“Morning,” they said and then laughed at each other because they’d spoken in unison.

  “You here alone today?” Joann asked as they came toward the cash register.

  Mary set her phone aside. “For now. Laurie had a hair appointment, but she’ll be in shortly.”

  “What about Autumn?”

  “She doesn’t usually come in until noon or one.”

  Joann waved at the racks of books. “Anything new we should be aware of?”

  Mary led them to the science fiction section, which was Megan’s favorite. “I ordered a dystopian novel by a woman named Tosca Lee I thought Megan would like.” She pulled it off the shelf and handed it to Joann’s granddaughter. “It’s been getting some great reviews.”

  Joann sipped her coffee while Megan read the back cover and began to flip through the beginning of the story. “I saw your family with Quinn and his folks at the fireworks show on Sunday night. Are Autumn and Quinn getting together? Because Bev Vizii is running around telling everyone that Autumn and Quinn were probably having an online affair the whole time, that maybe she was the one he was cheating with.”

  “That’s crazy. He wasn’t cheating. He’s said as much. And Nick was still around back then.”

  “You know Bev. She insists that her daughter was justified.”

  “It’s time someone told Bev to shut her trap. She’s been bad-mouthing Quinn ever since he came home. We’re all tired of it. Her daughter stabbed him, for crying out loud. How can she blame him?”

  “Someone stabbed Quinn?” Megan asked, eyes wide. “The guy who owns that restaurant?”

  “Never you mind. It was a long time ago,” Joann replied, quickly smoothing over it. “Do you want that book or not?”

  “It looks good to me.”

  “Then get it. We’ve got to meet your grandpa at the post office.”

  Megan handed Mary the novel, and Mary returned to the register to ring it up. “Thanks for coming in,” she said as she put it in a bag with the Beach Front Books logo and handed it over the counter.

  “Of course,” Joann said as her granddaughter accepted it. “We love books, but I’ll have to come back and find something for myself later.”

  Mary told them goodbye and then picked up her phone again. She was expecting to continue her conversation with Tammy, and sure enough, there was another message waiting for her.

  I’d like to see your place someday. And your store. Beach Front Books. It sounds so quaint and fabulous.

  She was tempted to write, You’re welcome to come out whenever you can. But first she needed to know that Tammy no longer had a relationship with Nora.

  Where’s your mother? she finally asked. Do you know?

  No clue.

  You don’t have any contact with her?

  None. She knows how I feel about her.

  That was comforting. But it still felt too risky—given how terrible the past had been—to bring anything that had to do with the Skinners into the careful life she’d built here.

  Does she know where you live?

  Who can say?

  What would you do if she ever contacted you?

  At this point, I’m not sure. It’s been so long.

  This answer was less comforting. It gave Mary the impression that Tammy was softening toward her mother. Nora had proved herself to be such a psychopath that Mary had decided she’d have to be a fool to feel any empathy for her. But she wasn’t related to Nora like Tammy was, so maybe she could be more objective.

  “Who are you texting?”

  Mary jumped. She’d been so engrossed in her exchange with Tammy that she hadn’t heard Laurie come in. There was no bell on the back door. “Oh, it’s you,” she said. “You scared me.”

  “It’s not like I snuck in,” Laurie said with a laugh. “Is that Tammy?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I should’ve guessed. You’ve been texting her nonstop since you two first spoke.”

  “More and more as the days go by. It was never Tammy I had a problem with,” she mumbled, but Tammy’s response had made her uneasy. She read the words two or three more times before she could convince herself that Tammy didn’t necessarily mean she’d allow her mother back into her life.

  Or did she?

  What difference does the length of time make? she asked.

  She could be a completely different person these days.

  You think prison might have improved her?

  She certainly had plenty of time to think while she was behind bars. Wouldn’t you say? It’s also possible she would never have done what she did without my father’s influence.

  And that might only be what you want to

  believe.

  “What’s she saying?” Laurie looked concerned, probably because of Mary’s own expression.

  “Nothing.” She put her phone away and got busy doing all the stuff she’d neglected while she was caught up with Tammy. She didn’t want to argue with the Skinners’ daughter or try to convince her. That was exactly the type of thing she’d been trying to avoid by staying away.

  But when she checked her phone to see if she’d heard from Autumn just before leaving to pick up lunch, she saw that Tammy had written her again.

  I hope I didn’t scare you away. I’m not in touch with my mother. You don’t have to worry.

  Okay, she wrote back. But the fact that Tammy would make any excuses for Nora led Mary to believe future contact wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities.

  And that wasn’t a good sign.

  * * *

  Taylor and Sierra were lying on Sierra’s bed, talking, while Taylor was trying to gather the nerve to call Oliver. He’d been blowing up her phone for the past several days and the last text he’d sent her read, Really? You won’t even respond? Uncool.

  He was right, and she knew it. Although the pregnancy wouldn’t affect him nearly as much as it would affect her, he had a stake in what was happening, too, and deserved to know one way or the other.

