On a gloomy March afternoon, sitting in the same high
school classroom she'd been sitting in for thirteen years,
gritting her teeth as she told her significant other for
the seventy-second time since they'd met that she'd be
home at six because it was Wednesday and she was always
home at six on Wednesdays, Quinn McKenzie lifted her eyes
from the watercolor assignments on the desk in front of
her and met her destiny.
Her destiny was a small black dog with desperate eyes,
so she missed the significance at first.
She didn't miss anything else. The dog that her
favorite art student held out to her was the canine
equivalent of an exposed nerve: wiry black body, skinny
white legs, narrow black head, all of it held together
with so much tension that the poor baby shuddered with it.
It looked cold and scared and hungry and anxious as it
struggled in Thea's arms, and Quinn's heart broke. No
animal should ever look like that.
"Oh." Quinn rose on the word and went toward Thea
while Bill groaned and said, "Not another one."
"I found it in the parking lot." Thea put the dog down
on the floor in front of Quinn. "I knew you'd know what to
do."
"Come on, baby." Quinn crouched in front of it, not
too near, not too far, and patted the floor. "Come here,
sweetie. Don't be scared. It's all right now. I'll take
care of you."
The dog trembled even harder, jerking its head from
side to side. Then it made a dash for the nearest door,
which, unfortunately for it, was the storeroom.
"Well, that'll make it easier to trap and catch," Bill
said, his tone as cheerful and sure as always. It was
always a beautiful day in the neighborhood for Bill, a man
who'd taken the Tibbett High football team to five
consecutive championships and the baseball team to four--
fifth one coming right up--almost solely, Quinn believed,
by never considering the possibility of defeat. "Know
where you want to be and go there," he'd tell the boys,
and they would.
Quinn decided she wanted to be someplace else, with a
pizza, but she had to comfort this dog and get rid of Bill
before she could go there. She crawled on her hands and
knees to the door, trying to look nonthreatening. "Now
look, dogs like me," she said in her best come-to-mama
voice as the dog cowered against a carton of oaktag at the
back of the narrow storeroom. "You're missing a good deal
here. Really, I'm famous for this. Come on." She moved a
little closer, still on her hands and knees, and the dog
peeled its eyes back.
"I suppose you had to do this," Bill said to Thea good-
naturedly, and Quinn felt equally annoyed with him and
guilty about misleading him. "No more dogs," he'd said the
last time she'd rescued a stray. "You don't have to save
them all." And she'd nodded at him to acknowledge that
she'd heard him, and he'd taken it as agreement, and she'd
let him take it that way because it was easier, no point
in creating a problem she'd just have to turn around and
fix.
And now here she was, cheating on him with a mixed
breed.
She looked into the dog's eyes again. It's going to be
all right. Ignore what the big blond guy says. The dog
relaxed away from the box a little and looked at her with
caution instead of terror in its worried little eyes.
Progress. If she had another ten hours and a ham sandwich,
it might even come to her on its own.
"You're not bringing it home with you, right?" Bill
loomed behind her, cutting off the afternoon light that
came dimly through the wall of windows and casting a
shadow over her so that the dog shrank back again, anxious
at the darkness. It wasn't Bill's fault that he was huge,
but he could at least notice that he cast considerable
shade wherever he went.
"Because we're not allowed to have dogs in our
apartment." Bill's voice was patient as he went on, a
teacher's voice, telling her what she already knew,
guiding her to form the correct conclusion.
My conclusion is that you're patronizing me. "Somebody
has to rescue strays and find them homes," Quinn said
without looking behind her.
"Exactly," Bill said. "Which is why we pay taxes to
support Animal Control. Why don't I go call them--"
"The pound?" Thea's voice was full of horror.
"They don't kill them all," Bill said. "Just the sick
ones."
Quinn looked behind her and met Thea's disbelieving
eyes. Yep, Quinn wanted to tell her, he really believes
that. Instead, she patted the floor again. "Come here,
baby. Come on."
"Honey." Bill put his hand on her shoulder. "Come on,
get up."
