by Devney Perry
She smiled as she passed, the light glimmering off the nose ring I’d kissed last night, but she didn’t stop or say a word. She just followed my son to the basement, where I heard the bass drum thumping not thirty seconds later.
God, I could kiss her. Not just for coming here, with some stupid excuse about an airplane, but for putting that smile on my son’s face after a not-so-pleasant conversation.
I laughed to myself, closing the door. Then instead of a shower, I crept down half the flight of stairs to sit on the landing and listen to Quinn teach Colin some different techniques on the snare.
They spent an hour down there, long enough that my ass fell asleep. But still, I didn’t move. I listened, hearing the joy in my son’s voice and the affection in Quinn’s.
She’d make a good mom.
I shoved that thought down deep, mostly because it was impossible. Quinn didn’t need to be Colin’s mother. It was a sacrifice I wouldn’t ask her to make. But friend was good.
When they finally called it quits, I didn’t bother hurrying up the stairs. I sat on the landing and let them catch me eavesdropping.
Colin rounded the corner first, his hand slapping over his heart as he giggled. “You scared me, Dad.”
“Did you have fun?”
“Yeah.” He nodded wildly as Quinn joined him, placing her hands on his shoulders.
“Colin will be able to play with you on stage at church soon.”
“Maybe.” I grinned, shoving up to stand. “But first, a shower. Tomorrow is another early morning.”
“No,” he grumbled. “Is it seven thirty already?”
“Pretty close. What do you say to Quinn?”
He didn’t just thank her. He threw his arms around her once more for a hug that made my chest tighten. “That was so extra.”
Extra? Hell, I was getting old.
“Way to rock, kid.” She let him go and gave him a fist bump.
“Can we do it again? Since you’re stuck here?”
Quinn glanced up to me, silently asking permission. When I nodded, she smiled. “I’d like that.”
Colin let out a whoop, then flew up the stairs, leaving us both with a smile.
“Want something to drink?” I asked, leading the way to the kitchen. “How about a beer?”
“Sure.” She leaned against the counter as I took out two amber bottles, twisting the top off hers before handing it over.
“You can’t afford a plane ticket, huh?” I asked, tipping the bottle to my lips.
She scrunched up her nose. “Commercial? Eww.”
“Snob.”
“It’s true.” She giggled. “I don’t splurge on much other than drums and that airplane.”
“I suppose there are worse vices for rock stars.”
Something flashed in her eyes. Understanding. Agreement. “Yes, there are.”
“So you’re here.” My heart was skipping every other beat. “For how long?”
“Another week. Nixon went somewhere for the Fourth. He was good enough to leave a note with Mom before disappearing, saying he’d be back on Saturday.”
“You don’t seem too upset.”
Her stormy eyes locked on mine as she licked her lip. “I’m not.”
The air in the kitchen grew hot and thick. The undertones of sex filled the air.
She hadn’t only come to see Colin.
She’d come for me.
I crossed the room and set my beer on the counter at her side. Then I slid hers from her grip, setting it down too. The water in the bathroom was running so we had a few minutes.
Minutes I intended to use wisely.
“You left this morning.”
Her breath caught as I leaned in closer.
“Why?”
“I don’t know how to tell you goodbye,” she whispered.
Me neither.
I slammed my mouth down on hers, swallowing her gasp. My tongue dove past her lips, tangling with hers as she looped her arms around my neck. The taste of Quinn and hops broke on my tongue and I pressed in deeper, molding us nearly into one.
I angled her head to one side, taking our kiss to the next level. Her hands gripped my ass, pulling my arousal into her belly.
The water in the bathroom shut off and I took one last lick, then stepped away. I wiped my mouth dry as she did the same, then adjusted my erection behind my zipper. With my beer in hand, I retreated one step at a time so that when the bathroom door flew open, a billow of steam following Colin’s wet head, I wasn’t in any danger of dry humping Quinn against my kitchen counter.
That would come later.
