“You must miss him when he’s away,” Quinn said, playing along while avoiding the question. “What does he do?”
“He’s an investor,” her grandmother said proudly. “He owns hotels and restaurants, both in Mystic and in Nevada.” She hesitated. “Are we in Mystic? I don’t recognize this park and I need to get home. I live in Aster House—you might have heard of it. Can you take me there?”
“Yes, we’re in Mystic,” Quinn lied. “And I can take you home to Aster House, but it’s still early, so we don’t need to go back just yet. We could feed the ducks. I have some old bread with me.”
“All right. Let’s feed the birds,” her grandmother said. She turned to look at Quinn. “You’re a nice young lady. What’s your name?”
“Quinn.”
“Quinn…” she repeated. “That sounds familiar.” It was somewhere in the back of her subconscious, but she was currently stuck in a time before Quinn was born. Quinn had learned the hard way that it was a bad idea to try to bring her back to the present. It rarely worked and only caused unnecessary confusion.
“We may have met before,” she said, handing her grandmother the paper bag with bread. She parked her by the fountain and sat on the edge while she watched the old woman tear off chunks for the ducks and throw them in their direction. “What are you cooking tonight?”
“I’m cooking Arnold’s favorite. Golden pork chops and cherry pie. He loves my cherry pie, but he’s got to watch his waistline, so nowadays, I only make it on the weekend.” Her grandmother looked at her. “You should come too. What was your name again?”
“Quinn.” Quinn smiled. “Thank you for the offer. That’s very kind of you, but I have to go back to work.” She checked her watch and noted she still had a good twenty minutes left before her team would be back on site. She, her brother, and their parents took turns visiting her grandmother, so she had company three days a week. It never felt like a chore, but sometimes it was difficult when she was having a bad day. Today, though, was pleasant, and she was enjoying small talk with the lovely lady who currently had no idea who she was.
“Nonsense. It’s Sunday. No one works on a Sunday.”
Quinn didn’t have the heart to tell her it was Friday, so she nodded. “You’re right. I guess I was confused.”
“That’s okay, sweetheart. We all get confused sometimes. Did you go to church this morning?”
“No, I didn’t because I forgot it was Sunday,” Quinn said and chuckled when her grandmother burst out in laughter. “Didyou?”
“Of course. Can’t you see I’m wearing my Sunday best?”
“You look beautiful.”
Her grandmother looked Quinn up and down, and her eyes settled on her hair. “Why is your hair short? Did you have lice? You know, there are remedies for that nowadays.”
Now it was Quinn’s time to laugh. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “I just like it like this.”
“Forgive me for saying this, but it’s not very ladylike, and there’s only a certain type of women who wear their hair like that. What does your husband think of it?” Her grandmother threw the last piece of bread into the fountain.
“I don’t have a husband.” Quinn wondered if her grandmother ever knew she was gay. She’d never told her, but she must have suspected she had no interest in men, as she’d stopped asking about boyfriends when Quinn was around seventeen. She certainly couldn’t tell her now; the woman was stuck in the sixties and wouldn’t understand. “Perhaps you know of some handsome, single men?”
“I sure do, but you’ll have to grow that hair out before I introduce you.” Her grandmother winked, and she had a wonderful, humorous twinkle in her eyes.
“That sounds like a plan.” Quinn tucked the blanket tighter around her when she saw her shiver. “Are you cold? Shall we get you inside?”
“Yes, I’m a little chilly.”
Waiting for the usual protest, Quinn was surprised to see her nod off as she wheeled her back to the home. That was nice for a change, as she didn’t have to hand her grandmother over to the staff in a state of distress. Today had been a good day, and she was grateful for that.
19
RILEY
Sitting at the kitchen table with a glass of red wine, Riley downloaded the first dating app that showed up in the long list of options on her phone. Still not used to her huge living room, she preferred the smallest space in the house where she felt comfortable and safe. She’d managed to make a pot of chicken soup that was bubbling away on the stove and was feeling rather smug with her accomplishments of the day. The living room walls were covered in a fresh lick of paint—she could apply the second coat tomorrow—and the door was repaired, so that was another win.
And now she was about to create an online profile after making chicken soup. What a change from her former life. Did she enjoy it? Not really. Not yet at least, but all in all, she felt a little more optimistic than she had when she’d arrived last week.
Riley thought about her profile name, and the first thing that sprang to mind wasAster. It was taken, so she changed it toAster1, which included her house number, then searched through her photographs of a picture of herself. Sadly, she didn’t have any recent pictures of herself as she hadn’t been social at all. Her only one was from years ago, and it was one of her and her sister together. She stared at the photograph, suddenly missing Lynn, and she made a mental note to call her soon. The picture was taken on one of Lynn’s rare trips to New York, in a restaurant. She remembered that day well; she’d been stuck in her office until seven p.m. and had been an hour late for dinner. That was incredibly rude, she realized now. As Riley never came to Florida, Lynn visited her every so often, and when she was there, they always had fun together. It scared her to contact Lynn after being silent for so long. She’d never made much of an effort with her niece, who was six now, and she felt ashamed for not even remembering to send anything other than Christmas and birthday presents that her assistant chose.
Giving up on her search, Riley took the first selfie ever. Well, she snapped about fifty because it took a while to figure out what her best angle was and how to smile without looking weird and uncomfortable, like someone was holding a gun to her head. Was it a bad idea to put her real picture on there? What if someone she knew recognized her? Did people in Mystic use the app? Unlikely. It was such a small community that it would be embarrassing for them to see each other on there, right? Hoping she wasn’t wrong, Riley chose one of her selfies and uploaded it, ignoring the request for three others.
“Age and profession,” she mumbled when she skipped to the next section.Forty and unemployed.That didn’t sound good. Could she say she was retired? That wasn’t entirely true; she still needed to do some kind of work, even if it was investment based, and that didn’t sound remotely interesting enough.Renovations,she typed, as again, it was the first thing that sprang to mind. The next page was about interests, but she didn’t really have any.Her company had always been her life and her passion, and she couldn’t think of a single thing that made her happy apart from that. Staring at the pot of chicken soup, she typedcookingand felt like a charlatan when she addedhome improvementandfamily.