If she shrugged his hand off her shoulder, he'd be
hurt, and that wasn't fair. "I'm okay," Quinn said.
Bill moved his hand, and Quinn let out a breath she
didn't know she'd been holding.
"I'll just call--"
"Bill." Quinn kept her voice as friendly as she
could. "Go finish in the weight room so I can do this.
I'll be home at six."
Bill nodded, radiating tolerance and support in spite
of her illogical resistance to Animal Control. "Sure. I'll
go warm up the car for you and bring it to the door
first." He patted her shoulder and said, "You stay here,"
as if she'd been planning to follow him, and after he
left, she could picture him crunching his way across the
icy parking lot toward her CRX as if slipping weren't a
possibility. It probably wasn't for him; Vikings loved
ice, and at six foot five, two hundred and forty-three
healthy blond pounds, Bill was a Viking's Viking. All of
Tibbett adored Bill, a coach in a million, but Quinn was
beginning to have doubts.
And it was so unfair of her to have doubts. She knew
he'd warm the car for her, first opening the door with his
key instead of hers, which was another thing about him
that bothered her, that he'd had that key cut without her
permission two years ago when they'd first begun to date.
But since he'd had the key cut so he could keep her gas
tank filled, it was completely illogical that she should
be annoyed. It was wrong to complain about a man who was
unfailingly clean, generous, considerate, protective,
understanding, and successful, and who'd shelled out
hundreds of dollars in fossil fuel for her since 1997.
Really, the dumbass was the perfect man.
Quinn looked at the dog again and said, "As soon as I
get you out of this storeroom, I'm taking a serious look
at my love life."
Thea said, "What?" but even before she finished the
word, Quinn was shaking her head.
"Never mind. You don't have any food in that bag, do
you? I know I could just go in and grab it, but it's so
scared, I'd rather it came to me on its own."
"Wait." Thea fished around in the huge leather bag she
carried everywhere and came up with half a granola bar.
"Granola," Quinn said. "What the hell." She unwrapped
it and broke off a piece and slid it across the floor to
the dog. It shrank back and then edged forward, its little
black nose quivering. "It's good," Quinn whispered, and
the dog took it delicately.
"What a nice little dog," Thea whispered beside her,
and Quinn nodded and put another piece on the floor, this
one closer to them. The dog edged forward to take it,
keeping its eyes on them just in case they did anything
anti-dog, big dark liquid eyes that said to Quinn, Help
me, save me, fix my life.
"Come on, sweetie," Quinn whispered, and the dog came
closer for the next piece.
"Almost," Thea breathed, and the dog sat down in front
of them, still wary but calmer as it chewed the granola.
"Hi," Quinn said. "Welcome to my world."
The dog tilted its head, and its little black whip of
a tail began to dust the floor. It had one white eyebrow,
Quinn noticed, and four white socks, and the tip of its
tail was white, too, as if it had been dipped in paint.
"I'm going to pick you up," Quinn told it. "No fast
moves." She reached out and picked it up gently as it
cowered back a little, and then she sat down so she could
hold it in her lap. She gave it the last of the granola,
and it relaxed and chewed again as she stroked its
back. "Really a sweet little dog," she told Thea and
smiled for the first time since Bill had walked in the
room. Another problem solved.
"Car's here," Bill said from the doorway, making the
dog jump. "Now you can take it to Animal Control on your
way to pizza."
Quinn patted the dog and counted her blessings. She
was lucky to have Bill; after all, she could have ended up
with somebody difficult to live with, somebody like her
father, who lived for ESPN, or her ex-brother-in-law, who
was congenitally incapable of commitment. Nick would have
dumped her after a year and moved on from boredom, which
was a lousy reason to dump anybody. If it hadn't been, she
would have left Bill long ago.
"It's out on the old highway," Bill said. "Past the
old drive-in."
Quinn smiled at Thea. "You did good, thanks for the
granola." She stood up, still cuddling the dog, and Bill
picked up her coat.
"Put that thing down," he said and held her coat for
her.
Quinn passed the dog over to Thea and let Bill help
her shrug into her coat.
