There was Lea from the hotel in Houston. They’d gone for drinks once. And Rosalind, their social media manager for the hotel. Quinn had thought they were friends for a while, until she kept seeing girls’ night out pics on Instagram and realized she was never invited.

She kept going past a few more pages as she looked for a name that might sound comforting to her.

None did, until she got to the Ds.

Dalton.

Grace Dalton, to be exact. Maggie’s mom.

She figured it was as good a time to call as any. It rang once. Then twice.

“Hello?”

It was Grace. Quinn would recognize her voice no matter how many years went by.

“Hi, Mrs. Dalton. It’s Quinn,” she said.

There was a pause.

“Quinn? Quinn Maguire?”

Well, how many Quinns did the woman know?

She always was a bit foggy. In an endearing way.

“Yes, it’s me. Quinn Maguire. How are you?”

“Oh, honey, I’m fine. Other than the arthritis in my hips that is keeping me down. I don’t venture too far from home now. How are you?”

“I’m—well, I’m okay. Listen, I’m trying to get ahold of Maggie, but the number I have has been disconnected. And I tried email, but that didn’t work either.” Quinn tried to keep the desperation out of her voice. Now that she was talking to Grace, the memories were flooding in, and she wanted to talk to Maggie more than anything she’d wanted in a long time.

Grace hesitated again before replying.

“Quinn, I can’t give you her number,” she said, her voice sad.

Quinn felt stunned for a moment. Maybe Maggie knew about her mother dying and was angry at her?

“Oh, well . . . okay, I guess,” she replied. She wasn’t sure how to ask why without inspiring the woman to say something that might put Quinn in an even worse emotional place than she currently was. “Can you tell her I called?”

“Of course,” Grace said. “It’s not you, Quinn. It’s, well . . . it’s everyone. She doesn’t want anyone to have her information.”

Now that was weird. What was going on with Maggie?

“Is something wrong, Grace?” Quinn couldn’t not ask. And in her worry, she forgot to address her respectfully.

“I’ll tell her you called. If she wants to tell you more, she can contact you herself. Is this the number you can be reached at?”

“It is,” Quinn said, nodding her head, forgetting the woman couldn’t see her. But she really needed Maggie. “Um, Mrs. Dalton?”

“Yes?”

Quinn swallowed the lump in her throat. “Can you tell Maggie I really need to talk to her? It’s sort of important. Or, if I promise not to share it, you could give me—well, you know . . .” She stopped just short of begging the woman for Maggie’s number.