Dead of Summer

by Sherry Knowlton

  As they talked, Alexa followed Quinn past a row of parked cars. They stopped in front of a low-slung black convertible with running boards.

  Alexa’s first thought was, damn, this car is over the top.

  She tried to conceal her reaction from Quinn. She had to admit though: The sports car’s blend of outrageous elegance and quirky uniqueness hit her as the perfect expression of the image that Quinn tried to project. But was this guy for real?

  “Wow. Sweet wheels. What is this car?”

  Quinn closed Alexa’s door and walked around to the driver’s side. When he settled into the leather seat, he plucked a scarf from his pocket and handed it to her. “You may want to cover your hair. It’s a great evening for a ride with the top down. This is a classic car—a Mercedes 500K roadster.”

  Alexa tied the scarf under her chin in the style of a glamorous actress from the fifties. “I’m ready to face the wind if you’re ready for a date with slightly tangled hair.”

  “I’m sure you will be just as lovely with windblown tresses.”

  Quinn chose back roads and avoided the highways. Still, the roar of the motor, the hum of tires on pavement, and the whistle of wind through the open cab made conversation difficult. After a few attempts at chatter, Alexa gave herself up to the pleasure of the ride.

  She got a kick out of the stares that the vintage car drew from people on the street and in cars they passed. But Alexa had mixed feelings about the driver. There was something a bit off about this guy’s act, although she couldn’t put her finger on what bothered her. No harm in just going with the flow for now, she decided.

  The forty-minute drive ended too soon when Quinn pulled the long, low-slung vehicle into an open parking spot in front of the Hilton. A parking attendant approached immediately.

  Alexa stood aside and rolled her eyes at Quinn’s interaction with the parking guy. Like the headscarf at his fingertips, this exchange played out like a scene from The Philadelphia Story or another one of those old black and white movies.

  “Mr. Hutton? We’ll take care of this baby for you. We’ve arranged to park it right over there. Someone will be outside here to keep an eye on it all evening.”

  “Thank you. We should be about four hours or so.” Quinn paused to look at the name tag on the attendant’s shirt. “I will make it worth your while if you keep a close watch on the car, Jamal.”

  “Yes, sir,” the young man assured Quinn. “She’s a beauty. I’ll take care of it for you.”

  As they sat down for a light dinner at the trendy Café Fresco, Alexa tried to ignore all the women staring at Quinn and searched for something to talk about. In a burst of inspiration, she settled on the obvious: Quinn’s extraordinary car. “The parking guy was right. Your car is beautiful, but isn’t it a little impractical for everyday driving?”

  “I have a pickup that I drive most of the time. I live on a farm out toward Plainfield that has a big garage. I keep the roadster there and bring her out in good weather for special occasions.”

  “It’s a pretty extravagant car.” Alexa’s voice constricted as she choked out this understatement. Apparently, Quinn heard only admiration.

  “I enjoy the grand gesture. What does Sara Teasdale say, ‘Spend all you have for loveliness? Buy it and never count the cost . . .’” Quinn laughed. “In this case, I didn’t spend anything for all that Mercedes loveliness. My dad bought it for me at an auction. We’re very close. The minute he saw the 500K, he knew it was the car for me.”

  Quinn’s offhand statement confirmed Alexa’s suspicion that he came from money, but she didn’t want to seem rude by inquiring further. She changed the subject as she nibbled at her quiche.

  “So, you live on a farm?” Alexa glanced at his manicured hands. “I don’t picture you as the gentleman farmer. Do you actually work the land?”

  “No. This place is one of those quintessential Cumberland County farmettes. A two-story with assorted outbuildings. The last owners did some renovations, so I’ve got all the modern conveniences. I was looking for privacy, and it sits in the middle of thirty acres. A real farmer who owns one of the adjoining farms plants maybe ten acres in corn. The rest is woods and overgrown fields. It’s only a short drive to the college but far enough away for seclusion. The place suits me.” A fleeting smile crossed Quinn’s face, almost as if he were enjoying a private joke.

