“It’s like a rainbow in a bottle.”
“Kathleen kept it by the window so it caught the sunlight. She called it treasure.”
“Does she live here?”
“Not anymore. She died a few years ago.” Emily wondered if she should have used a different choice of words. Maybe she should have talked vaguely about heaven and stars in the sky. “She left this cottage to my friend, and sometimes, when one of us has a problem, we come here.”
“Do you have a problem?”
Looking down at the problem, Emily felt compassion mingle with panic.
She didn’t know anything about children, but she knew how it felt to have something you loved snatched from you. She knew how it felt to learn, at a far too young age, that life was cruel and unpredictable. That it could take as quickly as it gave, and with no warning.
“No. There’s no problem now that we’re here.”
“Was she your family?”
“Kathleen? No. She was my friend’s grandmother, but she was like a grandmother to me, too.” And then she remembered “grandmother” probably meant nothing to a child whose short life had been spent among people paid to care for her and keep her away from a prying world. “Sometimes the people who are closest to you aren’t the ones you’re related to.”
Let’s make a promise. When one of us is in trouble, the others help, no questions.
The little girl held the jar to her chest. “You’re my family.”
“That’s right.” Her stomach lurched. Panic rose like the sea at high tide, swamping the deep fissures created by a lifetime of insecurities. She didn’t want that responsibility. She’d never wanted it. “Why don’t we explore the house? It was dark when we arrived last night.”
Nestled in the curve of Shell Bay, Castaway Cottage had ocean views from all the front rooms. It was easy to see why Kathleen had never wanted to leave, despite the relative isolation and the long winters. She’d made sure that whatever the weather, there was warmth in the house. Wooden beams and hardwood floors formed a backdrop for furniture carefully chosen to reflect a nautical theme. A striped wingbacked chair, a textured rug, framed photos of the seabirds that nested around the rocky coast.
Still holding the jar, Juliet went straight to the window and clambered onto a chair. “Can we go to the beach?”
Emily felt a pressure in her chest.
Soon, she’d have to work out how she was going to handle that inevitable request, but she didn’t have the energy for it now. “We need to settle in first. I have to unload our cases and unpack.”
“I’m hungry.”
Emily, whose usual caffeine-infused breakfast came in the form of strong coffee, realized she hadn’t given any thought to feeding the girl. “I packed a few things in the car, but this afternoon we’re going to need to go to the harbor and pick up some food.”
Which presented her with another problem.
“I was thinking—” They walked back into the kitchen, and Emily opened cupboards, hunting for food that Brittany might have left on her last visit. “Juliet is a pretty name, but how would you feel about being called something else?”
“Juliet is from Shakespeare.”
“I know, but—” Everyone else knows, too. “Do you have another name? I’m Emily Jane.”
“I’m Juliet Elizabeth.”
“Elizabeth. How about Lizzy? That’s pretty.”
“Why do I need a different name? So the men with cameras don’t find me?”
Emily favored honesty and saw no reason to alter that approach in this instance. “Yes.” She opened a cupboard and pulled out a bowl in a pretty shade of cornflower blue. “That’s part of the reason. I don’t want people asking you questions. It will be like a game.”
“I used to play games with Mellie.”
“Mellie?”
“She cooks. Sometimes she looks after me when Paula is in the bedroom kissing her boyfriend.”
“P—what? Who is Paula?”
“She’s one of my nannies.”
One of them? Still, at least Lana had arranged child care, which was more than their mother ever had. “So Paula looked after you?”
“Yes. And sometimes we watched my mom on TV.” Lizzy was still holding the jar clutched against her chest. “Paula says people take pictures because she was famous and beautiful.”
“Yes, she was.”
People will pay money to see my face. You’ll never be as pretty as me, and that’s why people don’t love you.
She tried to wipe the memory from her mind. “No one will take pictures of you here. People are friendly.”
That much was true. She, Skylar and Brittany had spent plenty of happy evenings laughing and drinking in the Shipwreck Inn, and Brittany was well-known and loved on the island. Too well known.
She tried to remember whether her friend had ever mentioned a Ryan Cooper.
She was certain she hadn’t met him before.
His wasn’t a face that was easy to forget.
That face was in her head as she pulled open cupboards, looking through tins and dried pasta that Brittany left as emergency food. She found cereal, tipped it into the bowl along with the milk she’d bought and settled the child at the table. “We’ll finish unpacking and then explore the island.” Unpacking wasn’t going to take long. Should she be depressed that everything she valued from her old life had fit into two small suitcases? A few clothes and her precious first editions. “We can have lunch by the harbor. You can pick anything you like from the menu. It will be fun.”
“Can I bring my bear?”
Emily looked at the battered bear and decided its chances of surviving the trip were slim. There was a rip in its neck, and it had lost an eye. “Why don’t we leave him here? We don’t want to lose him.” Or parts of him.
“I want him to come.”
Concerned that half the bear might fall into the harbor, Emily was tempted to argue, but she was more afraid of doing something that might destabilize an already fragile situation. “We’ll take the bear.”
“Can I wear my fairy wings?”
Because fairy wings weren’t conspicuous at all. She closed her eyes and told herself that no one would be looking for the child of a Hollywood actress on an island off the coast of Maine. And if Skylar was right, then Lizzy wouldn’t be the only six-year-old wearing fairy wings. “If that’s what you want.” She stiffened as the child slid off her chair and walked across to her.
A small hand slid into hers. “Will they find us?”
The feel of that hand made the pressure in her chest worsen. “No.” She croaked out the word. “We’re safe here.”
Or at least, she hoped they were.
Picking up her phone, she found Brittany’s name in her contacts and sent a text.
Who is Ryan Cooper?
BECAUSE IT WAS still early in the summer, she managed to park near the harbor. The busy working waterfront was a popular spot for tourists keen to experience all Puffin Island had to offer. Lobster boats, the lifeblood of the local community, bobbed alongside yachts, and fishermen rubbed shoulders with locals, tourists and sailing enthusiasts. The ferry that connected the island to the mainland ran three times a day when weather