Homecoming

by Lacey Baker

  “We’ve heard from everywhere we applied. Donations were low, other diseases are taking precedence, there’s a wide range of excuses but no checks is our bottom line.”

  He sighed, dropping down into the chair by the window in the dining room. Research and development was his department at the clinic. He managed treatment plans and four doctors working below him, but R&D had been his sole purpose in working for a private clinic, versus a hospital. At a hospital he would have never had the time to look for a cure or at least a part of the cure. He would no doubt be on a surgical rotation and have triple the number of patients he did in private practice. That wasn’t what he’d wanted.

  For the last three or four months Quinn had known his department was in trouble; he’d sensed the shift in the tide at the clinic. The board wasn’t pleased with his slow results, nor were they keen on the idea of a younger, more experienced doctor telling them to shut up and give him room to breathe. Yes, he’d said that at their last meeting when they’d been on his back about results.

  “Do you think the cure is just under the next hat? Am I supposed to take unhealthy risks and shortcuts just to meet your bottom line?” he’d yelled at them.

  “You’re supposed to contribute to the financial stability of this clinic,” Albert Lomax had replied in his old, starchy tone.

  “Then give me time to do that and stop nitpicking at every invoice that crosses your desk.”

  “It’s not the invoices we’re concerned about. It’s more like the lack of checks we see coming in,” Lomax countered.

  “Then get your cheap friends to unclench their fists and give us some money!” he’d yelled in response.

  That meeting had ended badly, and from that point on the place he’d loved to work had become a source of tension and discord. His relationship with his patients was fine—he gave them 100 percent regardless of what was going on. But everything else had been twisting in the wind like debris from a tornado, waiting to be swept away, he figured, as he looked out the window to see Sylvester once again sitting on Gramma’s bench.

  “They’ve called an emergency board meeting first thing tomorrow morning. I think you should be here,” Elena said in that no-nonsense way she had.

  “I can’t,” Quinn replied quicker than he intended.

  “You’ve already buried your grandmother. What’s left to do in that country town?” she asked.

  Quinn had told Elena where he was from and most of how he’d come to be in Seattle. After two dates and one unsuccessful attempt at sex they’d both decided being co-workers was a lot better than trying to be lovers. So she knew things the board of directors didn’t. He wondered how many times he’d called Sweetland a “country” town. Probably a lot if she’d adopted the term for her own use.

  “I inherited a bed-and-breakfast and I have to stay until I know things are running smoothly.” That was only half the truth, but Quinn didn’t really care. He didn’t owe Elena any explanation, and the only reason he was partially willing to give the board of directors one was because he still received a paycheck from them.

  “Let John continue to see my patients. I’ll call you next week to let you know when I’ll be back.”

  “Quinn,” she said, then paused.

  “What is it, Elena?”

  When she didn’t respond, Quinn grew impatient. He needed to call Nikki to make sure she was okay and on her way to work before his siblings converged on him once more. He also needed to go check on Dixi to make sure she wasn’t up to mischief, and he needed to move his things from his current room to the caretaker’s suite. He did not have any more time to talk to Elena.

  “If you have something to say, just say it,” he told her.

  “I think they’re leaning toward letting you go,” she said quickly and quietly.

  For the first time since he’d come in here Quinn tore his gaze from the window. He stared down at the floor instead. Fired. He’d never been fired before, didn’t really know how that felt. Then again, the only real feeling Quinn could lay claim to experiencing so far in his life had been grief. He rubbed a hand over his face and took a deep breath.

  “I’ll call you back by the end of the day to let you know my plans,” he said slowly, deliberately.

  “What do you mean your plans? Your travel plans? Quinn, if you want to save your job I think you should hit the road now. They’re serious about this. And—” She paused. “I think they’ve already interviewed a replacement for you. Some guy from UCLA who married into this billionaire philanthropy family.”