  If Alexa hadn’t been so absorbed in the conversation, she may not have noticed Quinn’s brief moment of distraction. Before she could reflect on why that smile made her uneasy, Quinn moved to another topic.

  “Tell me. How is your photographer friend, Melissa, doing with her show? The first night was quite a success.”

  Alexa smiled. “She’s had an excellent response. As you saw, she’s a wonderful photographer. And people seem to be drawn to the images in this exhibit. She’s planning to extend the exhibit for another month. Jack Nash bought one of her best photos. You may remember the one of a beautiful young Thai girl. Melissa titled it, As It Should Be, to celebrate the families who hold their kids close to avoid being trafficked.”

  Quinn shook his head. “Can’t say that I remember the photo, but Jack has good taste in art. I expect he chose the finest one in the show.”

  “I think it was one of Melissa’s best.” Alexa wondered why he wouldn’t remember that particular photo. At Melissa’s opening, she had watched Quinn and Jack stand right in front of it for several minutes while they spoke. “Did you know that she had a burglary at her gallery the day after the opening?”

  “No. Were any of the photos stolen? Ms. Lambert is quite good, but I wouldn’t think that there is a market for her photography at this point. I mean an illegal market.”

  “They didn’t touch the photography. Just stole some computers and one of her cameras. Still, it was a hassle for her.”

  For some reason, Alexa hesitated to mention the second burglary at Melissa’s home. She wasn’t sure that Melissa would want a stranger to know about that invasion of her personal space. And, even to Alexa, Quinn was pretty much still a stranger.

  Quinn glanced at his watch and said, “If we’re going to make the concert, we should leave.”

  Alexa loved the Andreas Vollenweider concert. Hearing all the familiar melodies, a unique blend of harp and other unconventional instruments, soothed her soul.

  On the short walk to collect Quinn’s car, Alexa said, “Wasn’t the concert amazing? And getting a chance to meet Andreas was an added bonus. I can’t believe it, but I think I’ve become a New Age groupie.”

  Quinn nodded. “One of real pleasures is seeing how the band creates all those sounds—and that it comes together in such a wonderful way. It must take them hours of rehearsal to get just the right mix.”

  “Yeah. Andreas says, ‘I think we need to rattle a piece of sheet metal at the beginning of the chorus . . .’ And one of the other guys asks ‘before or after the wind chimes?’” Alexa bubbled with enthusiasm.

  “This small venue suited the concert well. When I saw the band perform in Zurich, it was a much larger concert hall.”

  “Being Swiss, I imagine that Andreas has a quite a following with the hometown crowd.”

  When they reached the Hilton, Jamal materialized out of the shadows near Quinn’s extravagant car. He had pulled the Mercedes into one of a few parking spots near the main entrance of the hotel.

  “Just one minute and I’ll bring your car up, sir. You need to pay in the lobby.”

  Quinn walked inside to settle the bill while Alexa stood on the corner and watched Harrisburg’s evening street traffic. Groups of chic twenty-somethings strutted down Second Street to begin a night of partying. An exodus of well-dressed older couples, probably diners at the better restaurants, headed home for bed. In rapt conversation with someone only he could see, a homeless man shuffled an overflowing shopping cart across Market Street.

  When Quinn emerged from the hotel, he opened the passenger door for Alexa. She watched him hand a substantial tip to Ja
mal. The young attendant pulled himself up tall and saluted Quinn.

  “Thank you, sir. Ask for me anytime you park here.”

  In the driver’s seat, Quinn paused before he drove away. “Top down or up?”

  “Down. I slipped this sweater on, so I should be fine.” Alexa tied the scarf under her chin as Quinn pulled out of the hotel drive and headed for Carlisle.

  Quinn slid the long sports car into a parking slot in the still empty lot. The Land Rover sat among only a few other cars. When he opened the driver door, Alexa clambered out her side of the car. All this door opening, while charming, made her a little uncomfortable.

  “I need to check in at my office, so I’m going to put up the top. People can’t contain their curiosity if I leave it down.” Quinn’s voice tightened. “I learned that lesson one night when I discovered five frat bozos squeezed into the open car, each with his own growler of Molly Pitcher Ale.”

