“I hope we'll be working together, Mr. Thompson.”
“I hope so too,” Quinn said simply, and smiled at him. He liked everything about him, his look, his manners, how bright he was, what he had said about the work to be done. Jack Adams was the best thing that had happened to him since the storm that hit San Francisco.
Jack left a few minutes later, and drove off in his truck.
Feeling immensely relieved, Quinn went to put in a call to Tem Hakker in Holland, to check on the progress of his sailboat. And he couldn't help wondering, as strange as it may have seemed, if Jack liked sailing, or knew anything about boats.
5
JACK ADAMS CAME BACK, AS PROMISED, THE NEXT DAY and the work began in an orderly, efficient way. He had faxed Quinn a very reasonable estimate, as promised, the day before. The deal had been made, and a contract signed. He brought two big burly young men with him, and they kept to themselves and went straight to work. They greeted Quinn, or nodded, when he went in or out, but Jack was the only one who had contact with him. And the roofer appeared to do his work at the end of the week. The tree had done more damage than they'd thought at first, and the roofer consulted with Jack and Quinn about what needed to be done. It was an extensive job, but Quinn had no choice in the matter. The roof had to be repaired, and Quinn wasn't trying to cut corners. He wanted it done right, in the best possible way, no matter how expensive it was, even though he was selling the house. And Jack respected him for that, as he did for all else. He had already figured out in the first few days that Quinn Thompson was a pleasure to work with, as long as you were fair with him, and told him honestly what was happening, and what you thought you could do about it. What he didn't like were misrepresentations and lies, or people who shirked their responsibilities. But there was none of that with Jack Adams in charge of the job. He was completely professional, and every few days, he brought Quinn up to speed.
He was coming into the house to do just that at the end of the second week, when he found Quinn sitting at his desk and poring over some plans.
“Building a new house somewhere?” Jack asked pleasantly. He never asked questions inappropriately, but Quinn was so intent on what he was looking at that Jack couldn't help but be intrigued. And whatever the plans were for, it looked huge.
Quinn looked up with a tired smile. He had done a lot of paperwork for Jane's estate that week, and it was tedious, depressing work. His reward to himself for doing it was spending some time going over the latest plans for the boat. “Not a house, Jack. A boat. Do you know anything about boats?”
“Not a thing,” Jack admitted with a grin. “I've looked at them a lot, and watched some sailboat races on the bay. But I've never been on a boat in my life.”
“You're missing a great thing,” Quinn said, as he turned the plans around on his desk, so Jack could see them. He knew he would appreciate the precision with which they had been done. Jack was meticulous himself. “She'll be ready in the fall. I'm going to live on her, after I sell this house.” Jack nodded, looking the plans over carefully. He didn't ask questions, he was just admiring what he was seeing.
“Where are you going to sail the boat to?” Jack asked with interest.
“Everywhere. The South Pacific. Antarctica. South America. Europe. Scandinavia. Africa. I can go anywhere I want with a boat like this. I bought her in November, the day before I came home from Europe.”
“She must be beautiful to see,” Jack said admiringly, but without a touch of envy. He had a great deal of respect for Quinn, and thought the man deserved all he had.
“Not yet, but she will be when she's finished.”
“Where is she?” Quinn was amused when he asked the question. The name of the boatyard was written boldly across the page, with the word NETHERLANDS printed out clearly, but Jack had obviously not seen it. Quinn assumed he had been too dazzled by the boat's exquisite design to notice, and he couldn't blame him. Quinn was already deeply in love with his new boat, and he was sure that anyone who would see her would be too.
“She's being built in Holland,” Quinn answered.
“Do you go over often?” Jack was intrigued by him. Everything about Quinn suggested style, elegance, and power. He seemed like a real hero to him.
“I will until she's finished. I want to oversee the details myself.”
“When are you putting the house on the market?” They had talked about it, and Jack was aware of it, but Quinn hadn't given him any precise dates. Now that he had seen the plans for the boat, Jack knew that Quinn's departure was not vague or simply a possibility, it was real.
