Out of Grief (13 page)

“Now we just have to get your mother on board.”

“He’ll do that. No worries. It’s your mother I’m worried about.”

“I have to go get my stuff from her house.” She ran her fingers through my hair, gently stroking my temple. “Maybe you could come with me?”

“Do you think it’s safe?”

“I’ll make it worth your while.”

“And how will you go about doing that?” I teased.

She whispered in my ear, “We could use something from your nightstand.”

“My nightstand?” I sat up. What was she doing in my nightstand?

“Bottom drawer. Purple.”

My mind almost couldn’t process what she was proposing. And still she continued to speak.

“You do have a harness for it, don’t you?”

Of course, that’s what she was used to. Did she miss it? Was I not enough?

“Unless you don’t want to. Hey.” She took my face in her hands. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just…”

“It’s me. Okay? Talk to me.”

And tell you what? That my insecurities have kicked into high gear?

“I was looking for a pen. I wasn’t snooping. I promise. You have it, so I thought you probably liked—”

I stopped her with a chaste kiss. “I’m sorry. I just felt like maybe I wasn’t enough …”

“No, that’s not it at all. I’ve loved every minute with you. You’re more than enough for me. We don’t have to use it.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to use it. I do. Do you think it’s safe with the baby and all?”

“I thought I could wear it.”

“Oh, ah …” I never thought of that. I’d never let anyone do that to me, and yet the thought of Quinn taking me in that manner stirred something in me.

“I’m sorry. I think my hormones may be a bit out of whack. You’re gonna think I’m some craven, sex crazed…”

“No. No. I don’t think that at all.” But I could tell, she was backpedaling now.

“We can wait if you want. I just want to do what makes you happy.”

“Please never apologize for liking sex. I think we’re made to think we shouldn’t, as women. But I love making love to you, and I don’t want that feeling to stop. And I want to try anything you want to try. Really I do.”

“You do?”

“Of course. What you’re asking would be new to me, that’s all.”

“So you’ve never let anyone else wear it?”

I shook my head.

“But you’d let me? I mean, you’d want me to? I don’t want to do anything that you don’t want me to do.”

“The thought of you inside me like that…” I had to squeeze my thighs together. “Is making me wet.”

She kissed me, slowly. “Good, because the thought of using it with you is really turning me on, too.”

Chapter Thirty

I carried the boxes of Quinn’s items to the van we had rented for the day. Mrs. Warren had given me the cold shoulder from the minute we arrived, and Quinn thought it best to talk to her mother alone. But Mrs. Warren made sure that I could hear everything she had to say by turning it into a screaming match. So I was grateful for the physical activity; it gave me something to focus on. Ever since we were small, Mrs. Warren had been a piece of work—always doting on the two older daughters, who could never hold a candle to Quinn. When Mr. Warren was alive, he had tried to keep her in check, and when he couldn’t, he would make sure that Quinn knew how much she was loved. The two of them would go off on “adventures” together; fishing, hiking, sports events. He knew she was a girl, and he never tried to make her anything else. This would not be happening if he was alive, that much I knew, and a part of me wished that he was, not just to put Mrs. Warren in her place, but also to be there for his daughter.

They had taken up residence in the kitchen, but I could hear them as I marched up and down the front stairs with her boxes.

“I just don’t understand, Quinn!” her mother screamed. “Explain it to me!”

“I don’t know how to explain it, Mom. I just know it feels right.”

“You don’t just wake up one morning and decide you’re a le … one of those kind of women.”

“I don’t know if I’m a lesbian.” Quinn drew the word out. I knew that was just for her mother’s sake. “But, if being in love with Nikki makes me one, then I guess I am. What does it matter?”

“It’s wrong, and you know it!”

“See, this is precisely why I was afraid of these feelings. I denied myself happiness, because I knew it would upset you.”

“Not just me, Quinn! God!”

“I can’t talk to you about this, when you’re going to throw God in my face.” Quinn met me in the hallway. “Do we have everything yet?”

“Two more boxes.”

“I wish you’d let me help.”

Out of the corner of my eye I could see Mrs. Warren growing impatient with our exchange, as Quinn’s tone with me had softened to a sweet, loving lilt.

“Not in your condition.”

“Well, when those boxes are in the van, I’m ready to go.”

Fortunately, Mrs. Warren had no super powers, because if she did, I probably would have burst into flames at that very second from her laser death stare. “Whatever you want, Quinn.”

She squeezed my arm. “That’s what I want.”

I went up the stairs to the bedroom to retrieve the last boxes. The fact that Mrs. Warren was so upset made it easier in some respects, as she had packed up all of Quinn’s items before we got there.

“You’re not leaving until we finish talking, young lady.”

“I didn’t realize we were talking, Mom. I thought you were just spewing your religious diatribe at me.”

“What happened to you? I raised you right. And now …”

“I told you. I’m happy. She makes me happy. She always has. I was just too afraid to admit it. You and your beliefs, you had me all twisted up inside. Well, I’m not confused anymore.”

“No, you’re possessed. She’s got her claws in you, and you’re not thinking straight!”

I looked at my hands, at the nails that never seemed to grow, as I bit them constantly. A bad habit, I knew. I could barely open a can of soda on my own, let alone claw someone. What did they teach at her church? I balanced the last box on the pile, and closed the doors. I was glad we were finished. The argument was starting to be too big for the walls of the house. I bet Mrs. Warren would tone it down if she knew the neighbors could hear.

I went back in the house to get Quinn.

“I’m 35, Mom. I’ll leave whenever I damn well please.”

“What did you say?”

“You heard me.”

“I don’t know what’s come over you. But you are not the Quinn I raised.”

