Out of Grief (3 page)

Several times, I caught her stopping and staring at his truck. I wasn’t really sure what to do about the truck. On the one hand, it was the country and who knew if she’d ever need it; on the other hand, she had a perfectly good SUV that could probably haul anything she might need. Maybe she should just sell it. We could probably put it on Craigslist and be rid of it in a couple of days. I’d do a little research later on the Blue Book value, before I brought it up.

I was pulling down a box of fishing supplies, when I caught her searching through the toolbox I had just made for her. Her jaw was clenched and she clutched the hammer in her hand, tapping it against her open palm. Then, without a word, she walked toward his truck.

“Quinn, what are you doing?”

I don’t know if she chose to ignore me, or if she truly couldn’t hear me. But she continued to march straight toward the truck. She got one good solid swing in, smashing the passenger side window, before I caught her and pulled her back from the shattered glass.

“Let go of me!” She struggled to break free, but I held her firmly against me, keeping my arms wrapped around her. I was trying my best not to hurt her, but she was freakishly strong. Perhaps it was the adrenaline coursing through her veins right now that was giving her superhuman strength. I felt sweat trickle down the back of my neck as I kept her body locked firmly against mine, and I had a feeling my arms were going to ache tomorrow.

“I get it,” I said softly in her ear. “You’re angry. Who wouldn’t be? But you’re going to hurt yourself this way. He’s not worth it, Quinn. He was with YOU, the most amazing woman I know, and HE chose to leave.”

“Why?” she screamed, and I felt her body tremble. “What did I do wrong?”

I squeezed her tighter. “Nothing. Not a goddamned thing!”

“Then why?” She began to sob.

“I don’t know,” I said softly. “He was a fool.”

I could feel the fight drain out of her body as her anger gave way to tears. I eased her down onto the ground and pulled her into my lap, rocking us back and forth until she cried herself out.

“I’ll take the truck down to that repair shop tomorrow. Get a new window and see if he knows anyone that wants to buy it. Then you won’t have to be reminded every time you look at it. What do you say?”

She wiped her eyes and nodded.

“And I think we should dust those bikes off and go for a ride. I think you could do with a change of scenery and some physical exercise.”

“I’m sorry I’m such a handful.”

“You’re not; you’re just grieving.”

“Sometimes I wonder why you put up with me.”

I stood up and held out my hand. “Because I love you, silly.”

“I love you, too,” she said when she was standing next to me.

Chapter Seven

I had just finished a chapter of my new book when the cramps hit. I hated my period. Not that I knew many women who liked it, but mine was debilitating at best. The drugs never seemed to do anything to help, and so I did the only thing I knew how to do. I curled into a ball on the guest room bed and tried to block the pain out.

“I was thinking that maybe we could go to a movie,” Quinn said as she entered the room, paper in hand. “There’s that new Sandra Bullock one playing. Maybe get a bite to eat?”

“Maybe another day,” I managed to breathe out between the stabbing pains in my abdomen.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Her hand was on my forehead, pushing the hair that had matted there back. She rested her cheek against my forehead, a trick my mother used to check for fever.

“Cramps.”

“Can I get you anything?”

“Unless you can cut my ovaries out and make it stop, no.”

“So, they’re still as bad as they’ve always been?” she asked, moving to the other side of the bed.

“Pretty much.”

I felt the bed shift as she crawled in behind me. “Let me help.”

“How?”

“Trust me. You do trust me, don’t you?”

“Mmm hmmm.”

“Good.” She pulled me into her arms, making me the little spoon for a change. Wrapping her hand around my stomach, she began to rub light circles over my lower abdomen. My body tensed, surprised by just where her hand was. “I know it’s hard, but try and relax.”

She was trying to help me, that was all—just trying to make things better,
I chanted silently to myself until I could relax and realize just how calming her touch actually was.

“Try to think that we’re lying on a beach. It’s a warm day out. You can hear the waves break against the shore, and the warm sun is beating down on you. Everywhere the sun touches, your muscles are starting to relax…”

The sound of her voice was soothing, and her hand was creating warmth, beginning to relax the spasms. Her other hand was gently massaging my lower back and the combination of the two was a magic balm.

“The beach is quiet, no annoying tourists, no loud boom boxes or screaming children, just the quiet sound of the waves. It’s a warm sunny day, but there’s a breeze blowing, so the temperature is perfect. We have rubbed enough sunscreen on each other not to burn, and we’re both relaxing in our beach chairs. I am doing the Sunday
Times
crossword, and you have your favorite book open, and you’re lost in the pages.”

“Sounds nice,” I murmured.

“You’re so relaxed that you begin to get drowsy. The words on the page begin to blur as your eyes begin to close, and all you can feel is the warmth of the sun all around you. You’re safe, because I’m right beside you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

My eyes did feel heavy, and the pain was beginning to be a distant memory as I let myself relax into her touch. I heard her begin to lightly hum a simple tune. Her voice was soft, like an angel, and I let my eyes close.

When I woke, she was still there, holding me. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought she was studying me. But I did know better. I did know that as wonderful as that had been, it was offered out of friendship—nothing more.

For the next three days, she would repeat the massage, changing up the story that went with it slightly until I could rest. And it made me think about my past relationships, and how they paled in comparison. No one had ever stayed with me through an illness, let alone tried to help me ride out the pain of my cramps. But Quinn acted as if it was nothing to help me; in fact, she insisted on it.

Chapter Eight

Quinn was curled up on her sofa sipping a hot tea and reading my latest manuscript while I cooked dinner. My cell phone rang, and I saw that it was Kat calling.

