by Mia Taylor
“No, Emile. Of course there was no accident. Our son is gone.”
The bear of a man seemed to buckle under the weight of the words.
“What?” he sobbed. “He’s dead?”
Isadora frowned, wondering if perhaps she was being melodramatic now.
“No, you fool. You’ve driven him from our home with your inability to compromise and now he is gone.”
Relief seemed to slap Emile’s face, but it was short-lived as he glowered at her.
“Sincerely, Isa? He goes out to let off steam and you feel the need to wake me? Unbelievable. No wonder he is so spoiled. You coddle the life out of him.”
The king slipped back into bed and shook his head.
“Go back to sleep, Isa. He will be back tomorrow or the day after with his tail between his legs and begging for money. You’ll see. Stop working yourself into a frenzy for no reason at all.”
Begrudgingly, she rejoined her husband but his words did nothing to sway her conviction. Emile curled back onto his side and was asleep within seconds as if his sleep hadn’t been interrupted, but Isadora knew she would be up for the rest of the night.
He is gone and he will not be home tomorrow or the day after. Whether Emile wants to admit it or not, our son is gone. For good this time.
Mothers always know these things.
Chapter Five
California Dreaming
The campfire roared vividly, casting a warm glow around her and her family. Everyone held hands and sang softly at first, their voices raising slightly as the words poured from their lungs.
The night was crisp and star-spangled, Quinn squeezing her mother’s rough palm tightly. She could feel every callus on the older woman’s hand.
The smoke began billowing toward her face and she untangled her other arm to wave the cloud away, but her father wouldn’t release her, his hold tightening more until she could feel the crush of his fingers against hers.
“Let me go!” she told him sternly but he only continued to sing, his eyes fixated on the campfire as the fire seemed to grow angrier. Suddenly, it wasn’t as comforting as it had seemed only minutes before, but what had she expected? Nothing was ever what it seemed.
She began to cough as the black cloud overtook her face, and Quinn struggled against her mother, attempting to free her hand, but neither parent would budge. They locked her in place, either oblivious to or uncaring of the way the tendrils overcame her.
“Quinn! Quinn!” her father screamed, but it wasn’t her father, it was someone else.
Spencer?
She turned her head to look at him, but the smoke was far too thick, obstructing her view completely.
Someone pushed her from behind and she fell toward the pit, still secured to her family. Everyone moved forward in a wave, their song continuing to fill her ears.
She tried to wriggle free, wails of despair escaping her lips as she plunged toward the fire, and suddenly there was a distinct howling in her ear as a slap hit her face.
Her grey eyes opened, unrealistically slow for the stinging in her cheek, and she was staring at a furious pair of vivid blue irises.
“Wake up!” her roommate screamed. “You almost set the damned house on fire again!”
Sluggishly, she sat up from where she had passed out on the sofa, looking around their apartment in a haze.
At first, she thought that it was her mind which was fuzzy, but she quickly realized there was smoke in the air.
The trance-like sensation was leaving her and she shook her head.
“Oh my God!” she bellowed, jumping from the sofa, still freakishly slow to react. “Are you okay? Did I burn anything?”
Spencer sighed and sat backward, relief coloring his long face.
“Jesus Christ, Quinn, I thought you were dead!” he cried. “This is becoming absolutely ridiculous. Something has got to give. You can’t go on like this or you’re going to kill us both!”
She gnawed on her lower lip and ran to the kitchen where she had left the pot to boil on the stove.
The vessel was charred, the black handle melted into an unrecognizable blob, and there were marks indicating smoke damage along the stove.
Her heart sank and she swallowed quickly, stifling a sob of consternation. The stove was going to need replacing as well as the last of their pots.
Fantastic. One more thing to buy. As if money isn’t tight enough as it is.
It was always something, always something that cost too much, an unexpected downpour just when she thought she might be able to breathe again.
With that realization came another and her eyes tore toward the clock on the microwave.
“Shit!” she screamed. “I’m late for work.”
“Goddammit, Quinn! You can’t go to work. You’re dead on your feet. Call in sick! Tell them you’re going to the hospital to check for smoke damage to your lungs.”
Quinn snorted.
“With what insurance?” she replied, only half-joking, but Spencer didn’t return her smile.
“This is not funny, Quinn. Are you trying to commit suicide without actually doing it?”
It was a fair question and Quinn could see why her roommate asked it.
Am I?
“Do you want me to call in for you?” he growled, sensing that she was already about to refuse.
She turned apologetically to him, her face twisted in shame.
“I can’t now,” she muttered, grabbing her purse. “I’m already late. It will look bad if I do that, like I waited until the last minute and had my friend bail me out.”
“Quinn—”
“We’ll talk about this later, Spence, I promise,” she told him, rushing out the apartment door. “I’m sorry to leave you like this, but just leave it. I’ll clean everything up when I get home. I promise.”
Even as she spoke the words, she felt more shame rising through her in a torrent. How many promises had she made to Spencer, knowing full well that she couldn’t possibly honor them? How many times had he saved her ass when she was in a bind?