  Alexa took off the headscarf and smoothed her hair while Quinn ran through a series of maneuvers to lock the canvas top in place. At the end of the process, he walked to Alexa and took her hand in his.

  “It’s a lovely evening on campus. Will you join me on a stroll over to my office? It’s in East on the John Dickinson Campus.”

  “What’s this? A professor’s version of would you like to see my etchings?”

  Quinn laughed. “I could say that my intentions are entirely honorable, but I wouldn’t want to lie. However, my office certainly doesn’t lend itself to much romance.” He turned on the charm. “Come on. How long has it been since you’ve strolled across a college campus, hand-in-hand with a man who appreciates your grace and beauty?”

  “You realize, of course, that you have a way of making the most blatant bullshit sound like poetry?” Alexa couldn’t help but be charmed by this outrageous flattery.

  “Hence, my chosen profession.” Quinn leaned so close to Alexa that his lips brushed her cheek. His voice dropped. “Does this mean you are accepting my invitation to a stroll?”

  “Yes. A stroll.” Alexa tried to still the flutter in her chest. When Quinn kissed her with cool lips, she tensed slightly as he pressed her body against the car. Unbidden, Reese had entered her mind.

  He pulled away abruptly and seized her hand, tucking it beneath the crook of his elbow. “So, let’s take that walk.”

  It had been awhile since Alexa had been on campus even though she passed by the college frequently. With classes finished for the semester, the place seemed deserted. They passed a security guard making his rounds as they entered the East building.

  “Evening, Professor Hutton,” the beefy man said as he exited through the door.

  “You don’t mind taking the stairs?” Quinn’s question seemed rhetorical as he headed for the stairwell. Alexa followed behind as they climbed to the fourth floor, glad she was wearing sandals.

  “I think this building used to be a dorm at one time. My mom is a Dickinson alum, and she mentioned something once about a boyfriend who lived in this building.”

  “That’s before my time,” Quinn said as he unlocked the office door. “It would have been a great dorm to live in. Look at the view of the campus.” He motioned to Alexa to join him at the window.

  He brushed aside Alexa’s hair to whisper into her ear. “My version of etchings.” He pulled her closer and placed a trail of kisses from her neck to her cheek.

  Alexa turned to face Quinn as his mouth found hers. She gave into the sensation, warmth flooding her body as Quinn’s hard kisses became more insistent. Soon, she was returning the intensity, Reese forgotten.

  Quinn pulled away for an instant, his blues eyes darkening to gray. Alexa noticed the long couch against the far wall. In that moment, she knew that she wasn’t ready to tumble into bed—or couch—with this guy.

  Quinn seemed hesitant as well.

  “We’ve strolled as far down this path as I’m ready to go for tonight.” Alexa slipped away from Quinn. “But I’d like to see you again.”

  “That’s encouraging,” Quinn responded with a faint smile.

  Alexa spoke into the awkward moment that followed. “Why don’t you come out to my house for dinner on Friday? I’m leaving for vacation the next day, but Melissa and her boyfriend will be coming to dinner. Will you join us?”

  “I’m sorry to hear that you’re going away, but I would be glad to accept your dinner invitation. You can give me all the details at the board meeting on Thursday.” Quinn grabbed a briefcase from behind his desk.

  “See, it wasn’t all about the etchings. I did have another purpose in coming here.” He shot Alexa an oblique glance.

  As they walked toward the door, Alexa did a quick survey of the room. She’d barely taken in the surroundings when they first arrived, too bemused by Quinn. Other than the shelves crammed with books, the room was surprisingly spare. Quinn’s walls were bare, except for an institutional-looking round clock hanging above the beige couch.

  The only personal item on his desk was an ornate little wooden house that looked vaguely oriental. Alexa would never have guessed that this office belonged to someone as distinctive as Quinn. It looked as if he had just moved in—or was getting ready to move out.

  “What’s that? An architectural model of some sort?” Alexa pointed to the little wooden structure.

