Fraying at the Edge (14 page)

He studied her, his piercing blue eyes taking her in. “We're struggling right now.” He picked up her drink, took a sip, and set it in front of him.

“Right now?” She scooped up her glass. “For me it's been five years of struggling, Quill.”

“You're right. I get it. Can we go somewhere quiet and talk?”

“Nope.” She looked past him, watching the stage.

“Ari, you called because some part of you trusts me, because some part of you knows I would do
anything
to help you through this time.”

“Maybe.” The song ended, and she lowered her voice. “Or maybe I called because I'm not allowed to call anyone else.”

The musicians set aside their instruments, and Brice put his microphone in its stand.

“That was nice.” Quill sighed. “Really.”

“No one deserves it more than you.” She sat back, an eyebrow raised as she held his stare. A few moments later she saw Brice heading her way.

“Hey.” Brice stopped at the table. “You have company.”

“No one important.” She gestured toward the remaining chair.

He turned it around and straddled it. “Brice.” He held out his hand to Quill.

Quill drummed his fingers on the table. “Let me guess. You ordered that drink for her.”

“You can't shake the man's hand?” Ariana played with the condensation on the glass. “I wanted something tasty to drink.”

Quill shifted. “That's not the problem. It's a sweet beverage laced with schnapps.”

Schnapps?
That was German for a strong drink. She hadn't detected any alcohol, not that she'd had any before. But she'd always thought liquor tasted bitter, and this was the best slushy ever. Embarrassment worked its way through her. Why did Quill
always
have to know things she didn't? It was so humiliating. And infuriating.

Brice shrugged. “She was a bit uptight, and I asked if she'd like something more enjoyable than a soft drink, and she said yes. I thought a frozen fuzzy navel might help take the edge off. Problem?”

“Several. For starters, it wasn't your decision to make. It was hers.”

Brice turned to her. “Do you have a problem with the drink?”

“No. I would've ordered it myself had I known to.” That wasn't true, but she refused to admit Quill was right.

“Then no harm, no foul.” Brice turned toward the bar and raised two fingers. The man behind the counter nodded. “Would you care for something, on the house?”

“No, thanks.” Quill intertwined his fingers. “Look, Brice, I need you to back off. No harm, no foul. Okay?”

“Ariana and I made plans to talk. If anything, you're the one who's interrupting.”

Ariana finished her drink and nodded. “Definitely.”

“See.” Brice motioned toward her. “Ariana agrees.”

“She is currently under the influence. So for the moment her opinion has no value.”

Ariana wanted to slap him. “Why don't you tell him the truth, Quill? In your eyes my opinion never matters.”

“That's not true, Ari.”

The server set a beer and another fuzzy navel in front of Brice. “Thanks, Nancy.” Brice slid the drink toward Ariana before he took a sip of his beer. “Who is this guy?”

Ariana rolled her eyes. “I've been asking myself that question for years. I guess the easy explanation is we used to be neighbors, and he and my brother were friends.”

“Ah, so you were the kid sister he got used to bossing around.”

Quill took her purse off the chair, took out her keys, handed the purse to her, and stood. “It's time to go, Ari.”

She leaned back, folding her arms.

Brice took another sip of his drink. “Looks to me like she doesn't want to go anywhere with you.”

“Sounds true enough to me,” Ariana said.

Quill put her keys in his pocket and sat. “Fine. But I'm not leaving you until you are inside your home.”

“That could be a while, because I don't actually have one. But you knew that long before I did, right?” Brandi and Nicholas just provided a roof over her head and four walls shared with people she didn't understand or particularly like.

Quill said nothing.

“What? No great words of wisdom?” Ariana asked. “No pep talks to help me survive? You're so good at those.” She grasped the glass and brought it toward her.

Quill put his hand over her drink. “Before you take another swallow, I need to say one word.”

“What?”

“Rudy.”

Her face flushed, and she set the glass down. Again she wanted to know what was wrong with her. “Brice, I…I can't be here.” Ariana stood, and suddenly the floor felt like a trampoline.

Quill wrapped his hand around her arm, steadying her. “You got your footing?”

She nodded. He let go and got out his wallet.

“Who's Rudy?” Brice asked.

Quill tossed a twenty onto the table. “Pretty much her fiancé.”

They wound their way around the various tables and to the front door.

“Well, that was fun.” Quill pulled a set of keys from his pocket. “This way.”

She longed to get into her car and drive away from Quill, but he had her keys, and even if he didn't, she felt disoriented.

Quill opened the passenger door of the truck for her. “You want to ride for a bit and talk?”

She got in. “No.”

“Fine.” He started to close the door, but her purse fell out, spilling its few contents onto the pavement. He shoved them back into it, except the folded papers. He opened them, glanced through the pages, and shoved them into his pocket. He closed the door, went around to the driver's side, and started the truck. “Which house? Nicholas's or Brandi's?”

She was supposed to stay with Nicholas tonight and Brandi tomorrow night, but how was she going to look either of them in the eye again? “Nicholas's.”

“Do Brandi and Nicholas know that you know?”