"Don't stay too long with Darla," he said and kissed
her cheek again, and she moved past him to take the dog
back, wanting the warmth of its wiry little body in her
arms. It looked up at her anxiously, and she said, "We're
fine, don't worry."
Bill walked them to the door and then outside into the
cold March wind, holding Quinn's car door open for her
while she asked Thea, "You need a ride?"
Thea said, "Nope. See you tomorrow." She hesitated,
casting a wary eye at Bill and added, "Thanks, McKenzie."
"My pleasure," Quinn said, and Thea started off across
the ice to the student lot as Quinn slid into the driver's
seat.
"You are going to take it to Animal Control, right?"
Bill said as he held her door open.
Quinn turned away. "I'll see you later." She pulled
the door shut and Bill sighed as if his worst suspicions
had been confirmed. She looked down at the dog now
standing tensely on her lap, and said, "You know, you're
messing up my day," in her most friendly voice. Nothing
wrong here, nothing at all, everything's fine in this car,
especially if you're a dog. "I was supposed to meet Darla
for pizza at three-thirty, and now I'm late. You weren't
part of my plan."
The dog's eyes were bright, almost interested, and
Quinn smiled because it looked so smart. "I bet you are
smart," she said. "I bet you're the smartest dog around."
The dog folded its bony little butt onto her lap,
wrapping its white-tipped tail around it as it cocked its
head at her.
"Very cute." She stroked its shiny smooth coat,
feeling how cold it was, no insulation to keep a body
warm, and the dog shuddered under her hand, all sinew and
muscle and tension. Quinn unbuttoned her coat and wrapped
it around the trembling little body until only its head
poked out, and it sighed against her and snuggled into her
heat. The snuggle was immensely gratifying--a solid,
simple, physical thank you, no strings attached--and Quinn
let herself enjoy the pleasure of the moment even though
she knew it wasn't hers to have. Bill would be upset if he
saw her, telling her she could get bit or fleas or God
knew what, but Quinn knew this dog wouldn't bite, and it
was too cold for fleas. Probably.
"It's okay," she said, looking down into the dog's
dark, grateful eyes. It pushed its head under her coat,
looking for more warmth and safety, and Quinn felt herself
relax completely for the first time that day. Teaching art
was never easy--days full of X-Acto knife cuts and spilled
paint and officious principals and artistic despair--and
lately she'd been tenser than usual, a little depressed,
as if something was wrong and she wasn't fixing it. But
now as she cuddled the dog closer and it dug one of its
bony little knees into her stomach, she felt better.
"What a sweetie you are," she whispered into her coat.
Bill rapped on the window, making the dog jerk its
head out, and Quinn exhaled through her teeth before she
rolled it down. "What?"
"I was just thinking," Bill said, and then he looked
down and saw the dog inside her coat. "Is that a good
idea?"
"Yes," Quinn said. "What were you just thinking?"
"You're going to be late for pizza with Darla anyway,"
Bill said, "so it makes sense to take it to Animal Control
now so that a lot of people will see it sooner. It'll find
a home faster that way."
Quinn imagined the little dog shivering on a cold
concrete floor, trapped and alone and afraid behind thick
steel bars, doubly betrayed because she'd promised it
warmth. She looked down into its dark, dark eyes again.
Somebody had thrown this darling little dog away. It
wasn't going to happen again. I will not betray you.
"Be practical, Quinn." Bill sounded sympathetic but
firm. "Animal Control is a clean, warm place."
Her coat was a clean, warm place, too, but that would
be a childish thing to say. Okay, she couldn't keep the
dog, that wouldn't be practical, she had to give it to
somebody, but there was no way in hell it was going to
Animal Control. So who?
The dog looked at her with trusting eyes. Almost
adoring eyes, really. Quinn smiled down at it. She needed
to find somebody kind, somebody calm, somebody she trusted
absolutely. "I'll give it to Nick," she told Bill.
"Nick does not want a dog," Bill said. "Animal Control-
-"
"We don't know that." Quinn cuddled the dog
closer. "He owns his apartment over the service station so
he won't have a landlord problem. I bet he'd like this
dog."