  “So...have you scrapped the tattoo idea?” Sierra asked as she tossed a small, spongy football into the air and caught it, over and over.

  Taylor lifted her head to be able to gather all her hair into a knot before falling back onto the pillow. “For now. I think I’ve done enough to piss off my mom, don’t you?”

  “Yeah. Probably smarter to wait.” She put the football on the nightstand and rolled off the bed. “You can get a tattoo later, if you’re still interested,” she said as she removed the Queen album they’d been listening to and put on the Beatles. “You’ll be eighteen before you give birth.”

  Give birth. Those words freaked Taylor out. But turning eighteen was just as scary. A baby and adulthood. She wasn’t prepared for either.

  “Have you heard back on any of your job applications?” she asked, trying to steer the conversation away from those two subjects.

  “Not yet. I won’t be able to get anything until fall.”

  “Is that okay with your dad?”

  “It’ll have to be. There’s nothing out there. Did you ask your grandma if I might be able to work at the store?”

  “I did. She said it’s a possibility. But like I told you, it’ll be Christmastime before the coffee shop is finished.”

  “That’s better than next summer.”

  “What about the nanny idea?”

  “I don’t have any experience, so I don’t think anyone’s going to hire me, especially because I’ll be going back to school soon and won’t be able to babysit until after three.”

  “I’d ask Quinn if you could maybe hostess at The Daily Catch, but with what his mother’s going through, I don’t think it would be fair to put him under any more pressure.”

  “Yeah. Don’t worry about it. My dad gets pissed and starts harping on me to find work, but he forgets about it for long stretches. I’ll tell him that I might have something at Christmas. It’ll be fine.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. How’re things going with Quinn, by the way? Have you seen him since Sunday?”

  “No.”

  “Do you think your mother has?”

  “I know she has.”

  “How do you feel about that?”

  “I’ll think about it later. For right now, I’m just glad she’s distracted.”

  Sierra flopped back down on the bed. “So...”

  “So what?” she said.

  “Are you going to call Oliver or not?”

  Taylor groaned. “Do I have to?”

  Sierra leaned up on one elbow. “You’ve been dreading it long enough. You might as well get it over with.”

  “I know.” Sighing, she sat up, leaned against the wall and scrolled through her contacts. “Maybe he won’t answer,” she said, holding out hope that she could procrastinate just a little longer.

  But he picked up almost as soon as she sent the call. “Is it what I think?” he said without so much as a hello.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the inevitable emotion that welled up whenever she talked about the pregnancy. “Yes.”

  “Shit. Are you kidding me? You’re pregnant? What are we going to do? What am I going to tell my folks?”

  So much for the way he’d behaved when there was still some hope. She swallowed hard. “The same thing I’m going to tell my mother.”

  “Which is...”

  “That I’m going to have a baby.”

  “You’re having it? You’re keeping it?”

  She could hear the panic in his voice. “I think so. I don’t know what else to do.”

  “You have options,” he insisted.

  “But would you like to be responsible for making the decision to end this pregnancy or put our baby up for adoption?”

  The phone went silent. She couldn’t even hear him breathe.

  “Oliver? Are you there?”

  “God, this is crazy,” he muttered so softly she could barely make out the words. Then, louder, “So what are we going to do?”

  “We’re going to wait until I get back before we tell anyone. That’s one thing. Can you do that?”

  “What good does it do to wait? Why do you care about that?”

  “Because you won’t have to face the humiliation I’ll have to face, that’s why. How would you like to be me and know that everyone in school is talking about you?”

  “They’ll be talking about me, too.”

  “Not in the same way. I’m the one they’ll call a slut or a whore.”

  More silence. Then he said, “Okay.”

  She gripped the phone tighter. “No. Promise me. You will tell no one, and I mean no one, until I get back.”

  “I promise. It’s not like I’m eager for word to get out, either.”

  Neither one of them said anything after that until she asked, “What will your mother say?”

  “She’ll cry while my father kicks my ass,” he said flatly.

  Sierra scooted closer and took her hand. Grateful for the support, Taylor glanced up and smiled through her tears.

  “You’re shaking,” Sierra whispered. “Relax. It’s going to be okay.”

  “I don’t want you to...to go through that,” she said into the phone.

  “You won’t be able to stop it. Neither will I. My father will say I’ve screwed up my entire life and he won’t help me because he warned me against something like this happening.”

  She closed her eyes as she tried to block out the mental picture of that. “He’ll soften after...after he gets used to the idea, won’t he?”

  “No, he won’t. He’ll wish me good luck making minimum wage for the rest of my life and kick me out of the house.”

  “At sixteen?”

  “He’ll say if I’m man enough to have a baby, I’m man enough to make it on my own.”

  “You don’t think he’ll change his mind?”

  “Maybe. Eventually. Or maybe not.” She heard what she thought was a tremor in his voice. “I’m so dead.”

