Pretty Dark Nothing (7 page)

“Well, it looks like he has.” Reese placed the skirt on the bed, shirt on top, and examined the outfit. “Not even a week after he breaks up with you, and he’s with Kerstin. He’s changed, Quinn. He’s been different since he got back from Mexico.” Grabbing a pair of red cowboy boots in the closet, she added them to the outfit on the bed, again standing back to study the possibilities.

“I know. You’re right. But he actually spoke to me today. For the first time in two months he was the old Jeff. Caring, charming, we were getting close. He’s concerned. He almost kissed me until Kerstin interrupted us.”

“Oh, no you don’t. You’re not allowed to even think about kissing him, getting close to him, or especially getting back with him. Not even if he videoed himself tattooing the words ‘I’m sorry Quinn, I’m an idiot for going out with Kerstin, I love you more than life itself’ on his
derrière
. Not after the pieces of Quinn I had to pick up when he wouldn’t return your calls. Or staying up all night with you crying after his own mother lied to you, saying he was out. And don’t get me started on that lame ass breakup text. A text! A lifetime of friendship, four years as his girlfriend, and he sends you a text. Pathetic.”

“True. He should’ve had the guts to at least tell me to my face. And what a lame excuse! ‘I’m going through some personal stuff and need some space,’ my ass.”

“Yeah, I can see how much space that bloodsucking leech is giving him,” Reese said. “I don’t think she even lets him pee without her permission. Anyway, I’ve picked a fashion hit for tomorrow. Sure to make any boy drool.”

“Even Jeff?”

“Any boy who hasn’t been lobotomized. That rules Jeff out. Try another boy. A boy whose name starts with an ‘A’.”

“I don’t think I’m ready. Besides, I think he likes someone else.” Quinn smoothed the edge of the duvet with a hand.

“Are you kidding? I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

“And I’ve seen the way he looks at you,” Quinn mumbled.

“What?” Reese burst out laughing. “Are you that out of practice that you don’t know how to read the signs anymore?”

“I’m not convinced. And even if Aaron did like me, I couldn’t go out with him. I would be leading him on. That’s not right.”

“I don’t think he would mind. If you ask me, Aaron’s the best way to get over Jerky McAss. Nobody said you had to marry him or even give him your heart. Besides, kissing him might distract you from the pain of your phantom limb.” Reese puckered her lips and made kissing noises.

“Very funny.”

“Hey, if you don’t want Aaron, can I go for it? I’m not nursing a broken heart.” She grinned. “But I’ll have to wear the outfit.”

“I’ll think about it.” A pang of jealousy ran through her at the thought of Reese and Aaron together.

“The outfit, or the boy?”

“Both.” Quinn smoothed the wrinkles from the shirt with the palm of her hand. “I think Marcus likes you, and he’s cute.”

“If you want Aaron, just say so. You don’t have to try and sell me on Marcus to distract me from your man.”

Quinn looked away.

“See. You know you like him. Don’t think I didn’t see you checking out his butt while he changed that tire.”

“Fine. I admit it. He does have a nice rear.”

“Doesn’t he? Seriously, you better make a move before someone snaps him up.” Reese’s phone beeped. “Oh, that’s my dad. He’s pulling into the driveway. See you tomorrow?”

“I guess.”

“You better be there.”

“Do I have a choice? You’ve already chosen my outfit.” Quinn followed Reese down the stairs.

“You better wear it.” Reese kissed Quinn on the cheek. “Later,
chica
.”

Quinn waved as Reese got into the Audi, leaving the door open until the car was a black dot at the end of the street. If only Reese could have stayed all night, then she wouldn’t have to be alone, she wouldn’t have to face the rising fear as bedtime approached.

Locking the bottom lock, she engaged the deadbolt, and set the security alarm. A breeze shifted the branches outside, their leaves scraping the windowpane like claws on glass. She filled her lungs, breathing out to calm her heartbeat as she made her way around the living room, switching on every light.

Quinn grabbed the TV remote, hit power, and the blank screen jumped to life. She tapped the volume five times, loud enough to drown out the silence, and plopped on the plush sofa. Hitting speed dial for Golden Dragon, she waited for the familiar voice on the other end.

“One sweet and sour chicken, boiled rice, and egg rolls. That’s right. Number twenty-two. Twenty minutes? Yeah. Thanks.”

Quinn flicked through the channels; the same reruns of old sitcoms filled the stations until prime time. Nothing new appeared on the OnDemand movie schedule. Her French and calculus homework lay untouched in her bag, along with her AP history essay marked with a red C-.

She pulled her homework from her bag and spread it on the coffee table. Grades would be out in another two weeks, not much time left to turn her F into something passable. She started with a French conjugation exercise, but the words swirled on the page as the last bits of energy drained from her body.

Forget it. There was always tomorrow. She flicked through the TV guide menu one more time, settling on a nature program for background noise. She tapped the screen of her smart phone and opened her text message menu. Jeff would be sitting down to dinner with his family right now. She missed meals with them.

I MISS YOU.

