by Kylie Walker
“Wow,” I said, trying to center my mind. “I never listen to that stuff. Too complicated for me.”
“Said the big tech guy in Silicon Valley,” Quinn giggled, obviously flirting with me.
I had no answer to that. I slid my fingers through my dark hair, glancing down the street. I felt like an alien.
I heard her excuse herself from Rachel—saying a brief “I’ll be right back,” before whispering into the phone.
“Listen,” she began, her voice tight. “I hope you know I’m not trying to step over any boundaries. I’m really not. I saw Rachel walking home from school today and was honestly shocked, so I pulled over and picked her up. It was an instinct or something, and she looked so sad when I saw where her mother lives.” She trailed off, her voice filled with the reality of Marnie’s place. The stinking carpet. The ‘Greg’ that existed between snores, a lump on the couch. “I just didn’t feel right about leaving her there.”
“And so you introduced yourself as my girlfriend?” I asked, knocking my head against the brick wall behind me.
“Actually, Rachel did that,” Quinn said, sighing—not without humor. “I couldn’t believe it. But I didn’t want to give her away. She’s such a good kid, Tyler.”
“I know.”
“And I heard what you said, last night,” Quinn whispered, obviously embarrassed. “About your life is too complicated right now for anything to happen. I think I might have mentioned that I have a recent ex, as well?”
“Sure.”
“Well, my life isn’t exactly easy, either. So I know where you’re coming from. I just want you to know that I’m not trying to get in your way or affect you. If what happened last night never happens again, I’ll be fine.”
Her voice tweaked as she said it, making me smell the lie. But I didn’t force her into another answer.
“My life’s is empty right now. I don’t want to date. I don’t want to ‘get back out there.’ As far as I’m concerned, spending a few nights in with Rachel talking about Albert Einstein is time well spent,” she continued.
“She’ll be on another scientist by next week,” I laughed, wishing I could keep Quinn on the phone longer. Listening to her chat about my daughter—in an endearing way—made my heart swell. “Last week, it was Marie Curie. I can’t keep up with it.”
“I’ll consider it my job, then,” Quinn said, teasing me.
The distance between us was palpable. There was nothing else to say. The line had been drawn in the sand which had begun by me and completed by her—allowing us freedom. I made up an excuse, declaring that I needed to get back to my meeting. And she said she’d see me soon—“But hopefully not too soon, for both our sakes.”
And then we hung up. On that last point, I agreed, because I wasn’t sure I would be able to restrain myself the next time I saw her.
Chapter 12
Quinn
I tried to take Rachel back to Marnie’s late that night after Marnie had affirmed she and Greg would be back from their date. But when I pulled up in front of the house, Rachel and I found that the windows were blackened, the car was gone—leaving nothing but an oil stain down the front driveway. I shivered, glancing toward Rachel with a shrug.
“Where do they normally go?” I asked.
“Beats me,” Rachel said, her voice heavy. “I think sometimes they go gambling. They always reek of cigarettes after.”
“Do they ever go when you’re here?” I asked, trying not to sound panicked. “I mean, do they leave you at home alone?”
“It’s not really something I’m supposed to talk about and besides, Quinn. I know algebra. It’s not like I’m a kid.”
“Honey, I realize you’re a lot more mature than your age, but you are only ten, and you shouldn’t be left alone.”
Revving my engine, I drove back to Tyler’s—knowing that my house was still sad, despondent and shadowed, without the ‘fixings’ of a proper home. “Do you think your dad would mind if I slept on the couch?” I asked her, halting in the center of the driveway. “Because I don’t want you to sleep at home alone.”
“Don’t be silly, Quinn!” Rachel piped. “You can sleep in his bed! He won’t mind.” She burst out from the side door and then raced toward my house, where I saw her peeking in the window to find Randy. Randy bucked up against the window, drawing a line with his tongue across the glass. I’d grown accustomed to the dirty window by now—and probably wouldn’t be cleaning it again until he outgrew the habit.