“Hey, Kat, wuz up?”

“You planning on coming back to the city anytime soon?”

I looked at Quinn, engrossed in the pages I had written. “I’m not sure. Why?”

“Just boring without you. I miss my wing man.”

“I’m sure you’re doing just fine on your own.” I turned the flame down, and stepped outside where the reception was better. “Seriously, what’s up?”

“I’m worried about you, Nik.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re playing house with her, and you’re going to get your heart shattered.”

“We’re not playing house.”

“You’re cooking for her. You’re sleeping in the same bed, right? But you’re not having sex. Face it, girl, you’re like an old married couple.”

“I’m going to stop telling you things, if you’re going to throw them back in my face.”

“You know I’m not some bullshit friend that’s not going to call it like I see it. Now get out, before she hurts you. She has got to be capable of standing on her own two feet by now. Come back to the city where you belong.”

“I’ll give it some thought.”

“I have a charity thing coming up at the end of the month, and I’m putting you down as my plus-one. So you better get your ass back here.”

“Why don’t you invite one of your strumpets?”

“Hey, at least when I sleep with a woman, we actually have sex.”

“I’m hanging up now.” I clicked the phone off. It wasn’t like Kat didn’t have a point. But I wasn’t ready to leave, and I wasn’t going to be guilt-tripped into doing so.

Chapter Nine

About a week later, Quinn began to get queasy. I knew it wasn’t the food. And since it usually happened in the morning, and she hadn’t had her period since I’d been there, I had an inkling she might be pregnant. A home pregnancy test confirmed my diagnosis.

“I don’t understand how this could have happened.” She sighed, starring at the plus sign on the test.

“Seriously? I’m pretty sure we both know what you did to get pregnant.”

She punched me in the arm. “Smart ass!”

I rubbed the spot, which was sure to bruise. The news was unexpected, true, but Quinn had always wanted this. “You always said you wanted a baby. Is this really so bad?”

“I wanted to be a mom, yeah. But I thought there would be a dad. How am I supposed to do this on my own?”

“Lots of women do.”

“You think I can do this?”

“Quinn, you can do anything you put your mind to. You always have.”

“What if the baby looks like him?”

“There is that possibility.”

“I want to do it again. Maybe the test is wrong.”

“Because the first three were wrong?” I grabbed a tissue and took the stick, discarding it in the waste can with the others. “Hey.” I knelt down in front of her and took her hands. “What’s really bothering you?”

“It’s not supposed to happen like this!” she cried.

“Shh,” I whispered, pulling her into my arms. “It’s going to be okay. Really.”

“What about when the baby asks who its father is? What do I say?”

“I would imagine the truth.”

“Your father committed suicide, honey. How’s a little kid supposed to deal with that, when I’m having problems?” She was looking into my eyes for an answer.

“It’s not like he found out about the baby and did it. He didn’t know.”

“You don’t think if he knew about this, it might have stopped him, do you?”

“We’ll never know. Listen, whatever you decide, I will support you.”

Her head fell against my shoulder, and she sighed. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“We’ll figure it out.” I kissed the top of her head and whispered platitudes. I had no doubt she would keep the baby. Her faith was too strong to let her make any other choice. I just wasn’t sure what the consequences to our friendship would be.

Later that night, when she snuggled in to my arms, Kat’s words came back to me.
“You’re like an old married couple.”
She was right. We knew each other better than anyone else. We loved each other, quirks and all. We were connected in every way but sexually. In some respects, it was exactly what she needed, and I always wanted to be what she needed. But I had never been able to shut off my libido, and as she grew more and more comfortable with me physically, the opposite was happening for me. I would tingle at her touch. Her arm would accidently brush against my breasts at night, and my nipples would tighten. All in all, I was aroused, and I hated my body. I hated that I couldn’t just relax and enjoy being with her. But the truth is, I wanted more, so when my agent called about a guest teaching spot at NYU, I knew it was the perfect excuse to leave.

The one thing we had always done was championed each other’s work and professional opportunities, so despite her disappointment, she said good-bye. I returned to my apartment in Sugar Hill, and what I thought was a very good life. But what I didn’t count on was how very much I would miss her.

Chapter Ten

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” I told Kat as we crossed the threshold of the Metropolitan Museum for the costume gala. I was dressed as Edgar Allen Poe, and Kat was dressed in a black unitard with wings like a raven.

“You know, you’re a lot less fun since you came back from Kansas, Dorothy.”

I wasn’t going to bother correcting her. She knew it wasn’t Kansas, and I knew she purposely picked a different place every time, just to needle me.

“There she is.” Kat pointed to a statuesque blonde dressed as Marilyn Monroe. “Isn’t she the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?”

Not really. I left the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known back in Ohio.
“She’s definitely your type.”

“So you’re going to be okay for a couple minutes, while I go make nice with her. Right?”

“Peachy,” I said, eyeing the bar at the far end of the room. At least there would be free booze to smooth my foul mood over. The first week of classes had been harder than I’d thought, and I wondered if, for the first time in my life, I had leapt into the deep end of the pool without a life jacket.

“Jameson, neat, please.”

“Professor K? Is that you?”

I looked at the young bartender and realized he was in my class this semester. “Afraid it is. It’s Bill, right?”

“Yes.” He set the drink in front of me. “Didn’t have you pegged for the whisky type.”

“Really? What did you have me pegged for, Bill?”

“Craft beer. Something with a little body, perhaps.”

“And you got all that from my class?”