Chapter Six

Eli

A formidable woman, huh?

My thoughts turn to Quinn as I dig into my plate of chicken schnitzel and mashed potatoes.

I've never met anyone like her. Before I married Meredith, there wasn't a girl I wanted that I couldn't get. If they weren't throwing themselves at me from the beginning, they surely were by the end. All it took was a few whispered words, a kiss, a touch. Then I got married, and of course I stopped playing around.

I wouldn't call Meredith formidable. She could make me do things, but I did them because I wanted her to be happy, because I knew her health was frail and I didn't want to do anything to hurt or worry her. We never fought. She was kind. I was careful. And we understood each other. We were a couple, but before that, we were friends who knew each other for a long time, almost like a brother and sister.

Gentle. Delicate. Precious. That's what I'd call her.

But Quinn? There's nothing gentle or delicate about her. She's a hurricane. Maybe it's because of that boyish hairdo of hers or those overalls she loves to wear. Or maybe it's because she grew up on a farm. Whatever the reason, there's something wild and fierce about her. She just won't back down without a fight. That's why I said she's formidable.

And fascinating. It's been a long time since a woman fascinated me, maybe not since that Halloween all those years ago.

I put a morsel of chicken inside my mouth.

Come to think of it, that woman was a fighter, too. If not for her skimpy costume, she would have beaten me. In the end, I was the one who came out on top, though. In more ways than one.

Strange. I thought I'd forgotten all about her.

My thoughts are disrupted as I turn my head and find Marianne's plastic cup toppled, the grape juice that used to be inside it puddling on the white linen tablecloth. Some of it drips down towards the floor.

As a maid rushes to clean the mess up, I glare at Marianne.

"Can't you be more careful? Look what you've done."

She drops her spoon and fork and bursts into tears.

Cry. That's my daughter's response to everything. If she's upset, she cries. If she's scared, she cries. If she's angry, she cries.

I set down my fork and rub my temples. Isn't a five-year-old supposed to handle her emotions better?

"Marianne, can you please stop it?"

I swear, all her bawling drives me crazy.

She cries all the louder. Finally Janice leads her away from the table and out of the room. I let out a breath of relief as silence falls, but my mind is still uneasy.

Was there really no way to avert this disaster? Should I have handled it differently? How?

I've never eaten with Marianne before, and so I've never felt like this before. Annoyed. Frustrated. I don't know what's more frustrating - the fact that she spilled her juice and made a mess, or the fact that I lost my temper over such a small, inconsequential thing.

Damn it. It was just spilled juice. Why did Marianne have to make a big deal out of it? Why did I have to make a big deal out of it?

I run my fingers through my hair. Why did Quinn insist I have dinner with Marianne? Did she know this would happen? Is this some kind of test?

If it is, then I've failed.

Quinn was right. I'm a failure at being a father. And for the first time, I realize how much it sucks.

I no longer have an appetite, so I leave the table. I go up to Marianne's bedroom and find her already in bed. She's stopped crying, but when she sees me, she quickly hides under the blanket.

I frown.

And a question pops into my head - is my daughter the monster, or is it me?

~

"You shouldn't have yelled at her," Quinn tells me shortly after arriving the next day.

Janice or one of the nannies must have told her what happened.

I continue typing on my laptop. "Tell me something I don't already know."

"Oh, so you already know that yelling is the least effective form of communication? That getting angry for no reason only scares a child and makes you feel bad? That having your child fear you is only good if you win their love first?"

My fingers stop. I look up to meet the amber eyes glaring from beneath the creased eyebrows. "Are you done?"

Quinn puts her hands on her hips. "Do you?"

I sit back on the couch. "What was I supposed to do, huh?"

"Let it go because it was an accident," she suggests. "Not scare her."

I narrow my eyes at her. "Do you think I want to scare her?"

"Well, have you been doing anything to make her not be scared of you?"

I say nothing.

"Do you know the first time we met, she called you a mean fairy king?"

I'm confused. "A fairy king?"

"The key word there was 'mean'. Marianne thinks you're mean and scary. Doesn't that bother you?"

My temper rises. "That's why I didn't want to be around her. But you were the one who insisted we have dinner together, weren't you? Have you forgotten about that?"

"I did that because I wanted the two of you to spend time together, to get a chance to know each other, to be like a real father and daughter."

"And look what happened."

Quinn crosses her arms over her chest. "Oh, so you're saying this is my fault?"

"I'm saying you should stop trying to act like you know everything!" I end up raising my voice at her.

She taps her fingers on her arm. "What did I just say about yelling?"

I stand up and proceed in a calmer voice. "You don't know a thing about me, Quinn. You have no fucking idea how I feel."

"But this isn't about you. It's about your daughter."

"And what do you know about my daughter, huh? You've only just met her."

"I - "

"You think you're such an expert at parenting, don't you? Why? You're not even a parent. And I bet if you were, you'd suck just as much as I do. So why don't you just stick to being a teacher and doing what you actually have a fucking clue about?"

Quinn says nothing, but the moment I see her face fall, I know I've gone too far. Her arms, too, fall to her sides. Her shoulders droop. Then she turns around and leaves the room.

I sink into the couch with a sigh. My hands go to the top of my head as it drops back. My fingertips press against my scalp.

What have I done?

First I scared Marianne. Now Quinn.

