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Zoe let out a humorless laugh. "I'm sure that's what she would tell you."
"It's the truth." Quinn let out a deep breath then spread her arms wide. "Look, I know you remember her, and you were hurt. But for me, she's just a story. I went to the funeral because I wanted more chapters, you know? And when I met Janice, and she was able to tell me everything… well, I started coming here just about every summer, after the fact."
"Bully for you," Zoe said. "I don't see what any of this has to do with you and me, though."
"Don't you?" Quinn asked. When Zoe didn't bother to respond, she pressed on. "Look, I know you want me to come back to Connecticut, and I promise tomorrow I'll come quietly. But first I want you to stay the night here."
Zoe opened her mouth to argue, but Quinn held up a hand. "You've been traveling for days," Quinn maintained. "I want you to get some good rest. All you have to do is eat dinner with us. For the rest of the time, you can hole up and hide if you want."
Zoe stiffened. Quinn had boxed her into a corner—she knew that—but she could still pretend like there was room for negotiation.
"What about Paul?" Zoe asked.
"I'll call him and explain myself."
"That's it? A call?" Zoe asked, and Quinn gave a single nod.
"I think he'll understand, but if he doesn't… well, we're not getting back together." She shrugged.
Zoe chewed the inside of her cheek then said, "Fine. You have a deal. I'll stay. But only for tonight, and we are leaving first thing in the morning. Do you understand?"
Quinn gave her a gentle, sad smile. "Yeah, sounds like a deal. Now, come on. You should sit down for a while."
Zoe breathed deep and took another step toward the house. It shouldn't have bothered her, truly. The deal was a good one.
But the idea of seeing her aunt again, with those eyes that were so much like her own, like her mother's...
A coil of dread snaked up her spine, and she sighed again, wondering what exactly she'd gotten herself into this time.
Eleven
Dinner that night was tense, to say the least.
Aside from the clatter of cutlery on china, nobody said a word to each other—though this was not for Janice’s lack of trying. It felt like every three minutes, she was clearing her throat and asking Zoe or Quinn a question that made the situation worse rather than better.
Like, for example, now—when she asked how their father was doing.
“Yup,” Zoe took a gulp of her wine. “You guys really did form an everlasting bond here, huh?”
"Stop it," Quinn growled under her breath.
Janice looked from one of them to the other in confusion. "What? What's wrong?"
"Our father died," Zoe explained. "Last year. Which you would have known if you're as close as Quinn says you are."
"We don't talk much about Dad, actually," Quinn said. "I didn't think to mention him."
"Funny how that works," Zoe shot back.
Janice dropped her fork onto the table with a clunk. "You father passed?"
Quinn nodded. "We were talking so much about Mom. I didn't want to bring it up."
"I'm so sorry for your loss," Janice cooed.
Zoe fought the urge to roll her eyes. "So we're calling her “Mom,” now?" She looked from Quinn to Janice and back again.
"Look, Zoe, I know Dawn had problems—"
