It was seven o’clock in the morning when Quinn returned home again. She considered sleep, even if all she managed was a few minutes of shuteye. But she didn’t sleep. Her mind was wired, too caught up in recent events to allow for even the smallest escape.
Much to Astrid’s surprise, and relief, Eugene wasn’t dead. The blood seeping from his head was more of a series of drips than the leaky faucet Astrid described. EMTs arrived, did their magic. And for once, Astrid heeded Quinn’s advice, not speaking to the police about what happened until her lawyer arrived, a woman named Carolyn Adair, who’d been hired by her father.
Carolyn, whose straight, sand-colored hair was slicked back into a ponytail, looked to be in her early fifties. Middle of the night or not, she arrived at the hotel in style, stepping out of a black, polished Jaguar with a license plate frame that read: My other ride is a broom. Quinn believed it. One look at the woman’s shrewd, cat-framed glasses and pressed pantsuit, and she had every reason to believe Astrid was going to be fine. As usual.
Quinn stretched her arms above her head and yawned, noticing a letter folded in half affixed to a plastic cow magnet on the front of the stainless steel refrigerator. She walked into the kitchen, looked at the lettering, and recognized it. The name written on the front was hers, and had been scrawled using a chunky, hot-pink marker. The scribbly penmanship was her sister’s. Somehow Astrid had managed to sneak back in again, presumably after Quinn had gone to bed and before she headed to the hotel.
She brewed a pot of decaf coffee and sat down, staring at the letter for a time before unfolding it in her hand.
Quinn,
I’ve decided it would be best if I left town earlier than I’d planned. I don’t know where I’ll end up, but I’m not worried. I never do, and things always seem to turn out just fine. Besides, Dad can’t stop giving me that look he gives me, you know the one, when he’s really disappointed. It’s the same look you give me, and I can’t bear it from both of you.
I always planned on telling you the truth about Bo. The longer I waited, the harder it was for me to come right out and admit what I did and why I did it. Our relationship was already strained. I thought once I came clean, you’d never talk to me again. Now I realize, we don’t talk all that much anyway, do we?
When I look back now, I can see the reasons behind what I did were childish and stupid. I know it was wrong. I know I hurt you, and I know I hurt Bo, all because of my own selfishness. You don’t have to forgive me. Truth is, I’ve never forgiven myself. And you’d know that, if you let me explain. Think about it, and one day if you change your mind, I promise to be honest this time. No more lies.
And hey, if I’m willing to face up to the things in my life, maybe you should consider taking a good look at yours, at the secret you’ve been keeping all these years. If I’m willing to admit the truth, don’t you think it’s time you did too?
P.S. Marcus is an asshole. I didn’t mean it when I said you should call him. Don’t. He wasn’t good to you. Not in the way you deserve. I’ve always wanted to tell you that too.
P.S.S. I really am sorry.
Astrid
Quinn flattened the note on the table in front of her, pouring over Astrid’s words once more before crumpling the letter and tossing it in the garbage can next to her. Astrid had some nerve. But then, she always had.
So much had changed in such a short time, the guilt of past mistakes springing forth again—taunting her, reminding her of what could have been. If only things had gone differently. If only she would have taken the time to listen to Bo in the first place. It was all in the past now, and though the last week had been an unhealthy blend of good and bad, dramatic ends and heartfelt beginnings, today was different. Today was a chance to begin again. Clean slate. Fresh start.
Quinn may have been suffering from a lack of sleep, but she felt invigorated and gutsy, like a woman on a mission. It had taken years for her to stand up to Marcus, to end a union that never should have happened in the first place. For the past several days, part of her felt like she was slipping again, focusing on all she’d lost instead of what she stood to gain.
Marcus and Astrid weren’t the only two people who had pushed Quinn around. A murderer had taken from her the one thing she valued most, and she was finished hiding within the confines of her own sob story. She thought about Evie, and how Evie had always been there for her, always protected her. Evie had kept her end of the bargain. Now it was Quinn’s turn to do the same.