"Nick is not going to take this dog," Bill said
firmly, and Quinn knew he was right. As Darla had once
pointed out, the best way to describe Nick was tall, dark,
and detached from humanity. She was grasping at a
particularly weak straw if she thought Nick was going to
put himself out for a dog.
"Take it to Animal Control," Bill said, and Quinn
shook her head.
"Why?" Bill said and Quinn almost said, Because I want
her.
The thought was so completely selfish and felt so
completely right that Quinn looked at the dog with new
eyes.
Maybe she was meant to keep this dog.
The thrill that ran through her at the thought of
doing something that impractical was almost sexual, it was
so intense. I don't care that it's not sensible, she could
say. I want her. How selfish. How exciting. Quinn's heart
beat faster thinking about it.
Just a little selfish. A dog was such a small thing to
want, not a change of life or a change of lover or really
a change of anything much. Just a little change. Just a
little dog. Something new in her life. Something
different.
She held the dog closer.
Her mother's best friend, Edie, had been telling her
for years to stop settling, to stop being so practical, to
stop fixing everybody else and fix herself. "I'm not
broken," she'd told Edie, but maybe Edie was right. Maybe
she'd start small, with a dog, with this dog, with a
little change, a little fix, and then she could move on to
bigger things. Maybe this dog was a Sign, her destiny. You
couldn't argue with destiny. Look what happened to all the
Greek heroes who'd tried.
"You can't keep the dog," Bill said, and Quinn
said, "Let me talk to Edie."
Bill smiled, his handsome face flooding with relief
and goodwill. One happy Viking. "Great idea. Edie's all
alone. She could use this dog for company. Now you're
thinking."
That's not what I meant, Quinn wanted to say, but
there was no point in starting a fight, so she
said, "Thank you, good-bye," instead. She rolled the
window up, looking into the dog's dark eyes. "You're going
to be just fine." The dog sighed a little and rested her
head on Quinn's chest, keeping eye contact as if her life
depended on it, trembling a little bit in her intensity.
Smart, smart dog. Quinn patted her to slow her quivering
and smiled. "You look like a Katie. K-K-K-Katie, just like
the song. A pretty, skinny K-K-K-Katie." She bent closer
and whispered, "My Katie," and the dog sighed her
agreement and burrowed back to shiver into the dark warmth
of Quinn's coat.
Outside the window, Bill waved at her, clearly pleased
she was being so practical, and she waved back. She could
deal with him later, but now she was late to eat pizza.
With her dog.
-------
Across Town, in the brightly lit second bay of Ziegler
Brothers' Garage and Service Station, Nick Ziegler leaned
under the hood of Barbara Niedemeyer's Camry and scowled
at the engine. As far as he could tell, there was nothing
wrong with it, which meant Barbara had an ulterior motive,
and he had a pretty good idea what it was, given Barbara's
taste for married blue-collar men. His brother Max's
number must have come up. This was going to be a problem
for Max, but nothing for Nick to worry about in general.
People needed to go to hell in their own way, he'd decided
long ago when he'd gone to hell in his, and if he had some
scars from past screwups, he had some interesting
memories, too. No point in getting in the way of Max's
memories.
He slammed the hood shut on Barbara's Trojan horse,
pulled a rag out of his back pocket, and wiped the
gleaming paint to make sure he hadn't left fingerprints.
Then he walked over to the third garage bay to inspect his
next problem, Bucky Manchester's muffler.
"Did you find a leak in the Toyota?" Max asked Nick
from the door to the office.
"There is no oil leak." Nick stood under Bucky's
Chevy, wiping his hands on the rag, surveying the damage.
The b-pipe looked like brown lace. He'd have to call Bucky
and tell him there would be significant money involved.
Bucky wouldn't be happy, but he'd trust him.
"That's what I told Barbara," Max said. "But she said,
`Look again, please.' That woman is just overcautious."
Nick considered warning Max that Barbara was not
interested in a phantom oil leak, but he didn't consider
it for long. Max wasn't a cheater, and even if he lost his
mind and actually contemplated it, there was Darla. Darla
was not the kind of wife a man messed around on and lived
to tell the tale. Barbara was a nonproblem.