Leaning her head against the car window, she closed her eyes and shrugged.

“So you're not talking to me?”

“Apparently not.” She longed to ask him the questions that were churning inside her. What did she need to do to survive a year of this? What was happening to her? Why didn't she feel anything like herself? Did God care how confused she was? But she was too embarrassed and too…

The next word—the one that welled up and she knew was true—shook her.
Bitter.
She was too bitter. When had that happened? She'd thought it took people years to go from angry to bitter.

She opened her eyes. Power lines crisscrossed the land, and she saw businesses and houses with pretty yellow lights, and she caught glimpses of flat-screen televisions. If all the miles of power lines were gathered into a single mound of twisted cables, they would match her jumbled thoughts.

They rode in silence until he pulled into Nicholas's driveway. “Ari, how clearly are you thinking?” He no longer sounded angry.

“Decently.” Her head felt as though it were full of butterflies. “Why?” She stared out the front window, unwilling to look at him.

He put the truck in Park and turned it off. “I need you to hear me. I want to help you. Nothing means more to me. Do you understand?”

She nodded, waiting for him to finish.

He removed the keys from the ignition. “No matter how much I want to help or how guilty I feel for past wrongs, I can't keep doing this—jumping every time the phone rings, turning my life upside down for you. If you're going to survive this and get back home, you have to forgive all of us—me, Brandi, Nicholas, your Mamm and Daed. In our own ways each of us has seriously let you down.” He turned on the dome light and waited for her to look at him. “Don't call me again unless you're ready to stop beating me up for things I can't change.”

His words burned away the chaff, and she saw the truth. Her heart pounded, and every erratic beat held rage. An unfamiliar, uncontrollable fury. But why was she angrier with him than the others? Was it because his betrayals had been the most purposefully deceitful and they'd hurt the worst?

She wasn't sure, but he was right. She was angry with Brandi, Nicholas, Mamm, and Daed too. But as she began to recognize her anger, she knew they weren't the only ones. She was also furious with God. She lifted the door handle. “None of us has the power to change anything, do we?”

“Of course we—”

She opened the door. “It was a rhetorical question.”

“Fine.”

They got out, and he walked with her to the front door. She opened it and went inside, knowing Nicholas would reprimand her if she knocked.

Nicholas bolted out of his office. “I've been trying to reach you. What's going on?”

She headed for the stairway without answering.

“Ariana?” Nicholas called to her.

“I'm going to bed. Quill knows far more about me than I do anyway. Ask him.”

Quill watched her stagger up the stairs. Once on the landing, she stopped and stared down at him, their eyes locking. No matter where life had taken him, he'd always been able to gauge to some degree what her reaction and response would be. Was he seeing her at her worst, or was she beginning to spiral out of control?

She lowered her eyes and walked away.

After they heard the door close, Nicholas turned to him. “Is she okay?”

Quill's pulse quickened. He needed to say as little as possible and get out before his angst and anger spilled onto Nicholas and made the situation even worse. “She's pretty beaten up.”

“I guess she told you about the affair and…”

“Yeah.”

“I didn't mean to blurt it out. I thought she knew.”

“She knows now, but it'll be a while before she's okay with it.”

“I don't really understand why the news hit her so hard. It happened twenty years ago.”

“It happened in your life twenty years ago. It happened in her life today.” He handed Nicholas her keys. “The car is at a bar called Long Shots.” He pulled the bucket list out of his pocket. “You can put a check mark beside ‘go to a bar' and ‘have a drink.' She accomplished both. I guess this means you should be proud.”

Quill tucked his resentment down deep and went to the door to leave. Then he stopped and turned to face Nicholas.

“Your method of welcoming Ariana into the Englisch world will, without a doubt, ensure she returns to Summer Grove. I think that's where she belongs, so I should be fine with what you're doing, but you're ripping her apart.” He shook his head. “And that, Mr. Jenkins, is probably the worst thing you've ever done in your life.” He walked out.

Nicholas followed him outside. “I don't want to hurt her. I'm just trying to keep my daughter from returning to the eighteenth century.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean
why
? Those people are…weird and closed minded, and they believe in myths.”

“For the sake of argument, let's assume you're right. That bothers you because…”

“Because it's wrong to live that way.”

“Wrong?” Quill's temples throbbed. “You think it's wrong? Why? Because people like you and me have it right? Because we're so happy with our lives?”

“She doesn't know enough yet to have a clue about what could make her happy. She's tied in knots about pleasing a God that doesn't exist.”

“If, as you say, He doesn't exist, then all we have is this brief life. What's so wrong with letting her do what she wants with it? Let her go home, marry Rudy, raise the babies she's always wanted, and die having lived a simple life.”

“I…I want her to grow as a person. There's nothing wrong about that.”

“Grow?” Quill couldn't stop himself. “Ever known a gardener to rip a plant out of the ground and stomp on the roots until they're crushed
and then
expect the plant to grow?”

“It's been clear from the day she arrived that I need to be more tender. I actually thought I was being very gentle this past week.”