  So they could control him and his money, Quinn thought with a smirk. That was the game at Mark Vincent: You either did what the board of directors said or they found someone who would. In the five years that Quinn had been there he’d tried to walk their line because to him, the end justified the means. Sitting here in his grandmother’s parlor, with his siblings in the other room, the beauty of a sunny Eastern Shore day just outside and the distant sound of playing puppies in the backyard, he thought maybe he’d been wrong.

  “They’re going to do what they want when they want, Elena. I’m not worried about it. I’ll call you by five this afternoon.”

  Quinn disconnected the call because he didn’t want to hear any more of Elena’s questions. She was a good woman with a caring heart that was unfortunately at war with her ambitions. She didn’t think Quinn knew that she’d been sleeping with Lomax. That was no doubt how she’d known about them interviewing the UCLA guy. He was twenty-five years her senior, but obviously that didn’t matter to her. Quinn wished them the best; it wasn’t his concern. Neither was the medical center, he thought with a sigh.

  He stood looking out the window once more. Sylvester had stood from the bench and was watching as the puppies ran around. Michelle probably let them all out of the basement for a while. She liked to do that in the morning, said they needed to stretch their legs and socialize. Quinn thought that was good, brothers and sisters playing as nicely as they could. Sylvester rotated throwing a red and a yellow ball, watching as the puppies pushed them around with their noses, fell over their big feet trying to bite them. Then he’d take his time walking over and picking up the ball just to see them jumping around him for it before tossing it again. The puppies looked as if they enjoyed themselves and so did Sylvester. It was a simple task for a simple day, to a person who led a simple life.

  Quinn wondered how that would feel. Could he live in Sweetland again? Could he wake up in the mornings and do nothing more than play with the dogs? Could he walk around this B&B all day taking care of guest issues, or sit in the restaurant listening to Marabelle and Louisa talk about anybody and everybody they knew, and some they didn’t? The answer to most of those questions would be no if he didn’t figure out the tax issue on the house. With that in mind, Quinn put thoughts of Seattle and the flux his job was in to the side, and stepped outside—his destination, city hall.

  * * *

  Quinn had kissed her before leaving. He’d gone to walk Sweet Dixi. He hadn’t left her. Not like Randall had.

  The morning after with Randall had been eye opening in a couple of ways. One, Nikki accepted that she was no longer a virgin. Two, she acknowledged that she didn’t feel much different at that moment than she had the day before. If this was what all the fuss was about, she might be able to pass on sex for a while longer. And finally, the man she’d slept with had left her in a hotel room just off I-33 all alone.

  It was one month after she’d met him, numerous marathon phone calls and emails later. He’d come into town and picked her up on a Friday night for dinner. They hadn’t eaten in town but had traveled on the outskirts to a little Italian restaurant nestled close to the river. The food and atmosphere had been excellent, the company mind blowing to her naive mind. When he’d told her how much he missed her, how he’d been wanting to break away sooner so he could see her, Nikki was flattered, and she was excited because she’d known how this night would end. Or at least she thought she had.

 
Fast-forward two years. There’d been no dinner, only one lovely walk home and that first enticing kiss. Then like three superheroes to the rescue he and his two brothers had appeared at her time of need, assuring her that all would be well. He’d stayed, not because he wanted to sleep with her, but because he’d wanted to ensure she was all right. Nikki knew that instinctively. Quinn Cantrell was not a man with ulterior motives. With him, what you saw was what you got and she was thankful, because what Nikki saw, she liked … a lot.

  With Quinn it would be different; she knew that without him even touching her. The moment she rested her head on his shoulders and admitted to things she’d never confessed to another soul, she’d known it would be good with him. And it had been. Actually, it had been more than good, it had been sort of liberating. On each occasion after the first with Randall she’d always left feeling like something was missing, like somehow the episode had missed its mark.

  Well, Quinn had hit the mark a couple of times, and as she stood in her small shower this morning the soreness between her legs was a welcome reminder of her true induction into womanhood.