“Ha,” I whispered to myself as I raced after her, my heart pounding. Sleeping in Tyler’s house would demand a lot: his smell of musk lingering everywhere, trying not to feel overcome with lust again. It asked that I wrap myself further into his world, without demanding his unadulterated affection. He couldn’t give these things to me. And I’d lied, saying I didn’t want them, anyway.
I unlocked the door and listened as Rachel and Randy raced around the living room, leaping on top of the cushions. I gathered a small collection of things for the night ahead of time. Some clothes for tomorrow morning, my computer, my shampoo and face wash, and then followed the outrageous forms of Rachel and Randy back toward the larger colonial. The stars peppered across the black night sky, forcing me to pause, to gobble the view. Rachel pointed a slim finger, noting the position of the North Star. I strapped my hand across her hair and shook it, making her giggle.
“Oh. My phone’s ringing,” Rachel said, leafing through her pocket and drawing it out. She answered it with a sharp voice, giving all the attitude that a ten-year-old could muster. “Mom?”
After a few ‘mmm hmms’ and ‘ah-hahs,’ she thrust the phone toward me, her keeper. I eyed the screen, taking a large breath. A bit of fall wind whooshed around my blonde hair, chilling me. A reminder that September would almost be over.
“Marnie?”
“Oh, darling. It’s Rachel’s mother.”
The darling was clearly used as an insult. Her voice was syrupy-sweet, a clue to her level of drunkenness. I fiddled with Rachel’s hair as she swept her hands across Randy’s fur, each of us seeming to assure the other that everything was going to be okay.
“I know. I stopped by your place about twenty minutes ago. You weren’t home,” I began.
“That’s right. We were held up by some old friends. You know how it always goes. Is Rachel all right with you for the night, then? And perhaps tomorrow, as well.”
“Sure. Of course.” My heart hammered. My sincere distaste for this woman seemed to sharpen very quickly.
“Anyway, you’re in contact with Tyler, aren’t you?” Marnie asked. “He hates talking to me. But I’m sure he’ll take this information from you, don’t you think?”
“What is it?”
“I mean, you are his cute little girlfriend. He wouldn’t turn you down, would he?” Marnie continued, speaking in circles.
“Um…”
“Anyway, he needs to send the child custody check just a bit early, this month. He’s done it before. It shouldn’t be a problem. I just need to get a handle on a few of these bills.”
My tongue tasted sour, now. Swallowing sharply, I asked, “Bills for Rachel, of course?”
“Of course,” Marnie said, her voice growing high-pitched. “Why would you ever think otherwise?”
My nostrils flared—feeling instantly angered for Tyler’s sake and flabbergasted, as this wasn’t supposed to be my line of duty, I said, “Yes. I’ll let him know. But I can’t promise anything.”
“You’re a doll, honey. A complete and total—HEY. GREG! ORDER ME ANOTHER ONE.”
I pressed the phone’s end button and took in a deep breath. Rachel peered up at me; her look telling me she sensed what her mother had asked. Their faces were similar in bone structure, I had noticed, but they couldn’t have been more different in terms of outlook. Rachel’s was pure, fascinated, while Marnie’s was caving in, obstructed by the allure of gambling and of cigarettes and alcohol.
> “Let’s go inside,” I said, my voice soft, almost motherly. “I’ll send a few messages to your dad. Tell him what’s going on. And then—I guess we’ll see.”
“Don’t make me go back there,” Rachel whispered, her lips pressing together tight and growing a soft, pale purple.
I didn’t know what to say. My heart ached for this little girl that I barely knew.
The next several days turned out similar, forming me into a kind of daytime laze-about, nighttime nanny. My job wouldn’t begin until the following Monday, the day after Tyler arrived home, and I relished the time to myself, time to roam around Tyler’s house, to watch his television, and to pour through my science books—looking forward to the research I would conduct.
Tyler kept in contact with me via text message, telling me, countless times, that he would ‘reimburse me’ for the inconvenience and that I was ‘saving his daughter’s life.’ I sensed this was a bit overdramatic, as Marnie certainly wasn’t dangerous. But I accepted the compliment anyway, holding the phone close to my heart with strange, joyful emotions that coursed through me.
