe, whose cheeks were pink now. “I’ll support Zoe in anything she wants to do that doesn’t involve Willow.”

“Willow’s mine,” Zoe said. “I carried her for nine months. I raised her for the first ten years of her life. What claim do you really have?”

“I’m her legal guardian! More importantly, I’m the only constant in her life,” Catherine said. “Face it, Zoe. A dog can have puppies the same way you had a kid. Any bitch in heat can do that. But you kept running away. You’re doing it now, even. You might be physically present, but you’re drinking and refusing to commit to anything. How can Willow trust you, when you won’t even say whether you’re going to be here next week, never mind for Willow’s sixteenth birthday party, her first heartbreak, or her college applications?”

“Please, Catherine,” her mother said. “You’re going too far. Zoe doesn’t deserve this.”

Catherine ignored her. “And what about down the road, Zoe?” she went on. “How about the night Willow gets drunk at a college party and calls, crying, for you to pick her up? Or when she gets married and has kids of her own? Where will you be then, Zoe? Will you be here? Will you even be in your right mind? Or thumbing around paradise under another fake name?”

“That’s enough,” Eve said.

“And guess what?” Catherine said. “I missed you when you were gone. I still miss the sister I had. I miss you. Again and again, I lost you. How hard was that for me, do you think? Oh, wait. You didn’t think, did you?” she cried, and then she was moving, dodging past her mother, whose mouth was open with shock, and running out the front door.

In the car, she locked the doors and then, realizing she’d forgotten her purse and keys inside, sobbed with her forehead pressed hard against the steering wheel.

A minute later Catherine heard a sharp rapping sound on the window beside her. She pressed both hands to her eyes, wiping away the tears before turning her head to the window.

It was Grey, his black hair loose and gleaming in the sunlight, his face unreadable as he held out her cell phone. He must hate her now, too.

She cracked the window and took the phone. “Thanks,” she said. “I know I acted like an asshole in there. I’m sorry.”

“Never mind that. You have a call,” he said. “It’s Willow. She’s at the police station in Salem.”