"Sir?" Janice's voice breaks into my thoughts.

"What?" I ask without a shred of enthusiasm as my hands drop to my sides.

"I've finished compiling the data you asked for. It's all here in this folder. I've sent soft copies of the documents in a zip file to your email as well."

"Just put it there beside my laptop," I answer without looking.

"Anything else, sir?"

"An ice-cold beer."

I know it's still early in the morning, but it already feels like it's been a long day.

"And maybe a time machine so I can go back and tell myself to stop losing my temper," I add.

"You know, sir, you could always just say sorry," Janice suggests.

I glance at her. "Just go get me that beer."

~

In the afternoon, I find Quinn and Marianne in the sun room. Rays of sunlight, fading now that only a few hours remain until sunset, flood in through the glass walls. They paint the floor and the furniture the color of daffodils while bouncing off Marianne's golden hair and setting Quinn's copper locks on fire.

They're both seated on the rug. Quinn's hands are busy cutting shapes from sheets of paper and Marianne is painting them. A closer look tells me they're making bats, spiders and pumpkins.

Right. It's almost Halloween.

I can't remember the last time I celebrated it. Wait, I do. It was the year Meredith and I got married. She wanted to decorate our house and she ended up buying a ton of stuff, even a coffin for the front yard and a life-sized witch to put on the roof. She got sick on Halloween itself, though, and I had to be the one to open the door and give candies to the trick-or-treaters. I had to dress up as Gomez Addams, too.

So it's that time of year again, huh? Well, there shouldn't be any trick-or-treaters around here, so there's no need to buy candies or decorate, though it seems those two are already starting on the latter.

My gaze lingers on Marianne, who's busy drawing a face on a spider with a red crayon. She seems perfectly calm and behaved right now. She even looks happy. Of course, it would probably be better if she was painting flowers, but hey, she seems to be having fun.

I wonder what kind of magic Quinn has worked on her.

Just then, Quinn looks over her shoulder. Our eyes meet. Marianne lifts her head as well, and when she sees me, she quickly hides behind a chair.

Great. She's scared of me but not of spiders.

"Hey." Quinn gives a weak smile. "Do you want to join us?"

She's not mad?

I glance at Marianne. "No, thanks. I think the two of you have everything under control."

"Nonsense. We could use some help. Isn't that right, Marianne?"

She doesn't answer.

"Here." Quinn hands Marianne some of the finished decorations and a roll of masking tape. "Why don't you ask your dad to put these up? We need them up in the corners of the ceiling, and only your dad can reach those."

Marianne looks at me with a glimmer of hope. Quinn throws me an encouraging glance.

I sigh and walk into the room. I offer Marianne my hand.

"Give them to me."

She doesn't budge.

Quinn clears her throat.

I draw a deep breath before rephrasing my command into a request. "Let me help you with those, Marianne."

For a moment, she still doesn't move. Then she puts a few bats and spiders in my palm.

One of the spiders has a full set of teeth. I'm tempted to tell her that spiders don't have teeth, but I don't. She might cry. One of the bats has stars on its wings.

Okay. A star-studded bat. Why not? It's Halloween.

"Where do you want them?" I ask her.

She points to the corner.

I go over there and stick the spiders on the ceiling first, then line the bats along the highest part of the wall.

I turn to Marianne. "How's that?"

She doesn't smile, but she nods in approval. I guess that's good enough.

Quinn walks over. "They look good." She pats Marianne's shoulder. "See. I told you they'd... darken the room. Just what we need for Halloween."

Marianne says nothing.

"I should have known you were a Halloween person," I tell Quinn.

She gasps. "Is it so obvious that I like horror movies?"

I grin.

"Actually, I don't watch all that many anymore, not since Clive was born."

Clive?

"Speaking of Clive, I'm taking him trick-or-treating the day after tomorrow, so I won't be coming here."

"You won't?" Marianne looks up at her like she's about to cry.

Quinn pinches her cheek. "I'll only be gone a day. And we'll finish all the decorations tomorrow so you can still celebrate Halloween even when I'm not around."

She pouts.

Quinn lifts her chin. "Or maybe we can celebrate when I come back. I'll even bring you some candy."

She smiles and runs back to the table to continue coloring.

"She really adores you," I remark.

"You'd be surprised how easy it is to make kids adore you. At Marianne's age, that is. When they grow older, it becomes easier for them not to like you."

"You have a child?" I ask her.

"Yes," Quinn answers. "He's nine."

I frown as I remember what I told her this morning. "Listen, I'm sorry for what I said - "

"It's fine," she cuts me off. "I know that parenting is hard. It drives you crazy. No matter what you do, you wonder if you're doing the right thing or if you're doing enough. And every mistake feels like a crime, even though the weird part is no one is really going to punish you for it."

I say nothing, because everything she said is true.

"You know what else is weird?" She looks at me. "Being a parent forces you to grow up and be a child again at the same time."

That I don't really understand.

She pats my shoulder. "I'm leaving soon. Why don't you help Marianne with the decorations? If you're not busy, that is."

"I'm done with work," I answer.

"And of course, only if you want to," Quinn says. "It's just a suggestion."

She's being more careful, less pushy. But I have a feeling she's only giving me the space to do something for Marianne on my own, and for some reason, I feel like doing just that.

"I think I'll give it a try."