“I am, Mom, I’m the same person I’ve always been. Only now I’m not afraid to be who I truly am.”

She pointed to me, as I walked into the kitchen. “She did this to you. She’s always been too close to you…”

Do not engage, do not engage,
I repeated to myself. I could not make this any worse for Quinn.

“I told your father you were too close, and there was too much physical contact. And he told me to leave it alone.”

“Daddy always did like Nikki.” Quinn smiled at the thought.

“And now I’m left to deal with this abomination.”

Quinn’s voice was shaking now. I knew she was using all her strength not to cry. “Well, at least I know how you really feel, Mom.”

“There’s still time, Quinn. Come home, and we’ll get you help.”

“You think you can cure love?”

“What you have with HER is not love. Do not ever say that again!”

“That I love her?”

“You do not!”

I saw Mrs. Warren raise her hand, but I wasn’t fast enough to intervene. The slap was loud, and Quinn moved away from her mother, clutching her cheek, no longer able to hold back the tears falling silently down her cheek.

I stepped between them, making sure that Quinn’s mother could not reach her again. “We’re leaving now,” I said it firmly enough to make Mrs. Warren take a step back. Then I turned to Quinn, and gently moved her hand from her cheek. That was going to bruise. But I’d stop at the pharmacy on the way out of town and pick up an ice pack.

“Quinnie, I …” Mrs. Warren’s voice cracked with emotion.

I looked to Quinn to see if she was responding to it. But Quinn was already lost in her thoughts. I wasn’t sure we should leave it this way, but I saw no other way to change Mrs. Warren’s mind.

“… I … didn’t mean it.”

“Save it, Mrs. W.” I wrapped an arm around Quinn and led her to the car. “Are you okay leaving it like this?” I whispered.

“Please, just take me home,” she said, leaning in to me. I helped her in to the van and made sure she was buckled in. Mrs. Warren watched us from the doorway, but made no effort to stop us. I wanted to find the right words to use as a balm on the wound to erase the pain. I felt helpless, and I hated it.

I could hear her crying as we pulled out of the neighborhood we grew up in. My parents couldn’t wait to move to the city, once the kids were gone. But her mother would probably be buried in that house.

Quinn’s head was bowed and she was rubbing tiny circles on her stomach. Her cheek was turning a bright red, and a perfect copy of her mother’s hand could almost be seen. I stopped at the pharmacy to grab an ice pack for her cheek and a couple bottles of water for the ride home. Still not sure what to say that would make things better, we rode in silence.

Once I found a space on the street, I told her to go upstairs and decide what she wanted to order for dinner, while I unloaded the car and dropped it back at the rental place.

She was fast asleep with an ice pack clutched to her cheek on the sofa when I made it back from the rental place an hour later. I stashed the boxes in the back room of my apartment, before trying to wake her.

“Hey.” I sat down on the side of the sofa and pried the ice pack out of her hand. “Did you decide on dinner?”

“Not hungry.” Her voice was still raspy and weak from crying.

I moved the ice pack to see if it was helping. Some of the color had gone down, but she would definitely carry the mark of her mother’s hand for a couple days. Damn, that woman. It was one thing to pick on me—but her own flesh and blood? That was just wrong. Mrs. Warren was never ever going to win mother of the year in my book, but this was beyond reproach. I wanted to tell Quinn how I felt, but I didn’t want to make things worse.

I rubbed my temples. I wasn’t sure if the gentle thrum that had started in my head was from the stress or the fact that we hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast, but either way, I had to eat something to take some pills. “Baby, do you think you could you try to eat a little something …”

“Really, I’m not hungry, Nik.”

“Yeah, but I am, and I bet the baby is.” I let my hand rest on her belly.

Her fingers wrapped around my hand, holding it firmly in place. “Don’t let me ever do anything like that to our child.”

“You would never say any of those hurtful things.”

“Are you sure?”

I leaned down and gently kissed the impression of each finger on her cheek. “I am certain.”

“I wish I was.”

“I’ll be right back.” I went into the bedroom and fished around for the ring my father gave me, shoving it into the pocket of my cargo shorts before returning to the living room.

She had managed to sit up, but she still slumped against the arm of the sofa. I sat beside her, put my arm around her, and let her lean in to me instead. Her head rested against my shoulder, and she wrapped her arms around my waist tightly.

“I was going to take you somewhere fancy, but I think you need to know how I really feel now.” I handed her the velvet box. “My father gave me this. It was his grandmother’s. He wanted me to give it to you.”

She let go of me to take it, and I watched as she opened the tiny box. “But I already asked YOU to marry me.”

“I know.” I took the ring out of the box and slid it on to her finger. The fit was perfect. “But I want you to know how much you mean to me, and to my family. He never gave the ring to my brother, or even to me when I married Mary. He gave it to me for you. Because he knows you are my one true love.” I kissed the ring on her finger. “I want us to be together always.”

Tears spilled on to her cheeks again, only this time she was smiling. “I want that too.”

“And we’re going to go somewhere for dinner that will make you forget your crazy day.” I stood up and pulled her to her feet.

“Can we just stay here?”

“We could. But trust me, okay?”

“Okay.”

I guided her to the door.

“Don’t we need our shoes?”

“Not where we’re going.”

I had called Marta on my way to drop off the car to let her know that we might be down for dinner. She always cooked more than enough in the hopes that someone would drop by, so we could have shown up unannounced and still been welcome with open arms.

I pressed two on the elevator, and watched Quinn’s eyebrows rise. At the end of the hallway on two was Marta’s apartment. A wreath hung on the door, which had been painted fire engine red. She said she did it when she was old enough to join the Red Hats Society.