I began to live for his messages, hunting for my phone in between chapters in my science books, sensing that we were falling into dangerous territory. He’d begun sending me photographs of the San Francisco bridge, draping into the fog. The burrito he ate for lunch. The brewery he told me I ‘would just love,’ due to its quirky staff and its new, artistic flavors.
“When I get home Sunday, I’ll reimburse you for everything,” he told me again. But I didn’t want reimbursement.
I knew, in these moments, when I found the silence of my beating heart, that all I really wanted was him.
Tyler’s truck slipped into the driveway at around six p.m. that Sunday evening. Rachel and I were poised on the porch, inhaling the September heat, with Randy napping in the shade beneath the large elm tree out front. My heart leaped into my throat when I first saw him. Broad-shouldered, his dark hair swept back from his penetrating eyes and his forearms dark beneath rolled-up sleeves. He lugged his suitcase from the passenger seat and gave Rachel and I a wave. Rachel leaped toward the truck and raced into his arms, hugging him close. I remained on the porch, unsure of where I belonged in this situation. I’d spent the past four days with Rachel, developing a rather intimate friendship with her.
Yet, her father had told me his life was too complicated to involve me.
As Tyler swept up the front porch steps, he reached forward—all business—and shook my hand. A shudder rushed up and down my spine. “Rachel just told me she had the best few days,” he said.
I couldn’t form words. My tongue was lost, lolling around my mouth. I gave him a small smile, allowing Rachel to take the floor once more. “Daddy. You won’t believe it. I got an A on my Social Studies test. And you know how much I hated that chapter on the Industrial Revolution!”
I followed them indoors, watching as Tyler prepared a snack for Rachel with the efficiency of a well-seasoned father. The toast, into the toaster. The peanut butter, slathered. The dribbling of a few raisins—not too many, not too few—onto the peanut butter. Rachel ate heartily, saying she was ‘absolutely starving.’
I laughed, taking a stab at the conversation. “You should have told me, monkey.”
“She wanted to wait for me. I get it,” Tyler said, drawing his hands to his hips. “But Rachel, if you don’t mind, I want to take Quinn out tonight. To thank her for all she did for our family this week.”
Rachel shrugged evenly, her eyes glued to her science textbook. A large lizard draped across the second page, with each of its parts labeled.
“Is that alright?” Tyler asked, his eyes centered on mine—almost attempting to read me. “You have time tonight, don’t you?”
“Time?” I laughed, shrugging and trying to look laissez-faire. “I’ve only just moved here, and I’ve barely left this block. I have nothing but time.”
“Good,” Tyler said, finalizing this new plan.
With my fists clenched on either side of my waist, I wondered what this was. A date? Just what he’d said—a thank you? In the moments that followed, another woman—a bit younger, seventeen, perhaps, wearing horn-rimmed hipster glasses, entered and introduced herself as Brittany.
“I’m the babysitter,” she said to me, grinning madly. “Tyler said you’re going to that French place. I’m so jealous.”
I felt the wave draw up and crash into me, forcing me out the door behind Tyler. I had to smile to myself as I got into the truck and we drove off. My hand was so close to Tyler’s on the drive to the restaurant that it made my heart hammer in my chest, but he didn’t speak a word as he drove—making the tension between us almost unbearable. So I focused on my breathing. Inhale. Exhale.
Nothing about this felt simple.
Chapter 13
Tyler
I hadn’t been to Le Fou in many years, not since a bad business deal back in the years immediately post-divorce. With my limited sales skills, I’d attempted to convince a tech guru that my app idea—one that told you, always, where you’d left your house keys—would revolutionize the marketplace. But I’d grown tipsy, outrageous, and I’d looked foolish and young. I remember, in the hours after that, I’d sat despondent and half-drunk next to Rachel’s crib, wishing my life had turned out differently.
