Chapter 16

Quinn

After a brief altercation with Marnie, over the phone, I dropped Rachel off at her mother’s on Tuesday evening—hating the look of dread that spread across Rachel’s face. Dropping her book bag along with her elbows, she gazed up at me, frustration was written all over her face. “She’s not even going to pay attention to me while I’m there,” she whispered as if she were telling me a secret. “And you know my dad doesn’t mind that you’re watching me. He prefers it.”

“I know, honey,” I said, leaning down and catching her shoulders. Her eyes were pure, sizzling with a kind of magic I couldn’t describe. Hope for a different life, maybe. “But she’s your mom. And she loves you, you know?”

Marnie ripped open the door, mid-conversation, and gave us a glimmering smile. She reeked of cigarettes, the whole place did, and it wafted in my nose, making me cough. Pressing my hand against Rachel’s back, I eased her into the house.

“Quinn, darling,” Marnie said. “It’s good that you brought her over here. I don’t know what I would do if I had to spend another week away from her. We normally don’t go this long, now, do we sweetheart?”

Rachel didn’t answer. Marnie spun her eyes toward me, transitioning the conversation. “I don’t suppose you spoke with Tyler about what we discussed?”

The custody money. Shivering slightly, I watched as Rachel scampered inside, past her stepfather and into her room upstairs. A moment later, the radio blared with new pop songs she liked.

“You don’t mind if I come in, do you?” I asked.

Marnie raised a questioning eyebrow. “Oh. Sure,” she began, cranking the door open a bit wider.

“It’s just. You and I are going to have to work together anyway,” I continued, speaking delicately. “And I’d love to get to know you.”

In reality, I knew that Tyler and I weren’t in the least bit official. We’d slept together exactly twice, and now I was doing him favor after favor, and for what? Was it all based on my feelings for Rachel?

Was it simply because, as a scientist, I wanted to work, continually, for the goodness of the world?

In the kitchen, Marnie poured us two glasses of cheap chardonnay, then guzzled half of hers. I sensed my presence made her nervous. She leaned back against the refrigerator, blinking her strange, fish eyes at me.

“So. How was it that you met Tyler, anyway?” she asked.

The question caught me off-guard. Stumbling into it, I mumbled, “Oh. When I moved to Raleigh, that’s when we—“

“And where? Don’t you have a good story? A cute meeting?” she asked, her voice growing snarky. Her anxiety was lessening as I gave her more power.

“Oh, nothing like that,” I answered, wondering if she could see right through me. Was she asking this because she knew that Tyler and I weren’t actually together? I shifted, sipping the chardonnay. “This is a good glass of wine.”

“Because I don’t think Tyler’s life has much room for a woman,” Marnie continued. “That’s what he’s always telling me, anyway, that he’s put his entire life on hold for Rachel’s sake. Now, you come along like magic, almost. You can’t even say exactly where you met one another. Huh.”

I felt my throat begin to quiver. Hunting for words, I heard Rachel pattering around upstairs. She was a reminder that I needed to behave, to take the high road. Even if Tyler didn’t want me in his life romantically, I was too involved now to play dirty. Raising my chin high, I changed the subject.

“I expect you’ll be wanting to head to the casino tomorrow night, as well?”

Marnie’s eyes flickered.

Greg chortled in the next room, then rose up, swiping his hand over his belly, which was coated in salt and chip crumbs. Gazing at me with sleepy eyes, he spoke. “That would actually be great. If you can pick up Rachel, I mean. We’ve got a big group heading to the casino tomorrow. Remember, Marn?”

Marnie’s hands formed into fists on either side of her waist. After a long, haggard breath, she nodded toward me. I’d won this time.

“Sure. Pick her up tomorrow from school.” Taking a small step forward, she thrust her finger toward my face. “But don’t think for a minute that you’ll see any of that money. She’s my daughter. I birthed her, didn’t I? And I put a roof over her head while her father’s off gallivanting through San Francisco.”

“I think I’ll head out now,” I said then, tracing my fingers through my hair. “Thanks so much for the wine.” My words were false, high-pitched. I darted from the room, catching a final glimpse of Rachel, poised at the top of the steps. She looked like the dogs you leave behind at the shelter. Guilt surge through my stomach. I wanted to take her with me, to tell her she didn’t have to stay in this horrible place with her wretched mother.

“I’ll be back for you tomorrow,” I whispered, sensing every moment she was in that house was horror. To the side, Greg belched as he switched the channel from one game show to another. Three half-smoked cigarettes were poised on the ashtray, swirling smoke through the air. The fireplace held no photographs, beyond the one of Marnie and Greg at their wedding. So unlike Tyler’s house, which had photos everywhere of Rachel at all different ages.

Needless to say, I spent the next several days with Rachel. I was in deep, cooking her favorite foods and giggling with her during her favorite television shows. I hadn’t heard from Tyler since he’d left. I sensed we were at a standstill, romantically, that his life was out-of-control and manic, and he was just trying to stay afloat. I looked at the phone several times, preparing text message after text message.