"She's never been that fussy about her car before,"
Max groused on as he came out of the office. "You'd think
she didn't trust us anymore." He stopped to squint out one
of the windows in the door of the first bay. "Did Bill
knock Quinn up when we weren't looking?"
Nick's hand tightened on the rag, and he stared at the
b-pipe for a couple of seconds before he
answered. "Doesn't seem like something Bill would do."
"She's going into the Upper Cut." Max squinted through
the window. "And she looks like she's holding her stomach.
Maybe she's sick."
The door was on Nick's way to the office anyway, so he
walked over and ducked his head to look past Max's ear.
Quinn did look awkward as she struggled with the door to
the beauty parlor, her navy peacoat bunched bulky around
her stomach, her long, strong, jeans-clad legs braced
against the wind, the auburn swash of her pageboy swinging
forward as she bent over. Then she turned to lean into the
door, and he saw a dog poke its head up from the neck of
her coat. "Forget it," he told Max. "It's a dog."
"I am not adopting another dog," Max said. "Two is
more than enough."
Nick stopped at the sink to get the last of the oil
off his hands. "Maybe she's going to give it to Lois."
"It's Wednesday," Max said gloomily. "She's meeting
Darla over there for pizza. She'll talk her into it, and
then we'll have to get used to another one." Then he
brightened. "Unless Lois kicks her out for bringing the
dog in. She's awful particular about that beauty parlor."
Nick nudged the tap with his wrist. "If Quinn wants to
take the dog in, Lois will let her." The hot water
splashed over his hands, and he scrubbed gritty soap into
them, paying more attention than usual because he was
irritated with Max and he didn't like being irritated with
Max. Nick turned the taps off and dried his hands and
heard Max finish a sentence he'd missed the beginning
of. "What?"
"I said, Lois would have to be in an awful good mood
to let that happen."
"She probably is." Nick's annoyance made him go on to
add a little grief to Max's life. "She's probably heard
that Barbara dumped Matthew."
Max looked as startled as possible for somebody with a
permanently placid face. "What?"
"Barbara Niedemeyer set Lois's husband free," Nick
said. "Pete Cantor told me this morning."
Max pointed a finger at Nick. "Anything else Barbara
wants checked, you're doing."
"Why don't you just run a full check on the damn car
now so she doesn't have to come back?" Nick walked over to
the office to call Bucky. "Save us both a lot of trouble."
"She's a good-looking woman," Max said. "Good job at
the bank. You check the car."
"I don't need a woman with a good job. Barbara's car
is all yours and so is Barbara."
"You own half the garage," Max said. "Hell, you're
single. Why isn't she asking you to check her oil leak?"
"Because she likes you better, thank God." As Nick
went in the office, he heard Max let out a sigh behind
him, and then, a couple of minutes later, from where he
stood dialing Bucky, he heard the hood go up on Barbara's
Toyota.
"Nick?" Max said from under the hood.
"Yeah?"
"Sorry about that crack about Quinn. I didn't mean it
the way it came out."
Nick listened to the busy signal at the Manchesters'
and thought of Quinn, warm and determined and dependable,
the complete opposite of her scatty sister, Zoë. Quinn in
trouble wasn't funny. "Doesn't matter."
"I know you're close."
Nick hung up. "Not that close."
When Max didn't say anything else, Nick went back into
the garage and put his mind where it belonged, on the
Chevy. Cars were understandable. They took a little
patience and a lot of knowledge, but they always worked
the same way. They were fixable. Which was more than he
could say for people. Nothing a good mechanic could have
done about him and Zoë, for instance. He didn't think
about Zoë much any more; even the news she'd gotten
married again ten years ago hadn't made much more than a
crease in his concentration. Nothing like the crease Max
had just made with that crack about Quinn.
"Nick?"
Max's voice was still a little worried, so Nick
said, "You don't suppose Barbara has two cars, do you? You
could be spending some significant time with her."