“I'll put the house up for sale as soon as you're finished, or sometime in late spring. I'm assuming it will take a few months to sell. I want to be out of here by September or October. The boat should be ready by then.”
“I'd love to see her. I hope you bring her here.” But that was exactly what Quinn didn't want. He wanted to get as far away as he could from his relentless memories, and the world he had shared with Jane. All he wanted now was to sail away and take his memories with him. Being in the house he had shared with her, in the city where they had lived for nearly forty years, was just too hard for him. He hardly slept at night, and roamed throughout the house, aching for her. Thinking about all the things he had never done for or with her was a heavy weight to bear. What he needed now was a reprieve, and he felt certain the boat would give that to him. Jack knew that Quinn's wife had died. Quinn had mentioned it to him one day the previous week, and Jack had told him quietly how sorry he was to hear it. He sensed now some small measure of how lonely Quinn was. Quinn had also said that he had a daughter who lived in Geneva.
“Maybe you'll come to Europe and see the boat one day,” Quinn suggested as he put the plans away. Jack laughed in answer, and told him a trip to Europe was as foreign to his world as a rocket ship ride to outer space, and about as likely for him.
“I think I've got enough to keep me busy here. But that certainly is a handsome boat,” he said respectfully, and as he did, Quinn had an idea. He strode across the room to a bookcase where he had an entire library of sailing books, some very old and some quite rare. He took a heavy volume out and offered it to Jack. It was an introduction to sailing that Quinn had used as his bible for years in his earliest sailing days.
“This will teach you everything you'd ever want to know about sailboats, Jack. You might enjoy it sometime in your free time.” Jack hesitated as Quinn held it out to him.
“I'd hate to lose it or damage it.” The book looked much loved and well worn, and possibly even valuable. He was obviously uncomfortable about borrowing it.
“I'm not worried about it. See what you think, you can return it when you're finished. You never know, you might have a chance to go sailing with a friend one of these days. This book will teach you everything you need to know.” Jack took it slowly from him, and flipped through some of the sketches and pictures. There were diagrams and sailing terms throughout. It was a wonderful book that Quinn had always loved. He had given it to Doug to read that fateful summer before he left for camp, and Doug had pored over it, and memorized parts of it in order to impress his father, and had. It had been one of their few great exchanges and precious moments before he died.
“You're sure you want to lend it to me?” Jack asked, looking worried. Quinn smiled and nodded, and a few minutes later, Jack left with the book under his arm. And although it was Friday night, he had mentioned that he would be back in the morning. His crew were only working for him five days a week, but he had already told Quinn he would be putting in some weekend hours on his own, and it was all part of their contracted price. He liked working alone sometimes, and getting a handle on some of the details himself. He was even more conscientious than Quinn had thought he would be, and the work was going well. He was supervising the roof work too, and Quinn was pleased with the results, although there was still a lot of work to do. Jack was going to be around for months, until the house was not only in good repair, but
ready to put on the market.
On Saturday morning, Quinn looked out the window when he got up and saw Jack outside. It was raining again, and had been for most of the month. But Jack didn't seem to mind. He was used to working in the elements, and the only problem the rain represented for them was that they couldn't finish the roof until the weather was dry. The wet weather was drawing things out. But there were plenty of other projects at hand.
Quinn went outside to talk to Jack after he read the paper and had coffee, and he found him in the garage. He was checking on the repairs they'd been forced to do out there, and as the two men walked out of the garage half an hour later, chatting casually, Quinn noticed his neighbor struggling to open an enormous crate someone had delivered in front of her house. And as she had been before, after the storm, she was once again wrestling with it herself. She never seemed to have anyone to help, and as Quinn watched her, he thought of Jane once again, with a familiar pang. In all those years, he had never once thought about how difficult life must have been for her, with him gone all the time. And now he never seemed to stop thinking about it. This woman was a living reminder of the life Jane had been challenged with during all of his working life.