She did not permit him the chance to respond, knowing he would only argue with her. She didn’t fault her friend for worrying. He was right about her, after all. She was becoming unraveled.
I’ve been unraveled, she corrected herself. Now I’m only hanging on by a thread.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, she tried to push away the problem that had been weighing on her mind, but it wouldn’t dissipate.
I need to tell him I can’t afford to live here anymore, she thought miserably as she ran into the driving rain and sprinted toward the bus stop. He’s going to be even more disappointed in me.
Thankfully, Quinn saw the bus approaching as she ducked beneath the shelter on Broadway.
Fumbling for her pass, she removed her cell and texted her boss at the call center to let her know she was running late.
There’s going to be hell to pay for this, Quinn thought, sinking into a seat at the rear of the bus. But that was nothing new. There was always hell to pay about something, wasn’t there?
Despite the short run from the apartment and bus stop, she was already soaked to the core. The rain was coming down harder than she’d seen in a long while.
And Tina is probably going to give me an earful for not appearing presentable for work.
Sighing, she flopped her blonde head back and stared at the top of the bus, willing herself not to close her eyes even though she could feel the grittiness of exhaustion behind her lids.
She had been burning the candle at both ends for months. It was inevitable that she would burn out with three hours of sleep and no days off.
Thank God Spencer came home when he did or who knows what would have happened. I was in a coma.
A twisted thought weaseled its way into her fatigued mind.
If only he had come home a few minutes later… just long enough for the smoke inhalation to kick in fully.
Shocked, she pushed the morbid idea from her mind. Hadn’
t he just suggested that she was looking for a subtle way out?
You’re tired, not stupid, she told herself. You’ll get out of this and survive just like you have dozens of times before.
Quinn had always possessed a quiet joie de vivre, finding a silver lining in the gloomiest of situations.
She seemed to be losing her good humor.
Maybe I’ll get it back when I get some sleep, she mused to herself.
“Quinn, there is no reason for you to be working this hard,” Spencer grumbled. “You need to drop your night job and cut back on some of your bills. I can help you budget.”
“Oh yeah?” she replied, laughing. “Which bills should I cut back on? Rent? Food? Student loans? Credit card debt?”
Spence looked at her pityingly.
“This is no way to live, Quinn. You’re slowly killing yourself.”
She knew her roommate was right, which was why she was telling him she was moving at the end of September.
He'll be so relieved that I’m not setting the apartment on fire and leaving the front door unlocked every time I stumble out of the house, she thought, but there was a pang of regret in her heart.
It was the only thing she considered an indulgence, the sweet apartment she shared with Spencer Parks on Dawnridge Avenue. She loved everything about it but she knew realistically that it had to go.
I guess Spence was right all along; I do need to cut back on my bills.
She decided she would have the talk with him the following day. Quinn reasoned the anger about the fire would still be fresh in his mind and he wouldn’t argue with her about it.
Instantly she was filled with more guilt.
She knew that Spencer wasn’t angry with her, not really. He was concerned about her wellbeing.
They had been friends since high school, back in a time when Quinn Sommer had been voted most likely to succeed and most likely to leave El Cajon. Back then, the world was supposed to have been her oyster.
High school students are poor prophets, Quinn thought with wryness as the bus pulled up to the industrial complex and she disembarked into the rain once more.
It was July in Southern California. There was no reason for it to rain so excessively, and yet Quinn knew that God had planned it special for her that day.
Because, you know, when it rains, it pours, she told herself dryly, jumping over impossibly large puddles in her dress pants, only to have a shoe catch the edge of the water.
Her sock was instantly soaked and she silently cursed Tina and her stupid dress code.
We work at a call center. Why can’t we be comfortable in sandals and shorts in ninety-degree weather? With global warming on us, we’re all going to die of heat stroke soon. Why rush things along?
Of course, Quinn did not bother to voice her opinion. She was aware of how well it would be received and she needed the job at the call center, despite its brutal nature.
She worked days as a nurse’s aide at the El Cajon Family Health Center but her pay was barely better than minimum wage.
She had been forced to take a second job, simply to keep her head above water.
It was not the life she had expected when she did her associate degree in nursing, but as her father always told her, “Life ain’t fair, kid. Suck it up.”
She expected nothing less from Damon Sommer. He had done nothing to help Quinn in any aspect of her life except interject unsolicited advice while she struggled. Never did he have a kind word or an extra few bucks to help her through. Only criticism and mocking.
It seemed to Quinn that her life had always been a struggle—one to get good grades, one to gain popularity, one to win her father’s fleeting approval, and eventually one to win over her child-bride stepmother, Lena.
Sometimes she won the battles but the war was ever-waging.
“It’s about time!” Tina snapped as Quinn pushed into the office, her shoulder-length layers matted to her round face. “Hurry up! And I’ve spoken to you about your appearance already, Quinn. Next time I will write you up.”