“Hey. Listen. I know you’re not ready for anything.”

“It was probably a mistake, what we did. But I don’t care.”

“Do you think we can talk about this when you get back? What could we be to one another? I don’t think we should throw this away.”

But I couldn’t send them. Not one.

On Friday, Rachel announced that her father was coming back from San Francisco that night. Racing around the house, she leaped on top of the couch, leaping around, with Randy nipping at her heels. Her blonde hair, streaming behind her which looked unkempt and crazed, and I forced her to sit and let me run a brush through it. As I brought the brush across her skull, I could feel the heat of her excitement through her back.

“What if we made him dinner?” I asked.

“Oh, that’s a great idea!” Rachel said.

“What does he like best?”

“Spaghetti and meatballs. With garlic bread!” she affirmed.

“Is that so?” I laughed. I couldn’t imagine that this stoic, masculine creature, who’d thrust me into the deepest pleasure of my life, pined after spaghetti and meatballs. But I shrugged, wanting to follow Rachel’s lead.

“Especially when I make it,” Rachel continued. “He showed me how to cook the noodles and how to make the bread, with just toast!”

“Wow. And here, I’ve been making your meals all this time?” I said.

We got busy in the kitchen, with Rachel aligning several pieces of bread on top of the clean counter. Toying with the speaker system, I played an old record Emery, and I had nearly burnt out during our first years of college. Rachel swayed along to it, nabbing the butter from the refrigerator, her eyes growing concentrated and hard like when she did her science experiments.

“Do you think you and my dad are going to get married?” she asked. Her voice piped through my anxious mind, which, to be honest, wasn’t as far off from that topic as I would have liked.

“Married?” I laughed, feeling my cheeks grow red. “Where did you get that idea?”

“Come on,” Rachel said. “I see the way he looks at you. And you guys went on that date the other night. I thought—“

A second later we both heard the crash. It was a cacophony of sounds, like the trashcans out front had suddenly blasted against the pavement. Taking quick strides across the floor, I moved toward the window and gazed outside. There, in the center of my driveway, was that familiar Prius, which Chris had purchased the previous year, after graduation. How often had I sat in the passenger seat, my feet up on the dashboard, gazing into his eyes? How many times had I loaded and unloaded groceries into the back? How often had this car been a piece of my past life? Fuck!

Chris bobbed out from the front seat, then. He clunked left, then right as he began to walk toward my house. Randy barked against the window, causing steam to form.

Watching from behind, Rachel asked, “Who is that? Is he a friend of yours?”

“Um. Yes. Stay here, Rachel. Will you start the toast?” I said it off-handedly, before thrusting myself into the yard and heading toward Chris, feeling out of my mind.

His cheeks were blotchy and red, and his lips spouting a million things I couldn’t understand. I knew he was drunk after just seconds. He waved his hand toward me, leaning heavily against my garage door. I crossed my arms over my chest, feeling my heart race. Jesus. Why did I stay with him for so long?

“Wow,” he said. “This place. You. I can’t believe it. You’ve built a new life for yourself.”

“Did you drive drunk all the way from Asheville?” I asked, my nostrils flaring.

“Of course not,” he scoffed. “Just from the bar outside your neighborhood. I had to build up the courage to talk to you.”

“I think we talked enough. The last time you came to our apartment drunk.” The ‘our’ had slipped out, linking us in a way that didn’t feel entirely appropriate to me anymore.

“I just needed to see you. To tell you we can start over. Babe, we can begin another life, together. Just you and me.”

“Ha. And exactly when did you come to that conclusion?” I asked, feeling my anger rise. Despite my harsh words, this man had been the love of my life. And, unlike Tyler, he wanted to build a life with me.

It felt nice, being wanted even if it came from such an unnatural source. Such a weak, little man, who’d tried to explode my life from the inside, out.

“Listen, Chris. You need to go inside and sleep this off. Then you need to leave.” I said. I turned toward my door and led him there, opening it and guiding him toward my bedroom. I’d hardly slept in the room since I moved in, and the sheets were crisp, stretched tight against the mattress. He collapsed on top of it.

“God, I remembered just what you smelled like,” he whispered into it. “I miss it so much. I thought, for so long, that I’d never smell it again.” He patted the space beside him on my bed—the bed we’d once shared—trying to lure me to him.

But I took a step back. “Just get some sleep, Chris. Promise me you will? Maybe—maybe we can talk about this later.”

I watched as his eyes slowly closed, allowing him to fall into a deep, peaceful sleep. I left the room and stood outside, huffing, unable to comprehend what was happening. He wanted to build a life with me. I could ask him to get sober.

But inside, my heart ached, and I knew that I’d already given my heart, fully, to someone else.

I still couldn’t go back to Chris. It was the safest option in the world—because I knew it so intimately. But I’d learned, over the previous months, that taking the safe bet was never the best option.