Because she was here.
“Do I have to go to bed?” Colin asked with pleading eyes as he spotted Quinn.
“Not yet. How about this? I need to take my own shower. Why don’t you and Quinn play a quiet game in your room or read a book? Then I’ll come in and say good night.”
I wasn’t giving her the option to leave. She’d come here and she was going to spend the night.
The entire night.
My shower was cold and only long enough to rinse away the stink before I got out and toweled off. I pulled on a pair of briefs and a pair of navy sweats, then I walked out of my bedroom with a few lingering droplets of water dripping off my bare chest to find Quinn and Colin in his room.
He was in bed, tucked beneath the blue blankets. Quinn was above the covers, her legs, clad in a pair of those tight jeans, stretched out beside him as he read her his favorite book.
The tightness in my chest returned. No matter how many breaths I dragged through my nose, my lungs wouldn’t hold the air.
Colin had asked me about his mother tonight. And here he was, sitting beside a woman who might have been his mother in another life. Their picture was . . . flawless.
Neither of them noticed me as I stood in the doorway, hidden behind a corner and spying once more.
“Great job reading.” Quinn took the book from his hand and set it aside. Then she looked up and over, spotting me beside the door.
Her eyes raked down my naked chest. Her throat bobbed as she gulped.
I grinned and entered the room, her eyes dropping to the trail of hair that disappeared beneath the waistband of my sweats. “Say good night, Colin.”
“Good night, Colin,” she parroted, making him laugh.
She giggled with him and kissed the top of his head before sliding off the bed to make room for me.
I tucked the blanket under his chin as he snuggled deeper into the pillow, a smile still on his face. “Sweet dreams, bud. I love you.”
“Love you too.”
Quinn stood in the hallway as I shut his door. Then she followed me to my bedroom.
Our beers in the kitchen were forgotten. So was the full dishwasher I’d forgotten to run and the grill that should be covered in case of rain.
But I shut us inside my bedroom and ignored everything beyond the door when her hands snaked up my spine.
I spun, her fingers splaying on my chest, and caught her wrists, trapping them on my skin. “No sneaking out. Not tonight. Not in the morning.”
“What about Colin?”
“We’ll get up early. You can be gone before he wakes up, but if you leave me alone in this bed, I’m going to spank your ass tomorrow night.”
She inched closer, not denying the fact that she’d be here tomorrow. And the next night. Quinn and I had a week. She could hang with her family during the day. Chill with Colin in the evenings. But at night until morning, she was mine.
“Understood?” I warned.
“Understood.” A sly grin spread across her face as she worked her hand free to pinch my nipple. “I’ll just have to do something else to earn that spanking.”
Chapter Eighteen
Quinn
“Are you coming too?” Brooklyn looked me up and down as she stood by Mom at the front door.
“Yep. I just need to grab my shoes.” I sprinted upstairs and swiped my boots off the floor, sitting on the ed
ge of the bed to tie them up.
Did I want to help clean out my late grandmother’s house? Not really. But I wouldn’t make Mom and Brooklyn do it alone while I sat around and watched Netflix.
With my sunglasses in hand, a hair tie on my wrist and my drumsticks in my pocket, I joined them downstairs. “Ready.”
Brooklyn’s minivan was parked at the curb. She’d taken the day off work to do this with Mom and the baby was with a sitter. Both of them wore dingy jeans, T-shirts and tennis shoes, likely expecting to do some heavy-duty cleaning and purging.
“Do you have the list, Mom?” Brooklyn’s eyes flickered to me through the rearview mirror as she drove, but otherwise, she pretended like I didn’t exist.
She probably hadn’t expected me to help out today, but when Mom invited me this morning, I’d immediately agreed.
“It’s in my purse,” Mom said. “All thirty-one pages.”
Nan had been busy cataloging her belongings. When Mom had shown me the list earlier, I’d laughed, thinking it was a joke. But no. Nan hadn’t wanted there to be any squabbles over her possessions, so she’d taken the liberty to divvy them out herself.