  Quinn lit up. “No, that’s a tiny version of a spirit house. In many Southeast Asian countries, people place larger versions of these houses outside their homes so that the displaced spirits will have a place to live. Usually, they place offerings in the houses to keep the spirits happy.”

  Alexa grinned. “Yours looks empty.”

  “Of course, this is just a memento of my time in Thailand. It’s not the real thing.” Quinn’s voice became serious. “Any spirits displaced by this building left many years ago.”

  As they walked back to their cars, Alexa looked around. “This campus is so different than Columbia. Of course, I wanted to go to school somewhere away from Carlisle. Maybe that factored into my choosing a university in the middle of New York City. But I’ve always loved this old campus. The limestone buildings and the old stone walls. The huge trees. It has a comforting sense of history.”

  Quinn responded in a relaxed tone. “I was a bit wary of how things would work out for me here, coming back into the country after so many years abroad. But I’ve been pleasantly surprised. Dickinson is more academically rigorous than the other places I’ve taught, so it’s a nice challenge. And the area has much to offer outside the classroom.”

  As they approached the middle of the campus, Alexa imagined that the all the lights dimmed for a moment, and she shivered. “Did you see that?”

  “See what?”

  “Never mind. Just my imagination.”

  When they reached Alexa’s Land Rover, Quinn planted a chaste kiss on Alexa’s lips. The light from the street lamps bounced off the windows of the science center across the street, bathing the parking lot in a feeble glow. The flickering light washed Quinn’s face with a ghostly pallor.

  “Thank you for this evening. The concert was unbelievable. And I enjoyed those etchings.” Alexa tried to keep their parting light.

  “Perhaps you’ll show me yours next week?” Quinn’s response seemed halfhearted to Alexa; he’d become withdrawn or distracted.

  “We’ll see.” Alexa still wasn’t ready to make any commitments. She needed time to get to know this bewildering guy better. Although he was powerfully attractive, her bullshit radar signaled caution. Alexa hoisted herself into the Land Rover and headed for home.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  August 14, 1969

  The New York Thruway is closed, man.

  —Arlo Guthrie

  “You should see the size of the towers with the lights and the speakers. They are going to put out a righteous sound.” Ben took another bite of his peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

  Phil paced in front of Sukie, Cheryl, and Nina. “There’s a huge hill that people will sit on for
the concert. It will make it easy to see the stage.”

  “Plus, at the top, there are all sorts of booths where people are selling food,” Robbie weighed in.

  “Food?” Nina scowled at her sandwich. “Do they have hamburgers? I know we brought a ton of food, but I’m not sure I can do five days of peanut butter and canned beans.”

  “I saw hamburgers and french fries, too. The prices were sort of high.” Phil looked at Nina. “But we could have lunch there tomorrow before the concert starts.”

  “It starts at four tomorrow afternoon, right? I can look at the ticket to make sure.” Sukie drifted toward her tent.

  “You’re right. It’s four o’clock.” Ben nodded toward Robbie and Phil. “We were talking. If we want to get a good seat, we should take our blankets and cooler and head down there around noon or one o’clock.”

  “Yeah. There are a shitload of people here, and more are still pouring in.” Phil waved his hand toward the main road.

  Sukie could see a steady stream of people walking down the road and across the fields. At this distance they looked almost like ants. “The cars don’t seem to be moving too fast.”

  “We heard that it’s a huge traffic jam.” Robbie smirked. “It was a good idea to come yesterday.”

  “Yes, Robbie.” Ben bowed to Robbie as if he was saluting some Indian pasha. The rest of the group chimed in.

  “You’re so smart, Robbie.”

  “Our hero.”

  “Fearless leader.”

  “Thank you, dear.”

  Sukie shouted and threw up her hands. “My God, I’m at Woodstock with four Eddie Haskells.”

  Phil and Ben scampered around the group.

  “Wally.”

  “Beav.”

  “That dress looks lovely, Mrs. Cleaver.”

  “Why, thank you, Eddie.”

  Nina yelled to be heard above the laughter. “Are we going to go shopping or not?”