"Funny," Max said, but he went back to work and let
Nick concentrate on the muffler. It was the only real
problem he had, anyway, since Max would never cheat on
Darla, and Quinn was always rescuing strays and giving
them away. Nothing in his world was going to change.
Except Bucky Manchester's b-pipe.
Across the street, Darla Ziegler plopped herself onto the
beat-up tweed couch in the tiny break room of the Upper
Cut just as Lois Ferguson came in scowling, her impossibly
orange upsweep making her look like a small torch. Lois
had been trying to establish her authority over Darla ever
since she'd taken over the Upper Cut six years before, but
Darla had watched Lois eat paste in kindergarten. After
that, there was no turning back.
"You done for the day?" Lois snapped. "It's only
four."
"It's pizza day," Darla said. "I'm done."
"Well, you made that Ginny Spade looked good, I'll
give you that." Lois folding her arms so tightly that her
gray smock stretched flat over her bony little
chest. "Better'n she has in years."
"Yeah, maybe now she'll meet somebody and get over
that worthless, cheating Roy," Darla said, and then kicked
herself for forgetting that it had only been a year since
Lois had lost a worthless, cheating Matthew.
"Matthew wants to come back," Lois said, and Darla sat
up a little to pay attention to Lois for a change just as
Quinn came breezing in the door from the shop with her
copper hair flying and a dog tucked inside her peacoat.
"I know I'm late," she said. "I'm sorry--"
Darla blinked her surprise at the dog and then held up
her hand. "Wait a minute." She looked at Lois. "You are
kidding me. He left her?"
"Who left who?" Quinn struggled to shrug her coat off
one arm at a time. The dog looked fairly ratty, Darla
noticed. But rescuing ugly dogs was business as usual for
Quinn and not nearly as interesting as the bomb Lois had
just dropped, so she kept her attention on Lois.
"That's a dog," Lois said.
"Good call." Quinn draped her coat over the back of
one of the avocado armchairs. "I'll hold on to her. She'll
never touch the floor, I swear. Who left who?"
"Ha." Lois's lips curved in a tight little smile as
she returned to her triumph. "Barbara left Matthew. The
Bank Slut dumped him good yesterday."
"Wow." Quinn sank into her chair with the dog cradled
in her arms.
"Jeez." Darla sat back, exhaling as she considered the
development. "They've been tighter than ticks for a whole
year. What happened?"
"Something on that damn trip to Florida they took."
Lois's lips pressed together harder. "He never took me on
any damn trip to Florida."
Darla ran down the possibilities in her mind. "Another
man?"
"If it was, he's gone, too. She's in town, and she's
living alone in that little house of hers, and Matthew's
down at the Anchor." Lois sat down in the other rump-
sprung armchair across from Darla. "He wants to move
back."
Darla shrugged. "That makes sense. What guy wants to
live in a motel?"
"You going to take him back?" Quinn asked.
Lois shrugged. "Why should I? I got the house to
myself and this place. What do I need him for?"
Darla thought about Max. "Friendship. Fun. Sex.
Memories. Somebody to kiss on New Year's Eve."
"He left me for a Bank Slut," Lois said. "How much
friendship do you think we got at this point?"
Something about the way Lois rolled the words Bank
Slut off her tongue made Darla fairly sure Lois wasn't
focusing her anger on Matthew. Maybe this marriage could
be saved. Lois would sure be easier to work for if it
could. "You married him the day after we graduated. You
were with him for sixteen years. He only spent a year with
Barbara Niedemeyer, and now he's sorry. That's something."
At least, Darla assumed he was sorry. If he wanted to come
back to Lois knowing how bitchy she could be even before
he left her for a younger woman, he must be really sorry
now. "And he makes good money." She thought back to the
last time Matthew had fixed their sink. "He makes damn
good money."
"I make good money, too," Lois said. "Who needs him?"
"Well, you do," Quinn said, practical as always, "or
you wouldn't be talking about it."