Now, I led Quinn into the restaurant, told the maître d’ my name, and then found myself at an intimate table near the back; complete with flickering candles and a large impressionist painting across the wall next to it. I watched Quinn’s eyes flash, showing her confusion and hesitation.
We still hadn’t spoken much since we had left the house.
Sure, we’d been chatting amicably since she offered to take care of Rachel while I was gone. It was remarkable, how much better I felt out west when I knew Rachel was in the hands of someone like Quinn, rather than Marnie. But I think, what we’d both forgotten in the days of my absence, how remarkably attracted we were to one another. I inhaled her scent on the drive and sensed my cock thrusting up against my pants, a reminder that she’d fulfilled my needs in such an intense way the previous week.
Why wouldn’t I allow it again?
I ordered us the first round of wine, a French Cabernet Sauvignon, and then watched as the server poured us a small taster; the red wine pouring into the bottom, smooth like silk. We clinked glasses, still without speaking, allowing the tension to draw even tighter.
Finally, with her lips quivering, Quinn spoke first.
“She’s a great kid. I didn’t even know you could make them that great.”
“Actually, I got a pretty good deal on her, as well,” I said, falling into an immediate rapport. “She was half-off. They threw in all the science stuff just to make me feel like an idiot, every day of the week. It’s a plus.”
“Do you think she takes after you?” Quinn laughed, sipping her wine.
“She certainly looks a bit like her mother. But her brains—I don’t know, she really lucked out on those,” I said, a grin stretching between my cheeks.
Quinn leaned forward, taking sincere interest—allowing her breasts to crest over her camisole. Her fingers painted a bright pink, flickered nervously across the tablecloth. I yearned, at that moment, to grab onto her, to kiss her. She seemed so far away.
“Anyway,” Quinn began. “I’m—um. I’m glad that we can have this friendship, despite what happened…”
My heart hammered. “Yes.” I felt the wine draw into my brain, making things ooze together. The candle’s orange glow seemed to bleed into the impressionist painting. The world didn’t have such stark boundaries. “Since my divorce, I haven’t been close to anyone, really. A few friends, here and there. But my life has been centered on Rachel’s education. Her safety. And my job, of course. It’s just—“
“Easier that way,” Quinn finished, nodding. “I think I’d handle it the same way. You’re not selfish, Tyler. It might be one of your most attractive quali
ties. And that’s saying a lot…”
She trailed off, clearly embarrassed as if she’d overstepped. The silence stretched between us. The server arrived with our first course, a cheese platter, and then left us staring into one another’s eyes.
“And you said you were recently in a bad breakup?” I asked then, drawing a piece of brie across a slab of bread.
“I honestly thought I would be engaged by Christmas,” Quinn smiled sadly, beginning to nibble on some Cheddar. “But he grew distant. And then, I found out he was cheating on me…with my best friend of five years.”
“Jesus,” I whispered. On instinct, I brought my spare hand to hers on the table. Electricity simmered between us. As I gazed into her eyes, I found the words, “You don’t deserve to feel broken.”
Quinn chuckled, pulling her hand back. She looked shaken as if she were counting the minutes down until she could run from the restaurant. Free of her feelings for me. I sensed the dominance growing within me once more; making me want to thrust her against the wall of the restaurant, inhale her scent and place my fingers in the soft folds between her legs.
I wanted to hear her cry my name again.
I needed her to need it.
As we continued to eat the conversation grew less tense, with me even making her laugh a few times. We sipped through a bottle of wine, then half of another, and found ourselves making excuses to touch one another. Her hand glanced across mine as she told me a story about her and Rachel doing math formulas across the chalkboard she’d moved over from Asheville.
“She seemed like a little evil genius,” she laughed. “Plotting a way to rule the world.”
“She will, someday,” I affirmed. “She will.”
The moon beamed down into the restaurant windows. On the smokers’ patio, I could see people sipping their wine and engaging in intimate conversation beneath the bright peppering of stars. I asked, perhaps beyond my better judgment, if she wanted to go, and then I led her toward the terrace—far from swirling smoke. She stood with her wine glass glimmering in her hands and gazed up at me.