And as Quinn thought of it, Jack eased through the hedge that separated the two houses, and went to help her. He took the tools from her hand, and within minutes he had the crate open, and offered to take its contents, a piece of furniture, inside. Before Quinn could say anything, they disappeared into the house, and a few minutes later, he was back. Jack was cautious when he mentioned her to Quinn.
“I don't know how you feel about it, Quinn.” They called each other by their first names by then, and Quinn was comfortable with it. He liked everything he knew about Jack, and above all the fastidiousness and devotion with which he worked. “She asked me if I could do some work for her sometime. I told her I had a long job here, and she asked if I could do a few repairs for her on Sundays, if I have any spare time. I don't really mind, it's my day off, and I get the feeling she really needs the help. I don't think she has a man around.”
“People probably used to say that about my wife too,” Quinn said with a sigh. “Don't you need some time off? You can't work seven days a week, you'll wear yourself out,” he said with a look of concern. He wasn't crazy about the idea of Jack working for her. He worked hard, and needed some rest, at least on Sundays, since he worked extra hours for Quinn on Saturdays.
“I think I can handle it,” Jack said with an easy smile. “I feel kind of sorry for her. I was talking to the mailman the other day, he says her son died last year. Maybe she needs a break and a helping hand.” Quinn nodded. He couldn't argue with that. And he made no comment, sympathetic or otherwise, about her son. He hadn't told Jack about Doug. There was no reason to, and Quinn thought it sounded maudlin. It was enough that he knew Jane had died. But he and the neighbor had something in common, not that it was something he wanted to talk about.
“I don't mind. Just don't let her take advantage of you, Jack,” Quinn warned, and Jack shook his head. He was willing to help her, he wasn't being forced. And she had managed to find a roofer on her own, and gotten the work she needed done. But she said there were a number of smaller repairs she hadn't found anyone to tackle yet. And like Quinn, she had observed how diligent and competent Jack was about his work.
“She seems like a nice woman. Sometimes you just have to put out a hand, even if it costs you some time. I've got nothing else to do on weekends except watch football.” It was more than Quinn had to do, but he didn't say that to Jack.
And the following day, he noticed Jack going in and out of Maggie Dartman's house. She stopped and said something to Quinn a little while later, as she was going out, and thanked him for allowing her to use Jack's services on his day off.
“He's a great guy,” Quinn reassured her, not wanting to get involved in their arrangement. It was entirely up to Jack what he did in his spare time, and by midafternoon, Quinn noticed that Jack's truck was gone. He really was a decent man.
It was the end of the following week when Quinn remembered the book he'd given him, and asked Jack if he'd had time to read it yet. Jack looked slightly embarrassed and shook his head, and apologetically explained he hadn't had time.
“I can see why, between working here six days a week, and doing extra duty at my neighbor's,” Quinn pressed him a little bit, good-naturedly, and Jack rapidly changed the subject.
Quinn sensed that he felt guilty he hadn't read the sailing book yet, and he didn't want to put pressure on him. He had just thought he might enjoy it, but the poor guy was working himself to the bone on both jobs, particularly Quinn's. He didn't know why, but he had the feeling that Jack could be a born sailor if he wanted to. He had shown such interest in the plans for the boat, and teaching him something about sailing was something Quinn could do for him. He hoped he'd read the book at some point, and not just say he had, but he forgot to mention it again.
It was late January and the work was going well, when Quinn spent an entire afternoon making a list of extra projects he had for Jack, and comments about the work in progress, and he went outside to hand it to him. It was the first really sunny day they'd had in weeks, and the roof work was finally finished, although it had taken longer than planned. He wanted Jack's comments on the list he'd made, and stood waiting for him to read it, as Jack folded it and put it in his pocket, and promised to read it that night, which irked Quinn a little bit. He hated putting things off, and wanted to discuss it with him, but Jack said he had too much going on that afternoon to concentrate on it properly. He promised to discuss it with Quinn the next day when he came in.
