tried to give her privacy, because he understood her need. Later he realized she’d stopped telling him her troubles. Only when she’d begun to act out anger she refused to discuss had he realized he should have pried.
He couldn’t punish Colleen for withdrawing when he’d let her go to give her time. She missed Mary, but she refused to talk to him about her grief. He’d thought he understood because his own pain and sorrow had felt so private.
Maybe if he let Nettie stay, Colleen would find a way to talk to her.
Jack swallowed a huge lump in his throat. Why can’t she talk to me? But before she went and did something to herself he couldn’t undo, she had to talk to someone. And Nettie made her care more than anyone else could.
All three of them waited for what he’d do next. “Go wash your face, Colleen,” he said again. “I don’t want you to wear that stuff to the festival tonight.”
A slight, relieved smile curved her mouth, but she held it back. “I’ll do something about my hair, too.”
Reluctant to look too closely at the damage, Jack allowed himself a brief nod. “Your grandpa and grandma are going to stay awhile, until I finish the boat.”
Colleen hesitated, looking from Nettie to Hayden. “Great. Two more keepers.”
Jack pushed away from the wall. “Cut it out.”
She headed for the stairs, the heels of her ankle boots tapping on the pine floor’s wide planks. She whirled, planting her hands on the balustrade to look down with pink cheeks and stormy eyes.
“Don’t be mad at Grandma, Dad. I’ve tricked you before, too.”
He didn’t trust himself to speak until Colleen slammed her door, and its echo let the air out of him. He turned and took Nettie’s hand. “I’m sorry it’s not a more exclusive club.” He glanced from her to Hayden. “Are you sure you still want to stay?”
“YOU LOOK FINE, INDIA. Stop worrying, and try to have a good time. Tonight’s your chance to meet people who might tell you something about her.” Her father lowered his voice on the pronoun.
India smoothed the hem of her new plaid skirt over her thighs and felt conspicuous. “She might be out there.” India nodded at the festival crowd that snaked around the cavernous high school gym. “I feel like a kid, myself, in this. Maybe I’ll call Mom tonight and ask her to send some of my things.”
Mick handed her a plastic cup of pink stuff. “Try this. A little girl wearing that same skirt poured it for me. I’ve never seen hair her color—purple, I swear. I’m not sure I could mix paint to match.”
Smiling despite choking tension, India held the glass at her lips. “Thanks, Dad. I feel better now.”
Mick ran his hand over her gauzy sleeve. “Your eyes look like big blue marbles. Relax.”
India shifted away. After all these years, she hardly knew how to accept her father’s comfort. She twisted the blond strands of her ponytail. She’d tried so hard to protect her parents, she’d forgotten how to go to them when she was afraid.
And she was scared stiff. What would she say if she met Colleen? Nothing. She couldn’t intrude in Colleen’s life. She had to run away as she had so long ago.
She’d kept running until those few terrifying moments on a burning plane had taught her what was important. Family. Living down the past before it ate up the future. She’d been all appearance before, but now she wanted to feel the emotions she’d hidden from, as long as she did nothing to hurt Colleen. “What if she’s here? What if I meet her accidentally?”
Mick sipped his own drink, somehow understanding her mid-thought conversation. “She might also be at home, tucked up in her own bed. She might be out of town. Don’t get your hopes up.”
India rubbed her index finger through the condensation on her plastic glass. “I’m not secretly hoping to run into her.”
Hurt bruised her father’s gaze. “I’m not saying you’d try to see her, but you’re my daughter, and I don’t want you hurt.”
India took a deep breath and plunged into the heart of the matters between them. “I know what you’ve done for me.” After he’d dragged his business back from the edge of bankruptcy, he’d put away his brushes to manage his company from a desk in a comfortable office. Until now. “I know you only came back into the field to give me an excuse to come here, but we could be lucky. Maybe we’ll meet someone tonight who’ll tell us Colleen lives in a fairy tale, and we can finish painting Mr. Tanner’s house and go home.”
“You could walk right into her, and she wouldn’t know you.” Mick turned, almost blocking out the mob behind him. “We can leave now if you want, if you have second thoughts.”
“No.” A woman in a bright red dress floated on a clear path for Mick. Their landlady at Seasider Inn looked different tonight, without her square white pinafore and her cat’s-eye, tortoiseshell glasses. India shoved her cup into her father’s hand. “Here comes Viveca Henderson. I need some air.”
Warily Mick turned. “Yeah, she likes me too much. I think I’d better mention your mother to her again. Where are you going?”
“Outside, to the high school’s dunking booth.” Reluctant or not, she’d come here to find out about Colleen’s life. “The sooner I find someone who’ll gossip about her, the better.”
Bright lights illuminated the parking lot. India passed an apple-bobbing barrel and a kissing booth, manned by girls in cheerleader uniforms. Could one of them be Colleen?
In the booth’s shadows, India glimpsed a young girl in the same skirt she’d bought. India smoothed her hem again. In this light, she couldn’t tell if the girl’s short cap of hair was purple. Suddenly the girl tried to pull away from the boy at her side, but he held on. Leaning down, he spoke close to her ear, and she slid her arm around his waist.
Hesitating, India studied the crowd around the girl and boy. No one else seemed to see trouble. When the boy turned the girl toward the parking lot, she went willingly.
The cool breeze brushed a paper hamburger wrapper past India’s ankle. What would Colleen be like? Would she have a boyfriend who looked too old for her? Would she seem even younger than the girl with the purple hair?
Rubbing her goose-bumped arms, India watched the people enjoying themselves too much to notice the weather or the children. She wished she’d brought her jacket along. Even if it hadn’t matched her froufrou lacy blouse and plaid skirt.
She’d vowed not to meddle in Colleen’s life, and keeping vows was her strength. Yet deep inside, she had to admit she’d thought she might see Colleen here tonight. She couldn’t help wanting to look “cool.” After she’d sorted through her serviceable though faded jeans, the painting overalls her father had provided, or the one good dress she’d packed for just in case, she’d trekked to the nearest mall on the mainland.
Ridiculous.
What would Colleen Stephens care about a stranger’s wardrobe?
A sudden, urgent cry stopped India beside a large wooden planter. She stared back into the crowd, waiting for another cry, but she heard nothing. Just children’s
