“I’m not slight,” Quinn says, defending his sketch. I don’t miss the way he rubs his arms, as though he needs to double check that he hasn’t gotten scrawny since arriving in Cavanagh.
“Your jaw is not that square and perfect.”
“Oh,” he leans close on the pretense of looking down at the sketch, but Quinn’s mouth lingers a bit too close to my ear. “But you’re saying it is somewhat perfect.”
“I’m definitely not.”
“You know, I think you are, in fact,” he says, knocking his shoulder next to mine, just like a normal human. Someone who isn’t all venom and anger, or put upon bravado meant to offend.
“Well,” I begin, liking the small glimpse of what I believe is the real Quinn peeking out behind the almost smile on his mouth. “I wouldn’t say perfect at all.” That exaggerated glare he gives me doesn’t break my humor and I manage to pretend I’m not looking him over. “I mean, you’re okay to look at if you’re into that sort of thing.”
“What? Devilishly handsome blokes? Utterly shagable men that will make you see heaven?”
“And there’s the asshole we all know and love.”
There’s a moment when Quinn’s expression shifts, as though he might have enjoyed me saying that. It only lasts a few small seconds and then the Irishman’s body goes rigid and the pleased, the happy set of his mouth tightening as though he can’t give in to two friends joking, or the idea that I might have acted remotely kind to him.
I recover as quickly as I can, shaking my head, adding an exaggerated eye roll to make him see I wasn’t serious. “Figure of speech, O’Malley.” I don’t bother looking at him when I speak, keeping my attention on the sketch book, nearly getting the page turned when the door to Rhea’s room finally opens.
“Sayo… Quinn.” Aunt Carol emerges, followed by two nurses and a doctor I don’t recognize. I can just make out Uncle Clay’s feet as he sits next to Rhea on the bed before one of the nurses pulls the door shut. Odd that he’d be here when Carol swore he’d been called in to work and couldn’t be here when the labs came back. Quinn and I are on are feet when Carol crosses the threshold. “You’re both so sweet to wait.”
“Well?” I ask, noticing how tired Carol looks, how the faint lines around her eyes and mouth have somehow gotten deeper in a matter of months.
“She doesn’t have it, fortunately. But since the wing was exposed, I… well…” Carol dismisses the head shake one of the nurses gives her as she passes, then lifts her chin, looking determined, confident. “Look, I realize it may seem a bit of an overreaction, but I still want her quarantined. Clay is staying with her for a little while and then I want everyone else to clear out for at least five days.”
“Five days?” Quinn clears his throat, looking sheepish that he’d lost his composure again. “Well what’s to be done until then?”
“Nothing. I…” My aunt eyes me, looking for sympathy she know I’ll give her.
“This happened before, when Rhea was younger. One of the kids got sick and the staff weren’t that concerned.” I push my hair behind my ear, lowering my voice as one of the doctors passes by us. “Well, it took Rhea a month to get over the flu that time.”
“I won’t have that happen again..” Carol rubs her neck, groaning when it pops.
Next to me Quinn opens his mouth and I can see by the way one vein on his neck pops that he’s gearing up for an argument. One that Carol doesn’t need. Before he opens his mouth, I jab him in the ribs, hoping he will keep silent.
“Won’t she be lonely?” Quinn offers, not bothering to look at me.
“The nurses will read to her. They’ll make sure she isn’t on her own too much.”
My aunt looks behind her to the closed door and between that worried, anxious expression and Quinn’s brewing anger, I offer a suggestion that I hope will alleviate the issue of Rhea being on her own.
“What about her laptop or iPad?”
“I don’t want anything from home in there. The contamination…”
“For feck’s sake,” Quinn says, voice a little loud.
“It’s not her fault, asshole,” I tell him, lifting a finger to shut him up when he looks as though he wants to argue with me. “What about a new iPad? We can at least chat with her, read to her and Quinn can do…” Quinn’s grunt is low, but I ignore it with another hand wave, “whatever drawing things he does with her.”
“That’s not a bad idea. At least she’ll have a way to pass the time.”
Carol reaches into her purse, pulls out her wallet, but Quinn shakes his head, stopping her. “Leave it to me.” And he is down the hall and away from us before Carol can stop him.
We pass the time like this: Rhea looking more like herself, but somehow stronger, happier via the small screen on my laptop. She seemed so much stronger that I went back part time to the library. Aunt Carol even decided to pick up a few massage therapy clients while Rhea was quarantined. Between my work at the library and Aunt Carol getting back into the swing of a light work week, we had time to organize the final details of the fundraiser with Autumn’s help. Uncle Clay too seemed to be keeping more work hours which seemed to annoy Carol but when I asked her about it, she changed the subject.
Quinn and I keep to our schedule, me in the morning chatting with and reading to my little cousin from my library office and Quinn in the afternoons drawing at Rhea’s direction from his phone wherever it is he spends his day. This Rhea relates to me, though she’s still very vague about what it is exactly Quinn draws for her. I do not speak to him or see him but every afternoon when I pass the warehouse on Clemson Drive, that mural gets larger, more detailed.
Then, around the end of the second week in December, Rhea tells me that Quinn’s attitude had surfaced again, this time in front of her.
“Did you and Quinn have a fight, Sayo?”
“I’d have to see or speak to him for that to happen, kiddo.” I move closer to the laptop screen, worried when Rhea’s mouth stretches into a purse. “Why? What happened?”
I don’t buy the shrug or way my cousin exhales like she’s worn out. “I don’t know. He got all funny when I told him they’re letting me come home for Christmas since my quarantine will be over. He just, I don’t know, got really quiet and didn’t talk too much.” She leans in, tilting her head. “Why would that make him mad?”
“I’m sure it didn’t, sweetie. Maybe he’s just a little bummed he can’t see you for the holidays.”
“But he can. I’ll ask Mama.”
I couldn’t tell her that Quinn wouldn’t likely be welcomed. Aunt Carol was particular about Christmas Day. She and my mother had always kept to their husbands and kids the day of Christmas and reserved the day before or the day after for dinner with the rest of the family. I couldn’t see Carol changing that tradition just for O’Malley. Besides, my aunt and uncle knew how precious Rhea’s time was. I suspect they’d want to keep her to themselves for that day at least.
“You do that and I’ll be sure to ask him why he’s mad tomorrow at the fundraiser.”
“Okay, Sayo. Tell him not be so fussy next time. He’s never like that and it sort of hurt my feelings.”
A smile is all I manage to give her. Hurt like hell biting my tongue, but Rhea didn’t need to know that the sweet, funny man drawing for her is not the same person he is to everyone else in the world. She’d never seen the asshole Quinn O’Malley generally is and if I had my way, she never would.