Quinn tried to focus, tried keeping her mind occupied, packed with enough thoughts about Evie to avoid the chance of slipping into a needless diversion. It wasn’t working. In the muted confines of her father’s car, on a lone, country road, there was no one around to keep her thoughts at bay, no one to keep her from dwelling on the current whereabouts of one person.
Bo.
It bothered her that he was on a date with Simone. And that wasn’t all. It bothered her that she was bothered. She didn’t want to be. It wasn’t right. She didn’t even know the woman, and yet she’d spent the last few hours imagining what it would be like if Simone ceased to exist, or didn’t exist. It was unhealthy and morbid, but it didn’t stop her from feeling an irresistible urge to get to know her, if nothing other than to pry into the woman’s life, see why he chose her, and whether she was good enough for him.
Of course she wasn’t good enough for him.
She couldn’t possibly be.
Since learning of Evie’s death, Quinn had dropped her daily routine, the morning ritual that had gotten her through some of her roughest days over the past few years. Meditation. It made sense now why she felt so out of whack, uncentered. Out of touch with reality. It wasn’t just Evie or Bo or her impending divorce—it was a lack of taking care of herself.
She put the car in park, closed her eyes, and breathed. Four breaths in. Hold. Four breaths out. Hold. The ritual was repeated a few times. And when she exited the car, she didn’t feel whole, but she felt better.
The door was answered by a squatty, plump woman with freckles wearing men’s sweatpants and a hoodie. Her blond hair was thrown back into a loose pony tail that looked like it hadn’t been redone since morning. “Can I help you?”
“My name is Quinn Montgomery. I’m looking for Marissa.”
The woman’s smile was pleasant and warm. “I’m her mother, Yvonne. I thought she was in a meeting ... with you.”
“I did call a meeting today. Your daughter wasn’t there.”
The woman’s face was blank, confused. “But I watched her walk out the door less than three hours ago, and she was headed for the office, to your meeting.”
“I understand, but what I’m saying is, I haven’t seen her. Not since this morning at the cemetery.”
“If she’s not with you, where else could she be?”
“I was hoping you might know,” Quinn said. “Does she have a boyfriend or friends she may have decided to ditch the meeting for and hang out with instead?”
Yvonne seemed taken aback by the question. “Marissa has a lot of boys who are friends, but that’s all they are—friends. She knows how important it is to focus on her schooling. She’s going to be a lawyer one day. She doesn’t have time for a relationship.”
A lawyer.
This morning Marissa said she wanted to be a gardener.
Interesting.
Equally as interesting and harder to believe was Yvonne’s naivety toward her daughter. From her dress at the cemetery, boys were a priority in Marissa’s life. Yvonne seemed blissfully unaware, and Quinn wasn’t feeling up to popping her ignorance bubble. At the risk of offending Marissa’s mother, she kept things simple. “I really need to talk to your daughter. It’s important. I can’t have employees working for Evie ... for me ... who don’t show up to mandatory meetings.”
A man approached Yvonne, his fingers kneading Yvonne’s back. “What’s this about?”
Yvonne explained.
“Are you Marissa’s father?” Quinn asked.
“Stepfather. How long has she been out running around?”
“What makes you think she’s out running around, and not missing?”
He raised a brow. “Why would she be missing? She’s a teenager. Teenagers don’t always do what they’re supposed to do when they’re supposed to do it. You remember what being a teen is like, don’t you?”
Maybe he was right. She was their daughter, after all, not hers.
“Marissa is a responsible young woman,” Yvonne clarified. “Teenager or not, she’s a good girl. She doesn’t get into mischief.”
Quinn and Marissa’s stepfather shared a glance that let Quinn know the stepfather didn’t buy in to his wife’s grand illusions.
“If you see her, will you give her a message for me?”
“You bet,” Yvonne said.
“Do you have a pen and something I can write on?”
Marissa’s mother disappeared into the kitchen, returning with a notepad and pen. Quinn scribbled her number down then handed it back. “If she wants to keep her job, I need her to call me—sooner than later.”