In detail.
Color coded.
Goddamn, I missed her.
“I think today we should try to tackle the house and save the garage for later.” Mom blew out a deep breath. “The house I know will be organized. But the garage . . . Nan didn’t go in there much after she stopped driving. I think it’s a lot of your grandfather’s things that were too hard for her to deal with.”
“Would you like me to go through it?” I offered.
“No, let’s leave it. I think your dad wants to help with it too. And Walker.”
We pulled into Nan’s driveway and all three of us stared at the front door.
Okay, maybe I should have stayed home with Netflix. How was I going to make it through the door, knowing Nan wouldn’t be there to greet me with a hug?
Mom braved her car door first, her movements slower and heavier than they’d been minutes ago. Brooklyn seemed to struggle with shutting off the car. If she decided to drive away and pretend that Nan was still here, she would get no complaints from the backseat.
“Come on, girls.” Mom opened the van’s sliding door and I had no choice but to step outside. My boots sunk into the thick grass of Nan’s lawn that needed a mow. “This is part of life.”
Dealing with death.
I didn’t want to go inside and riffle through Nan’s private things, but I’d do it. Nan had put a lot of time and effort into her affairs and requests, and like singing at her service, the least I could do was honor her wishes.
I took another step but stopped when Brooklyn snapped her fingers and opened the van’s rear hatch. “Quinn. Boxes. I’m not carrying them by myself.”
If my stage crew knew Brooklyn, they’d never call me a bitch again.
With a bundle of flat, cardboard boxes tucked under each arm, I trudged toward the house behind my sister. Mom led the way, carrying a plastic sack of packing tape and scissors on one arm so the other was free to open the door.
The smell of lavender, fabric softener and vanilla filled my nose. Tears prickled at the corners of my eyes and I ducked my chin as I blinked them away.
“So . . .” Mom sighed, hesitating for a moment, before straightening her shoulders and walking into the house.
The lights were off, but the window blinds were up and the curtains open, so sunlight flooded the living room. It looked exactly the same as it had when I was a little girl. Nan’s floral-print sofa clashing beautifully with my grandfather’s lime-green plaid armchair. The bookshelf in the corner didn’t actually have books but a plethora of knickknacks she’d dust weekly. The coffee table was a dainty wooden piece dotted with lace doilies she used as coasters.
A neatly organized stack of magazines rested on the coffee table. The top issue was one I recognized immediately. It was Rolling Stone, and Hush Note was on the cover.
“How do you want to divide things up?” Brooklyn asked.
“Why don’t you start in here,” Mom suggested. “I’ll take the kitchen. I’d like to get the refrigerator emptied and the dry goods to the food bank today. Quinn, how about you go through the office?”
“Okay.” I waited as she set her supplies aside and pulled out the list from her purse. The office section was ten pages long. Armed with a sharpie, boxes and packing tape, I headed through the house to the office.
Familiar frames hung on the hallway walls, though the pictures inside had changed. Instead of photos of my siblings and me, most were of Nan’s great grandchildren. School photos. Family shots. There was even one of Graham and Colin.
The door to the office was closed and I pushed through gingerly, nervous to disrupt the air. Conscious that I was about to ruin the room’s serenity. Dust particles caught the light from the far window as they floated.
I walked to the desk and sat in Nan’s chair, my shoulders slumping. Mom and Dad’s wedding photo was positioned on one corner. Nan and Grandpa’s from decades prior was on the other. In between were Walker and Mindy’s beside Brooklyn and Pete’s.
Four wedding photos.
If I ever married, mine wouldn’t join them.
“Ugh.” I hung my head. Where did I start? It felt wrong to poke around, but the sound of opening kitchen cabinets and items being tossed into a box echoed down the hallway.
Brooklyn would love nothing more than to scold me if I didn’t get through this room, so I opened a drawer and found a row of neatly stacked pens. I checked the list, scanning each page. No mention of pens.