"It just makes me mad, that's all." Lois's jaw
clenched tighter before she went on. "We were doing just
fine, and then she comes in with her broken bathtub drain
and stopped-up sink and plans for a second bath
downstairs, like she needed a second bathroom, living
there all alone, if you ask me, she had it planned--"
Darla tuned her out, having heard this rant before,
several times, in fact, since Barbara Niedemeyer had
walked off with Matthew the previous April. As far as
Barbara planning it, well, it wasn't as if Matthew had
been her first married man. Really, Lois should have
caught on when Barbara had started talking about the
second bathroom. Darla would have caught on with the
second service call. The woman had a track record. Matthew
was number three, for heaven's sake.
"--and now he thinks he's going to come waltzing back
in," Lois finished. "Well, the hell with him."
"I'd think about it some more," Darla said. "Barbara's
sort of like the flu. Men catch her, but then they get
over her. Gil and Louis don't seem to have any warm
feelings for her. Last I heard, Louis was getting married
again. I mean, obviously, Barbara's men recover. And
Matthew makes damn good money, so he's going to have his
chances if you don't take him back."
Lois glared at her.
"She has a point," Quinn said. "If you want him back."
Darla spread her hands and tried to look
innocent. "All I'm saying is, if you really didn't care,
you wouldn't be this mad. Take him back. Make him pay. You
work it right, he'll take you on a damn trip to Florida."
"You don't get it," Lois said. "What if it was Max?"
The thought of Max cheating was so ridiculous, Darla
almost snickered. Max was gorgeous and about as nice as a
human male could be, but women didn't even flirt with him
because he was so clearly Happily Married. Or at least, if
she were honest, clearly uninterested in any change in his
life. That wasn't quite the same thing, really. Darla's
urge to snicker faded, and she told herself she was lucky
to have a guy who was so content. "I'd say, `Max, you
jackass, what the hell were you thinking?'" she told
Lois. "And then I'd take him back. He's your husband,
Lois. He fucked up and he should pay, but you shouldn't
just give up on him."
Lois still looked mad, but there was some thoughtful
mixed in with the mad.
"Unless you don't love him anymore," Quinn
said. "Unless you really want to be free to do what you
want."
"Hello?" Darla said to her. This wasn't like Quinn,
the fixer. "Of course she wants him back."
Lois stood up. "That's ridiculous," she said and went
back out to the shop, slamming the door behind her.
"You know, I don't understand Barbara," Quinn said,
frowning as she patted the dog in her lap. "She's a nice
woman. Why does she keep snagging other women's husbands?"
"Because she's not a nice woman," Darla said
flatly. "What's with you telling Lois to be free? Lois
wants to be free like she wants to be middle-aged."
"I just thought she should think about it," Quinn
said, settling back in her chair, not meeting Darla's eyes
at all. "There's nothing that says that life is always
better if you have a man around."
"It is in Tibbett," Darla said. "You really think Lois
wants to hang out at Bo's Bar & Grill and pick up divorced
drunks for recreation?"
Quinn made a face. "Oh, come on. There has to be a
middle ground between marriage and Bo's."
"Sure. There's Edie's life." Darla stretched out on
the couch again. "Teaching all week, going to garage sales
with your mom on her time off, reheating leftovers in a
lonely house at night." It sounded like hell to Darla.
"Alone doesn't have to mean lonely," Quinn said. "I
think Edie likes the solitude--she's always talking about
how good it is to get home where it's quiet. And you can
be with somebody and be lonely."
As far as Darla was concerned, being lonely with
somebody was probably the way most people lived. Not that
she was lonely with Max.
Quinn cuddled the runty little dog closer and did not
look happy, and Darla narrowed her eyes. "Something wrong
with you and Bill?"
Quinn stared down into the dog's eyes. "No."
"Okay," Darla said. "Out with it.
Quinn shifted in her chair again while the dog watched
them both. "I'm going to keep this dog."
You have beige carpeting, Darla wanted to say, but it
didn't seem supportive.
"Bill wants me to take her to Animal Control," Quinn
went on. "But I'm keeping her. I don't care what he says."
"Jeez." Darla caught the lift of Quinn's chin and felt
the first faint stirrings of alarm. Bill was being
incredibly dumb about this. "He's known you for two years,
and he doesn't know you any better than to think you'd
take a dog to the pound?"