It was the same threat she used over and over, but as Quinn sank into her swivel chair, placing her earpiece on, she wondered if there was any such thing as a “write-up” or if her supervisor simply wielded the term as a weapon. As far as she knew, there was no human resources department at the call center anyway. Who would read such a “write-up”?
Quinn was too tired to overthink it and the phone at her cubicle was already ringing anyway.
It was Friday night. She was not going to have an easy shift, she was sure.
And she wasn’t disappointed. All evening, she got earfuls of angry, bitter customers who demanded better prices and superior service, as if Quinn were solely responsible for what direction the board of directors took in their business.
At three a.m. she called an Uber and waited outside for the driver as the late-night shift rolled in, grumbling about their wasted weekend.
Quinn watched them, most of the group in their early twenties like her but living at home with their parents, well taken care of and working in customer service until they “figured out what to do” with their lives.
Must be nice to have that luxury, Quinn thought with mild bemusement. It was a passing envy but she had really no base for her jealousy.
She had never had any illusions that she was anything but on her own. There had never been a time when she had believed that someone was going to swoop in and care for her, not even in her childhood.
Damon was a rigid, embittered man who had always believed the world owed him more than he got.
Quinn never understood precisely what he found so unfair about his life. He was well respected in their town, not far from the Mexican border. They lived well enough in the beauty of the California desert and her father held a high-ranking job in the El Cajon Police Department.
Still, Damon had made it clear that he would not be responsible for Quinn and she had always wondered if he secretly blamed her for her mother’s death.
It was an inane thought. After all, Charlene Sommer had died when Quinn was two and how could any toddler be responsible at that age?
Regardless, Quinn could feel the almost palpable animosity radiating from her father for as long as she could remember.
Quinn had wanted to become a doctor, but there was no money—or at least that was what her father claimed from his new sports car, an unemployed Lena boasting a brand-new pair of Louboutins and a manicure from the passenger seat.
Quinn had never set foot in that classic ’68 Corvette, not even as a passenger, while her stepmother was free to drive it anywhere she pleased.
The anger or hurt Quinn may have felt settled into a pit of deep despair and loneliness. Eventually apathy had taken over and Quinn had learned to accept the bitter truth of her family life.
He's never going to love me, she realized one day in her first year of college. It doesn’t matter what I do or how I act, he made up his mind about me when my mother died.
It was around that time that Spencer Parks had resurfaced in her life, appearing at a local burger joint where she was working to make tuition.
He stayed until closing that night and somehow, they got talking, Spencer struggling to pay his rent with his menial copywriting gig.
Quinn moved in with Spencer the following week without a single objection from her father. If anything, Damon had been thrilled to let her go.
A car horn honked, shattering her half-memory of how she came to be standing, emotionally drained, in a puddle at three a.m.
“You Quinn?” the driver called through the passenger side window.
She nodded quickly, glancing at her phone to ensure she had the right car. She’d heard all the horror stories about people pretending to be Uber drivers picking up women and assaulting them. Quinn may have been tired but she wasn’t stupid.
“Well, hurry up, girl. I got other places to be tonight!” the driver snapped when she didn’t move fast enough for him.
She hurri
ed toward the back seat and climbed in, noting the grimace on his face.
“Oh, you’re one of those, huh?” he scoffed as he pulled away from the curb. “Too good to sit up front?”
“I like my personal space and quiet time,” she replied crisply, pretending to study her phone. Her heart began to quicken. It would not be the first time she had issues with an Uber driver but she knew that any ride share she took was bound to have its own problems.
“Kind of a bitch, hm?” the man leered at her, his eyes flashing in the rear-view.
She jerked her head up and stared at him, her stormy grey eyes narrowing.
“I am going to pretend I didn’t hear you,” she told him conversationally. “But only if you don’t speak to me for the rest of the ride.”
He sneered, staring at her in the rear-view.
“Oh yeah? Or what are you gonna do? Go home and cry to daddy? Sic your scrawny-ass boyfriend on me?”
Quinn felt herself tense.
“Some people just don’t appreciate friendly advice,” she sighed, shaking her head and turning her attention back toward her phone.
“Show me your tits,” he jeered and Quinn could feel herself growing angrier by the second.
“Come on, sugar. Show me those big titties of yours.”
They continued toward her apartment as his comments became more taunting and Quinn dug into her purse, pulling something out from within.
“You’re ugly anyway,” the driver snorted as she reached for the door handle. “Get out of my car.”
Quinn turned to smile coldly at him, flicking a business card at him. To her pleasure, it hit him in the forehead.
She put a foot on the sidewalk, pulling her body from the car before she finished her bold statement.
“Expect a call from this man,” she told him as he grabbed the card. His face registered confusion and then anger.
“What the hell is this?”
“That is my father’s card. He’s the police chief of El Cajon Police Department and I have recorded your harassment on my cell phone. If I were you, I’d turn in my Uber card and make myself scarce, you piece of shit.”
Quinn slammed the door with unnecessary force and strolled toward the entranceway, her heart thudding against her chest, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of pride that overcame her as she moved.