Drawer by drawer I worked, separating items to donate or to trash. Anything noted on the list was set aside for the intended person. A ruler, stapler, ball of rubber bands and a stray paperclip were headed to charity. Nan’s half-used notebook could have been trashed, but I decided to keep it myself.
Her neat and tidy handwriting made my heart squeeze and I traced the words with a finger. Every page was a to-do list. Nan hadn’t had a planner, just a spiral notebook with the date listed in the upper-right corners. Items on the page were listed beside a checkbox, all including a checkmark.
Except for the last page.
Grocery Store and Prune Rosebush were unchecked because she’d died the night before.
The sting in my nose returned and I changed my mind, placing the notebook in the trash pile.
I filled three boxes by the time I was through with the desk and the bookshelves. Another five by the time I was done with the closet and filing cabinet. The room looked bare without the framed photos or books. The boxes on the desk were sad.
There was only one item left on the list as I dove into the final drawer of the file cabinet.
Letters (file cabinet, bottom drawer) — Quinn
Besides a handful of books, it was the only thing on the office list with my name beside it. I found them bundled together with two rubber bands. The corners of the envelopes were tattered, and the paper had faded to cream from white.
I unstrapped the bands, taking out the first one and turning it over.
It was addressed to Nan with her maiden name. The return was a government base in Germany. They had to have been from my grandfather. Why would she want me to have them? Wouldn’t Dad want them instead?
The pages inside slid out easily and I unfolded them with care, scanning the words. As I’d suspected, it was a letter from my grandfather. The beginning was pleasantries, the mention of the weather and how he missed her. It was dated 1943.
He’d written this to her while he’d been at war. They hadn’t been married yet, but he wrote to her like they were. The letter wasn’t overly sweet, but more of a matter-of-fact report about what he was doing. He asked her questions about her friends and if she’d finished her needlepoint.
It was cute. Endearing. I suspected the others would be too. So why had she set them aside for me?
I flipped the last page over to see if there was more written on the
backside after Grandpa had signed his name, and my heart dropped.
There was a poem on the back.
No, not a poem.
Lyrics.
He’d written her a song. There was a line of hand-drawn music at the bottom with notes penciled in place. I hummed the short chorus and wished there was more. It was beautiful but incomplete.
I dove for another letter, extracted the pages from the envelope but skipped the actual contents. Just like with the first, the lyrics were on the back of the last page. He’d changed some of the first. He’d penciled in more of the chorus.
My grandfather had spent his time at war writing my grandmother songs. How many had he finished? Why hadn’t we heard them before?
I was giddy to keep going, but Mom’s voice startled me.
“How’s it coming in here?” She stood by the door with a trash bag in her hand.
“Good. I’m done in here.”
“Great. Would you mind helping me tackle her bedroom?”
“Not at all.” I folded up the two letters and rebound them with the pile. Then I set them aside to go through later.
Mom and I spent the better part of an hour folding and sorting Nan’s clothes. Her cedar chest was earmarked for Dad as it had a lot of Grandpa’s things. Though all of Nan’s jewelry had been divided between members of our family, none of her clothes had been included in the list.
“Would you mind if I took this?” I clutched an oatmeal cardigan in my hands, hoping Mom would say yes.
“Take it.” Mom smiled. “I’m going to go check to see if there are any that Brooklyn wants too.”
She breezed out of the room as I brought the sweater to my nose, breathing it in. It smelled like Nan. Like sugar cookies and Downy and warm hugs. I’d seen her wear it a hundred times and the thought of sending it to Goodwill was unbearable.
Brooklyn followed Mom into the room, her eyes filling with tears as she took in the contents of Nan’s closet strewn across the bed. She reached for a cardigan, bulky and cable knit, in a dusky blue color and hugged it to her chest.
She breathed it in. When she looked up, my sister made my whole day. She smiled at me. “You can have this one if you’d rather have the blue.”