  An hour later when she walked into The Silver Spoon to two sets of imploring eyes she realized she was now inducted into something else … the Cantrell family.

  The kitchen was bright as by now, a little after ten in the morning, the sun was high up in the sky, shining as brightly as it possibly could. Intense rays poured in through the open curtains of the kitchen because Michelle loved working by sunlight. The natural light bounced off the cheery yellow walls so that it was more than a little intense walking inside.

  At the table, with her feet propped in the chair across from her, a magazine in her hands, Savannah sat. Said magazine had been lowered the moment she heard the door open and now lay flat on the table as she watched Nikki intently. Michelle had been at the stove, transferring peeled potatoes into a huge pot. Today was crab soup day. After she’d finished she set the strainer in the sink and wiped her hands on her apron as her eyes found Nikki’s.

  “Good morning,” she said, her voice sounding saucy and southern all at the same time. Her smile was wide, bright, knowing.

  “Good morning,” Nikki replied, taking her usual steps to the other side of the kitchen to hang up her purse.

  “Late night?” Savannah asked, tapping her nails on the table.

  “Okay,” Nikki said with a huff, turning to face them both. “You’ve probably heard by now that the Easton police were at my house when I got home yesterday. They wanted to know if I’d killed Randall Davis.”

  “I heard that. Fools, why would they think a thing like that? Of course because they weren’t from Sweetland they don’t know any better. You won’t even tell your slightly overbearing mother to back off, let alone kill a man,” Michelle replied with a bite to her tone.

  Nikki could only nod, because Michelle’s comparison was on the mark. Odell Brockington could be overbearing and not just with her children. Nikki had a feeling every woman in town probably had the same take on her mother.

  “So you were dating this guy and he got himself killed?” Savannah asked.

  Nikki shook her head and went to the refrigerator. If she was going to be giving out explanations—which it appeared she was—she needed a beverage. As usual there were two big crystal jugs on the top shelf, one with lemonade and one with iced tea, both with fresh lemon slices floating on top. There were two additional containers filled with the drinks on the lower shelf of the right-hand side. The left-hand side of the refrigerator contained all the pre-prepped dishes for the day. Below, there were more packaged items such as sausage and other breakfast meats. Seafood and most of the meats Michelle purchased from the local butcher were cooked fresh. Nikki took out the jug of iced tea and put it on the counter. When she found a glass she poured some in and took a sip.

  “We dated two years ago. He was a jerk. I found that out about ten minutes too late.” She shrugged, already tired of rehashing this story. “He’s been calling me a lot in the last week or so. The last time and the first time I actually answered was yesterday morning while I was walking to work. I told him to get lost and I guess he took that to mean get killed.” As she took another sip she figured her flippant words might have come off as more than a little morbid. But really, she couldn’t find much sympathy for the guy. Except that getting shot in the back of the head three times was a pretty crappy way to die, if offered the choice.

  “So what did he want when he called? I mean, he had to want something to keep calling you even though you weren’t answering,” Savannah said.

  “I don’t know and I don’t care.” She really didn’t want to know whatever Randall’s reasoning was for calling her.

  Savannah’s perfectly arched eyebrow raised. “What if it was to get back together?”

  “Then he was a bigger fool than I thought he was,” Michelle said. “You don’t get a second chance when you mess up so royally the first time around.”

  “Right,” Nikki agreed with a nod and finished off her tea. She was just about to leave when she heard Michelle clear her throat.

  “So you haven’t told us why you’re so late this morning,” she said.

  Nikki paused, her hand already on the door. “Decided to sleep in.”

  “Alone or with company?” Savannah prompted.

  It didn’t show. Did it? They could not know because Nikki was positive Quinn was not the kiss-and-tell type.

  “I slept in alone,” she said because that was true, for the most part.

  “But did you fall asleep alone?” Savannah persisted.