  Taylor hated that she felt responsible for the consequences he’d suffer. He’d participated, too! “I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

  “I can’t breathe right now. Can I call you back?”

  “Of course.”

  “Will you answer this time?”

  She flinched at the sharp edge to his voice. “Yes.”

  He disconnected, and she dropped her phone in her lap. “As if things weren’t bad enough, now I have to worry about him.”

  Sierra curled her fingers through Taylor’s. “You’ve already got enough to deal with. Let Oliver worry about Oliver.”

  “I will,” she said and rested her head on Sierra’s shoulder. But his words were still echoing in her mind hours later: My father will say I’ve screwed up my entire life and he won’t help me because he warned me against something like this happening.

  Would Oliver get kicked out of the house?

  * * *

  When Melissa Cunningham asked Autumn if she and Quinn were now an item, Autumn looked up from the salad the waitress had just placed in front of her. She’d agreed to meet her old friend for lunch at a small restaurant next to the nail salon, and she’d known they’d probably dish. Thanks to Melissa’s line of work, she was privy to most town gossip. But Autumn hadn’t expected this to be almost the first thing out of her friend’s mouth. “We’re...seeing each other,” she hedged.

  Melissa used her long, fake nails to flip her hair, which had been short and blond a week ago but was now long, thanks to hair extensions. “And? Do you think it might get serious?”

  It was already getting serious. Quinn had been over every night since the fireworks show. After her mother and kids went to bed, he’d park down the street and come to the garage. She’d thought sleeping with him for the first time in the apartment she’d shared with her husband would be difficult. But she was almost embarrassed by how easy it had been. She was falling in love so fast that propriety didn’t seem to matter—nothing mattered except touching and tasting the object of her desire. She was deliriously happy. Eager to see him whenever she could. And she couldn’t help grinning like a fool every time he texted.

  It felt like they were having a torrid affair—mostly because they were sneaking around so her kids wouldn’t realize how much time they were spending together. While he was at work, she couldn’t wait for him to get off. And by the time he got to her place, she was so starved for his touch they came together immediately. It was crazy. She’d never had such great sex in her life. On Tuesday she’d driven all the way to Richmond just to buy lingerie. When was the last time she’d even thought of doing something like that?

  “I have to go back to Tampa in a month,” she said as if that meant they couldn’t get too serious.

  “Why do you have to go back?” she asked.

  “I wouldn’t move Taylor and Caden at this age. Starting at a brand-new high school would be hell for them. You know how it is. Kids already have their cliques well formed by then.”

  Her perfectly threaded eyebrows lifted. “Maybe he’ll follow you to Tampa.”

  “He can’t leave his folks. Not while his mother’s sick. So...we’re keeping it casual.” It was almost hard to say that with a straight face, because this was the most intense relationship she’d ever had.

  “You should tell the town gossips that,” she barked with a laugh.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know how nail salons are. The talk that goes on. You and Quinn? That’s all I’ve been hearing about lately.”

  “Because of the fundraiser? That was all it took?”

  “The fundraiser, the fireworks show—and Bev Vizii.”

  Autumn rolled her eyes. “What’s she saying now?”

  “That you’re a fool to get involved with a known cheater.”

  “She drives me crazy.”

  “She doesn’t want to see Quinn happy—not when her daughter’s sitting in prison.”

  Autumn lifted her water glass. “Well, as far as I’m concerned, he’s been through enough. You should see the scars on his back.”

  “I heard she attacked him while he was sleeping. Does he ever talk about that?”

  “Not much. I can’t imagine it’s something he enjoys remembering.”

  She stirred some sugar into her iced tea. “Does she ever write him?”

  “They’re divorced. Why would she?”

  Melissa shrugged. “I’d be surprised if she doesn’t. She was so fiercely possessive. My mother once told me she witnessed a huge argument between them at the beach, where Sarah went off because Quinn wanted to swing by and see his mother.”

  “How selfish can you be?” Autumn asked, shaking her head.

  “I get the impression she destroyed what he felt for her, drove him away.”

  Autumn got the same impression, but she was careful about what she said, not wanting to add to the gossip about Quinn. “What’s going on with you?” she asked, changing the subject.

  Melissa told her about an online love interest, how her ex wanted to reconcile but she wasn’t willing to move back to Maryland and all about what she was doing to grow her business, but when they finished eating, she circled back around to Quinn.

  “Is Quinn any good in bed?” she asked, a wicked sparkle in her eye.

  “I haven’t slept with him yet,” Autumn said.

  “Sure you haven’t,” Melissa said, rolling her eyes.

  The waitress brought their check. Autumn offered to pay for it, and Melissa let her but insisted on covering the tip. As she dug her wallet out of her purse, a business card fell onto the table—one that Autumn was surprised she recognized.

  “You talked to this guy, too?”

  Melissa found the five-dollar bill she’d been looking for and put it on the table. “What guy?”

  “The private investigator—Drake D. Owens. This is his card.”