Sheldon arched a brow. “Why? Bren’s a grown woman. She’s not missing. She’s not in danger.” Looking at June, he softened his tone. “I sympathize with Celeste. Of course, I do. But is the right move to narc on Bren for smoking a joint? Is that who we are?”
“It’s not the joint,” Nora said. “You didn’t see her last Friday night. The way she dropped on the sidewalk—it was scary. She might need help.”
“She probably did something stupid that night, just like she’s doing something stupid now. We all make mistakes when we’re young,” said Sheldon. “That girl’s as cuddly as a cactus. She wears black, has a bunch of facial piercings, and is permanently ticked off. Maybe she doesn’t like it here. Maybe she doesn’t want to bake magic muffins. If we want to help, we should listen to Bren’s story. Who died and made us the hall monitors, anyway?”
Before anyone could reply, June pointed at someone in the crowd. “Estella and Jack are headed this way. Can I wave them over, Nora, or are you two still fake fighting?”
Nora didn’t hear the question because she was too distracted by what was happening across the park. Bren had grabbed hold of the man’s hand, and even from a distance, Nora could feel the desperation in the young woman’s grip.
The man shot to his feet, shaking off Bren’s hand in the process. The bottom of his right arm entered the streetlight’s sphere, and Nora caught a glimpse of sinewy muscle and a line of tattooed symbols marching from elbow to wrist. The man uncurled a Nosferatu-like finger and stabbed the air in front of Bren’s face. There was authority in the gesture. And quite possibly, menace.
Bren stiffened as if she’d been struck. Then, she reached out, clearly pleading with the man. Unmoved, he turned away and melted into the darkness behind the swing set.
“Be right back,” Nora told her friends.
She jogged over leaf-covered grass and mulch beds to where Bren sat, staring into the distance with the moist-eyed longing of a dog missing its owner.
Nora sat down at the far end of the bench and said, “Hey.”
Like the flip of a switch, Bren’s face went blank. She shoved a hand into her black hoodie and came up with a fresh joint and a plastic lighter.
“A sheriff’s deputy stopped by Soothe this afternoon,” Nora said. “Your mom’s worried, so she asked him to keep an eye out for you. He knows you’re here.”
“Good for him.” Bren lit the joint.
“I saw you talking to that guy. You seemed upset, so I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Bren glared at her. “What’s your deal? I keep telling you to leave me alone.”
Nora saw the anger in the young woman’s eyes. She knew that behind the anger, there must be hurt.
“It can’t have been easy—moving here. Opening the shop,” Nora said gently. “You and your mom haven’t gotten the warmest welcome, either.”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass about the people in this town. I won’t be here long.” Bren blew a stream of smoke into the sky. “I’ll sell muffins and jewelry until I have what I need. After that, I’m gone. So focus your neighborly concern on my mom. I don’t need it, and I don’t want it.”
Gazing at the picnic area, Nora saw that Estella and Jack had joined her friends. Would Estella know how to handle Bren? Would any of them?
“What do you want?” Nora said.
Bren’s mouth curved into a small, secretive smile. “You’re like my mom—too old to understand. Too old to be daring. You pay your taxes and live your small, safe, polite lives. That’ll never be me. I found a shortcut, and I’m going to take it. So go back to your books, and your flannel nightie, and your cats. You’re killing my buzz.”
“Okay.” Nora stood up. “But just so you know, I don’t have cats. I live alone in a railroad car behind the bookshop. And if you ever need a friend, you can find me there. Day or night. Because you’re partially right about me. I used to live a safe, polite life. But it wasn’t a life. It was a lie.”
“So?” Bren blew smoke like a truculent dragon. “Did you just keep living it?”
“I set it on fire. And became someone else.” Holding out her scarred hand for Bren to see, Nora repeated what Celeste said the day her sculpture had been damaged. “Broken things are still beautiful.”
For just a second, Bren let her mask slip. And in that moment, Nora saw her for who she truly was. A lost and lonely young woman. What part did the man with the tattoos play in Bren’s life? Was he a lover? A father? Was he friend or foe?