“Who’d do such a thing?”

Tilly shrugged.

Quinn watched all the chickens losing their collective shit. “So . . . what do we do now?”

“I don’t know,” Tilly said. “Catch them?”

“Oh my God. How?”

Tilly didn’t have to fully fake the quaver in her voice. “They were my mom’s pets. We have to get them.”

“Okay.” Quinn seemed to gather herself and reached out to squeeze Tilly’s hand. “Of course. We’ll get them.”

And then to Tilly’s utter shock, Quinn inhaled deep, like she was searching for courage, and then began to run after the loose chickens.

Cars on the street stopped to watch, proving there wasn’t a lot to do in Wildstone. From one of the cars, Lena got out and came to stand next to Tilly, a wide grin on her face as she sipped on a to-go coffee.

“I was working on my bookkeeping,” she said. “This is much more fun.”

Tilly, starting to feel a little guilty, chewed on her lower lip. She’d made a few motions to help but mostly she’d been caught up in the amusement of watching Quinn.

Sweating, breathless, Quinn stopped in the middle of the yard and put her hands on her hips. “How about a little help?”

Lena lifted her cup. “First I drink the coffee. Then I do the things. But only when I’m paid for the things . . .”

Quinn rolled her eyes and looked at Tilly.

Tilly went back at it with Quinn. And when Quinn actually caught a chicken, she flashed a triumphant grin Tilly’s way—and then the chicken squawked and emitted a long stream of poop. Right down the front of Quinn’s shirt.

Lena leaned in with her phone and took a pic. “For Instagram,” she said. “Also, I don’t know if you noticed, but you smell like shit.”

“Thanks for the tact.”

“Honey, tact is for people who aren’t witty enough to be sarcastic.”

Lou popped outside, holding the Polaroid camera. He lifted it to his face and peered through the lens in her direction.

Quinn pointed at him. “Don’t you even think about—”

He snapped the pic of her and two seconds later it rolled out of the camera. He waved it in the air and grinned. “For the wall.”

“Perfect,” Quinn muttered, and to Tilly’s surprise, forged on.

When she caught another chicken, she thrust it into Tilly’s hands. “Either you help,” Quinn said to Lena, “or I’ll go swimming until my hair is green and tell everyone it’s your fault.”

The threat was pretty impressive, Tilly had to admit, and she got much more serious about helping. Five minutes later they’d caught every last wayward chicken.

Quinn blew a strand of hair out of her sweaty face. “Thanks for the assist,” Quinn said dryly to Lena.

“I never run. Well, unless running out of fucks count.”

“Hey, watch the language. Impressionable kid sister aboard.”

Tilly objected to this. “I’m neither impressionable nor your kid sister.”

Quinn straightened and looked at her. “Maybe you’re right on the impressionable part, but whether you like it or not we are sisters.”

For the record, Tilly didn’t like it. She didn’t like anything anymore and she didn’t know what to do about it. She was stuck, literally stuck, and it made her feel like her insides were a tornado hell-bent on self-destruction. “You can go back to L.A. now,” she said. “You know you want to.”

“What about what you want?” Quinn asked. “You really want me to just walk away?”

“It’s not like we’re family,” Tilly said.

“We are family, and if you need proof, you need only say so and I’ll get it for you.”

Tilly stared at her, irrationally angry and unable to control herself. “I’d rather have no sister at all.” She wished the words back right after they’d escaped but she just let them hang in the air.

Quinn stepped up to her, chicken shit on her boobs and all. “I’ve already lost one sister,” she said, voice quavery, like she was really, really mad. “A sister of my heart, and I’d give anything, anything at all, including my own life, to have her back. The same, I imagine, as how you feel about your mom. So I’m going to hope that what you just said isn’t really true, Tilly, because trust me, having no sister at all sucks.”

And then Quinn did what Tilly had thought she’d wanted—she walked away.

Chapter 14

Luckily even the worst days only have twenty-four hours.

—from “The Mixed-Up Files of Tilly Adams’s Journal”

Quinn left, desperate to get away before she cried in front of everyone and made a fool of herself. She headed for the B & B, giving Cliff a call as she did. “Can you set it up so the café stays open to generate money for Tilly, and also to keep the people who work there employed?”

“You’re leaving,” he said.

She blew out a breath. “It’s complicated. My job, my parents . . .”

“You already have a full life. Believe me, I get it.”

Why didn’t that make her feel any better? “Can you manage the café business?” she asked again.

“Absolutely.”

One relief anyway.

“I’m sorry I can’t stay,” she said. “But Tilly isn’t interested, and I can’t see how to make it work if she doesn’t want to. You sure she’s okay with the neighbor?”

“Yes.”

It was all she could do at this point. Back at the B & B, she got into the shower to get rid of both the chicken poop and the crazy morning.

“Hey,” Beth said.

Quinn let out a startled scream and dropped the shampoo bottle on her toe. “Fuck, shit, damn . . .”

Beth, sitting on the countertop, rolled her eyes and then studied her own reflection in the foggy mirror, messing with her hair. “Think I should put in some blue streaks of my own?” she asked Quinn.

Quinn was still hopping on her one good foot, holding her throbbing toes. “What are you doing here, and why won’t you ever come when I call for you?”

Beth turned to her, her brown eyes serious. Calm. Loving. “It’s not all about you, Quinn.” She started to shimmer.

“Wait! Don’t you dare leave—”

But Beth was gone. “Dammit!” Was she hallucinating or had Beth really been there? She stared down at her foot. Her toe was swollen and already turning black and blue. With a sigh, she picked up the shampoo bottle and went back to her shower.

It’s not all about you, Quinn . . .

She got out of the shower and left the bathroom to stare at her suitcase, opened on the floor, a haphazard mess. She could shove it all in and close it up and be on the road in five minutes.

“Stop running, Quinn.”

She closed her eyes at Beth’s voice. “I’m not running. Everything I know is in L.A.”

“Not anymore. You wanted off the hamster wheel, you wanted to feel again. So do it.”

Quinn opened her eyes and turned to look at the TV.

No Beth.

Quinn was alone in the room, which meant she really was going crazy. Admittedly, not a far trip.