But that afternoon, the work having gone particularly well that day, and hating the lull that came on Friday nights when everyone left, Quinn asked him in for a glass of wine, and he mentioned the list to Jack again, and suggested he take it out of his pocket, and they go over it together. Jack hesitated, and tried to brush it off, as Quinn insisted. He was like a dog with a bone about his list, and for an odd moment, Quinn thought he saw tears shimmer in Jack's eyes, and wondered if he had offended him. Jack was generally easygoing and unflappable, even when things went wrong on the job, but he was obviously upset by Quinn's suggestion, so much so that Quinn was afraid he might quit, and that worried him acutely.
“Sorry, Jack,” he said gently, “I didn't mean to press you, you must be dog tired by the end of the week. Why don't you skip tomorrow?” he suggested, trying to pacify him and back down from the pressure he had provided, apparently too much so for Jack. But Jack only looked at him and shook his head, and this time the tears in his eyes were clear. The look he gave Quinn was one of deep sorrow and immeasurable trust, and Quinn didn't understand what was happening. Just looking at Jack upset him. It was as though something in the younger man was unraveling, and could no longer be stopped. And out of nowhere came an explanation that Quinn was in no way prepared for, as Jack quietly set down his glass of wine. He looked straight at the man who had hired him, and spoke in a voice rough with emotion, as Quinn watched him, and listened with an aching heart. He had meant no harm with his questions and suggestions, but he could see that he had hurt this man whom he had come to respect and like. It was one of those moments when you can't go back, only forward. Like a pendulum swinging only forward, and never back.
“My parents left me at an orphanage when I was four years old,” Jack quietly explained. “I remember my mother, I think I do anyway, I don't remember my father, except I think I was scared of him. And I know I had a brother, but I don't remember him at all. It's all kind of a blur. And they never came back. I was state-raised, as they say. They put me in a couple of foster homes at first, because I was so young, but they always sent me back. I couldn't be adopted because they knew my parents were alive somewhere, and you can't stay in foster homes forever. I got comfortable in the orphanage, and everyone was pretty good to me there. I did okay. I worked hard. I started doing carpentry when I was about seven. And by
the time I was ten, I was pretty good. They let me do what I wanted, and I did whatever I could to help out. And I hated school. I figured out early on that if I did work at the orphanage, they'd let me skip classes, so I did, a lot. I liked hanging out with the grown-ups better than the kids. It made me feel independent and useful, and I liked that. And by the time I was eleven or twelve, I hardly ever went to school. I stuck around, going to school when I had to, till I was about fifteen. And by then, I knew I could make a living as a carpenter, so I took one of those high school equivalency tests. To tell you the truth, a friend helped me take it, a girl I knew. I got my diploma, and I left the orphanage and never looked back. It was in Wisconsin, and I had a little money saved up from jobs I'd done. I hopped a bus and came out here, and I've been working ever since. That was twenty years ago. I'm thirty-five now, and I make a good living at what I do. I work hard, and I like it. I like helping people, and working with someone like you. No one's ever been as nice to me as you are, not in all these twenty years.” His voice cracked as he said it, and Quinn's heart ached for him as he listened, but he still had not understood. “I'm a carpenter, Quinn, and a good one. But that's all I am. That's all I'll ever be, all I've ever been. That's all I know how to do.”
“I didn't mean to push you, Jack,” Quinn said gently. “I admire what you do a lot. I couldn't do it. You have a real talent for finding solutions and making things work.” And Quinn had noticed that he had a knack for design as well.
“Maybe not,” Jack said sadly, “but you can do a lot of things I can't, and never will.”
“I've been lucky, and worked hard, like you have,” Quinn said, offering him the kind of respect that grows sometimes between two men, no matter what their origins or how simple or complicated their field. Quinn Thompson was a legend, and Jack Adams was a carpenter, and a good one, as he said, and an honest man. Quinn didn't want more than that from him. But Jack wanted a great deal more for himself, and he knew he would never have it. The burdens of his past were too heavy, and he knew it, better than Quinn could imagine. Quinn had no concept of the life Jack had led, or the path he had followed to get there.
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