  Michelle knew, Nikki could tell. It was in her eyes, that assessing and knowledgeable look she gave. Nikki sighed. She hadn’t told anyone, had considered calling Cordy on her walk over but decided against it knowing she didn’t have enough time to answer all her sister’s inevitable questions. So how would she deal with Quinn’s sisters? And did he even want her to deal with them?

  “No, I didn’t,” she said with finality. “I slept with a man and woke up alone. End of story.” She pushed through the door and left the kitchen praying with everything that was in her that this was the end of that conversation.

  Why she never used the brain God gave her Nikki had no clue.

  Savannah was right on her heels, Michelle right on hers. Nikki kept moving to her office even though she heard them both behind her.

  “So who was the man?” Savannah asked with a smile as she leaned against one side of the doorjamb.

  Michelle took residence on the other side, one hand on her hip. “I’ll bet I know.”

  Nikki dropped down into her chair, slamming her palms on her desk. “You do not.”

  Michelle never faltered. “Want me to guess?”

  “I want both of you to go find something else to do. The lunch crowd will be flowing in in about an hour. They’ll expect crab soup and corn bread. And you, I’m certain there are more magazines in the living room.”

  “Uh-huh, I’m staying right here until I get the full scoop. This is the most fun I’ve had here all week,” Savannah quipped. And she smiled.

  Nikki hadn’t seen Savannah smile since she’d arrived. It warmed her heart because it was so familiar, right down to the deep dimple she had in her left cheek. Michelle was the only sister with matching dimples in each cheek. Raine had been left out of the dimple market altogether.

  “There is no scoop to get. And no, Michelle, you are not guessing,” Nikki told them sternly.

  “Oh yes I am. I say his name starts with a…” She hesitated and Nikki all but bounced on the edge of her seat.

  Papers on her desk were crumbled beneath her fingers. “Stop it,” she begged.

  “Q,” Michelle finished.

  “Q?” Savannah looked quizzical. “What kind of name starts with a Q? Who would name their child something with a Q? Q like…” Then Savannah paused and looked at Michelle, who was smiling broadly, those dimples all but twinkling at her sister as she nodded in agreement.

&n
bsp; “Oh. My. God! You did not sleep with my brother! Did you?” Savannah implored while Michelle’s laughter exploded.

  Nikki let her head fall into her palms and groaned.

  Savannah had come all the way into the room by this point, resting her very narrow hip on the side of Nikki’s already-scuffed desk. “You did! How could you, Nikki? He’s like old as forever and he’s my brother and … and … was it good?”

  “Yes! That’s what I want to know. Was it good?” Michelle echoed.

  Nikki made a gurgling sound and lay her head back against her chair. “He’s your brother, you shouldn’t want to know these things,” she finally replied.

  Savannah waved a hand. “He’s a man first, and besides I don’t want to know details like how big or how long he lasted. I just want to know if you enjoyed it. Are you going to do it again?”

  “Oh, yeah, when are you going to do it again?” Michelle chimed in.

  “Stop. Stop. Please.” She used the base of her hand to rub her eyes.

  “Okay, seriously,” Michelle said even though she was still laughing. “Now what?”

  Nikki looked at her and replied as honestly as she knew how, because she’d sort of been asking herself the same thing all morning. “I don’t know.”

  “He lives in Seattle,” Savannah said like a splash of cold water.

  “I know.”

  “He could move back here, start his own practice,” Michelle said hopefully. “What better reason to stay then that he’s in love with you?”

  “Oh no,” Nikki said shaking her head. “I did not mention love. Not at all.”

  “That doesn’t mean you’re not thinking it. And judging from the way you two were looking at each other yesterday…”

  “It’s not love,” she adamantly confessed and meant it. Because the last thing Nikki could afford to do was give her heart and have it slammed back in her face another time. She wouldn’t survive it again, she just knew it.

  Chapter 15

  Quinn had waited as long as he possibly could.