"It's the practical thing to do," Quinn said, her eyes
still on the dog. "I'm a practical person."
"Yeah, you are." Darla felt definitely uneasy now. The
one thing she'd always wanted for Quinn was a marriage as
good as her own. All right, Bill was a little boring, but
so was Max. You couldn't have everything. You compromised.
That was what marriages were about. "What if he says,
`It's the dog or me'? Tell me you're not going to risk
your relationship over a dog."
The dog looked over as she spoke, almost as if it were
narrowing its eyes at her, and Darla noticed for the first
time how sneaky it looked. Tempting. Almost devilish.
Well, that made sense. If Quinn had been in Eden, Satan
would have showed up as a cocker spaniel.
"Bill's not difficult like that." Quinn leaned back,
obviously trying to sound nonchalant and only sounding
tenser because of it. "We don't have problems. He wants
every day to be the same, and since they always are, he's
happy."
That could be Max. "Well, that's men for you."
"The thing is, I don't think that's enough for me."
Quinn petted the dog, who leaned into her, gazing up at
her with those hypnotic dark eyes, luring her into messing
with a perfectly good relationship. "It's starting to get
to me, knowing this is going to be my life forever. I
mean, I love teaching, and Bill's a good guy--"
"Wait a minute." Darla sat up. "Bill's a great guy."
Quinn shrank back a little. "I know."
"He works his butt off for those kids on the team,"
Darla said. "And he stayed after school to coach Mark for
the SATs--"
"I know."
"--and he's the first one in line every time there's a
charity drive--"
"I know."
"--and he was teacher of the year last year, and that
was long overdue--"
"Darla, I know."
"--and he treats you like a queen," Darla finished.
"Well, I'm tired of that," Quinn said, her chin
sticking out again. "Look, Bill's nice--okay, he's great,"
she said, holding up her hands as Darla started to object
again. "But what we have, it's not exciting. I've never
had exciting. And with the way Bill plans things, I'm
never going to have exciting."
I did, Darla wanted to say. She and Max had been hot
as hell once. She could see him now--that look in his eye
as he zeroed in on her, that grin that said, I have plans
for you, the way they laughed together--but you couldn't
expect that to last. They'd been married seventeen years.
You couldn't keep exciting for seventeen years.
"It's not really Bill's fault," Quinn said. "I mean, I
didn't have exciting before he showed up, either. I just
don't think it's in the cards for me. I'm not an exciting
person."
Darla opened her mouth and shut it again. Quinn was a
darling, but--
"See?" Quinn finally met Darla's eyes, defeated. "You
want to tell me I'm exciting and you can't. Zoë was
exciting, I'm dull. Mama used to say, `Some people are oil
paintings and some people are watercolors,' but what she
meant was, `Zoë is interesting and you're sort of washed
out.'"
"You're the dependable one," Darla said. "You're the
one everybody leans on. If you were exciting, we'd all be
screwed."
Quinn slumped back. "Well, I'm tired of that. And it's
not like I'm going out Bungee-jumping or something stupid.
I just want this dog." The dog looked up at her again, and
Darla's uneasiness morphed into real dread. "That's not
even exciting, adopting a dog. And it's not so much to
want, is it?"
"Well, that depends." Darla glared at the dog. This is
all your fault.
"Don't you ever want more?" Quinn leaned forward, her
hazel eyes now fixed on Darla's with a passion that made
her uncomfortable. "Don't you ever look at your life and
say, `Is this all there is?'"
"No," Darla said. "No, no, I don't. Look, sometimes
you have to settle for less than you want to keep your
relationship going."
"You've never settled with Max," Quinn said, and Darla
bit her lip. "Well, now I'm going to be like you. Just
this once, I'm not going to settle."
She cuddled the dog closer, and Darla thought,
Everybody settles. The dog looked over at Darla, daring
her to say it out loud, the devil in disguise. Forget it,
Darla told it silently. You're not getting me in
trouble. "So what do you want on your pizza?" Darla leaned
across the table and picked up the phone. "The usual,
right?"
"No," Quinn said. "I want something different."