Tell me about it.
Mr. Mercer stood next to the table. He passed a hand over his graying hair. “Your mom said you were here. I have to do some weeding, but I was thinking, if you weren’t busy, maybe we could take a hike later. Explore a different canyon. One we haven’t tried before.”
Emma couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face. That sounded like code for talking more about Becky. They’d had a long conversation last night, and Emma had learned so much about Becky. Like how she watched Cinderella five times in a row when she was young, loving how the fairy godmother made her into a princess. How she liked peach ice cream, Emma’s favorite flavor, too. That she adored school until about eighth grade, when she got kind of wild, and that she ran away from home in high school…and came back pregnant.
But there were so many more questions to ask, a lot of things Emma hadn’t dared to inquire about yet. Like why Mr. Mercer’s expression clouded over when Emma tried to talk to him about the trouble Becky used to get into. Or why Mrs. Mercer didn’t want anything to do with her anymore. Becky was her daughter—could she really be that callous? Or had Becky done something so horrible to her that Mrs. Mercer simply couldn’t forgive her?
“I’d like that,” Emma answered. She was about to suggest a Catalina trail Madeline had told her about, when a blue BMW pulled off the main road into the lot. Emma turned to watch Thayer’s car park in front of the café.
Mr. Mercer’s eyes narrowed. When Thayer saw him, he blanched, and Emma thought he might back up and leave. But then he shifted into park and turned off the engine. The driver’s door swung open, and he climbed out of the car and walked toward Emma.
Mr. Mercer stared at him. “I thought I told you to stay away from him, Sutton.” He tightened his grip on the five-foot-long shovel. It was the kind of thing that would’ve freaked Emma out just a day ago, but now that she knew the truth, it struck her as kind of funny: her grandfather, clutching a shovel and yelling at some guy he thought was trouble.
Emma pressed her hand on his arm. “It’s okay,” she said gently. “I invited him. He’s cool—I promise. And just so you know, he didn’t leave me in the canyon that night. He got hurt and had to go to the hospital. I made him leave.”
Mr. Mercer shot a suspicious look at Thayer. “Okay. But I’m keeping an eye on you, understand?” he said, pointing the shovel at him before heading to his SUV, which was parked a few stores over.
Thayer looked shaken as he sat down next to Emma. “I’m not sure this is a good idea. I’ve actually been thinking of going to the police about what happened to me in the canyon.” He kept his eyes on a twenty-something hipster with a fedora entering the café, as if nervous to see Emma’s reaction.
“That’s why I asked you to meet,” Emma said urgently. “My dad isn’t the one who hit you that night. It was someone else.”
Thayer’s head snapped up and he gazed into her eyes. “Are you sure?”
“Positive. Actually, I found out something crazy.” Emma took a long sip of her iced tea. “My dad is my biological grandfather. The woman he was with that night? It was my birth mom. His daughter.”
Thayer’s eyes widened. For a second he looked like he couldn’t quite believe it. Or maybe he worried that it was yet another prank.
“I’m serious,” Emma urged. “They were meeting and we surprised them.”
Thayer looked astonished. “You mean your birth mother has been in town and has never tried to see you?”
Hurt tears stung Emma’s eyes. She’d imagined Becky walking back into her life so many times, finding her and scooping her up in her arms and telling her everything was going to be okay. But then she thought of the note Becky had left at the diner. She wanted nothing to do with her children—she hadn’t stayed at the diner. She had “nothing to give.”
“She just left me and never came back,” Emma blurted out, thinking of the horrible day when Becky abandoned her at a neighbor’s house. “And she still doesn’t want to see me.” A tear spilled down her cheek.
Thayer leaned over and put his arms around her. “Oh, Sutton.”
“It’s okay,” she said, swiping away the tears that wet her cheeks.
“Does Laurel know about all this?” he asked softly.
Emma shook her head. “No. And my mom doesn’t know what happened either.” Her stomach suddenly jumped. “You can’t tell Laurel. You have to promise me.”
“Sutton,” he said in a low voice. “You know you can trust me.” He stared hard at Emma. “But what does that mean? Who hit me with your car?”
“I don’t know,” Emma murmured. “Are you positive it was a guy you saw behind the wheel?”
Thayer squinted, thinking. “I guess I’m not really sure,” he said slowly. “I just assumed it was your dad since he’d been running after us. It all happened so fast. I think the person had dark hair, but I never actually saw a face.”
A shiver shot through Emma. Was it just a car thief…or someone connected to this case?
Just then a car backfired loudly, and Emma’s head snapped up. A rusted, brown car rolled slowly into the complex. It kept starting and stopping in front of each store. Thayer frowned and hitched forward. “Is that person looking for something?”
Emma leaned forward, too, as the car made its way toward the café. Someone was staring over the dashboard at them. Her mouth was drawn tight, her eyes were wide, and there was an eerie expression her face. It was menacing and threatening, wild and angry. Then Emma took in the eyes, that familiar nose, and high cheekbones.