She deleted the words, closing the text box. Aaron’s smile popped into her head, and she wondered if he would be having dinner right now, too. Maybe she should take Reese’s advice. She tried to picture herself with Aaron, but her heart wouldn’t let go of Jeff. Not yet.

Instead, she brought up her favorite game app and spent a few minutes matching up colored jewels to gain points. The repetition only made her sleepy. She put the phone down, peeled herself off the sofa, and did a few half-hearted jumping jacks to wake up. She startled at the sound of the doorbell.

Quinn tipped the delivery boy generously, re-secured the house, and settled on the sofa for dinner. She took a few bites of chicken and poked holes in the sticky rice with a chopstick. In the background, a lioness stalked a sick impala. She yawned and pinched herself on the leg, the pain shooting a temporary rush of adrenaline into her body. She carried the takeout boxes to the kitchen and started the coffee pot. Less water, more grounds.

A stack of mail sat on the bar. She shuffled through, looking for a new catalogue or magazine, while she waited for her caffeine to brew. Halfway through the stack, she saw it. She’d never forget her father’s handwriting, the way the letters curled up at the ends. She took the letter, put it back, then picked it up again. He’d finally written. Bringing the envelope to her nose, she breathed deeply, hoping to catch a scent of him. It smelled of paper, not a trace of her father’s lemon aftershave remained. And why would it? California was a thousand miles away.

Coffee forgotten, she shoved the envelope into the pocket of her jeans and headed upstairs. As she turned, a shadow detached itself from a leg of the barstool, slithered across the floor, and disappeared into Quinn’s own slim shadow. Swallowing her fear, she continued up the stairs.
And now for this special public service announcement:
Remember kids, hallucinations thrive when sleep deprived.
She giggled at her absurd thoughts, the words ticking around her head like a broken record.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Quinn’s room greeted her with its warm walls and bright, floral patterns. Shades shifted and writhed in every corner, and her stomach twisted with them. It was her own fault the hallucinations haunted her. She’d trapped herself in a vicious cycle of fear and paranoia, and her rational side would have to work overtime to break it.

“You are all in my head,” she declared in false bravado. The shadows flickered and faded into normal shadows, but her hand still trembled as she fished the letter from her jeans. She traced her name on the envelope, and then slid a finger under the flap. Three pages of lined paper unfolded in her hands. A check fell from between the sheets. She held it between her thumb and forefinger and slid down the wall to sit on the floor, pulling her knees to her chest. Five hundred dollars—a dollar for every day he’d been gone. It would never be enough.

Quinn flung the check away. It spun through the air and drifted down like a leaf to land a few feet from the door. The lights flickered, and a soft tickling sensation, like a spider crawling up her neck, made her shiver. She smoothed her hair to one side until it spilled over her shoulder in one long spiral twist. That’s when she noticed a few tendrils of blond hair appeared gray, as if entwined in shadow. She blinked, running her fingers through every inch, examining the strands. Blond, gold, even a few strawberry pieces, but not one thread of gray.

Too much caffeine was making her paranoid, seeing things that weren’t there. She straightened out the letter and read:

Dear Quinn,

It’s been so long that I don’t know where to start. I’m sorry. Maybe that’s the best way to begin.

Sorry? He was actually saying sorry? Better late than never, right?
Quinn shivered as a cold draft brushed past her and settled around her neck.
Stop making excuses for him. You always do this—defend him. Just stop. It’s a little late for sorry.

What felt like a trickle of ice seeped into her ear, and she shuddered, rubbing her palm against the side of her head until the warmth returned.

I decided it would be better if I disappeared for a while, gave you both time to forgive me.

You call eighteen months a while? A while is going out for milk, not for another life.
Bitter dark thoughts crawled inside her mind, intensifying her anger and hurt.

But I’ve missed you too much. I’ve thought about calling a hundred times, but every time I pick up the phone, I chicken out. I thought a letter would be the best way to get my thoughts across. I didn’t want to leave you, but I thought it would be better if you stayed with your mom. I hope you understand that.

Sure, I understand you are a coward and a liar.

Anyway, you remember Sheryl? Well, she and I are settled in California.

“Don’t forget cheat,” the shadow voice whispered, mingling with her own.
And a cheat.
Her thoughts mirrored its words.

It’s beautiful here. We’ve opened a restaurant right on the water, and it’s packed every night. After all those years of struggling and job-hopping, I finally found my calling. Sheryl runs the business, and I get to cook and spend time talking with customers. Our house is only a mile from the beach. The only thing that would make me happier is being a part of your life again. Sheryl wants to get to know you, too.

Great.

How’s school? Have you decided on a college?

As if I would tell you.

Tell your mom not to worry about the expense. I know I haven’t been much of a father, but I’ve put away enough money to cover your tuition, books, housing, and anything else you might need. I want to do this for you and your mother.

Yeah right, she’ll tell you where you can stick your money.

You might even consider UCLA.

Not on your life.

It’s only thirty minutes from here. It would be wonderful to have you near us, all of us. There’s someone who would especially like to meet you.

Quinn tensed. A sick knot grew in her stomach.

You have a new baby brother.

Her chest ached, and she blinked back tears.

He’s two weeks old. We named him Jacob Francis Taylor, after your grandfather. He reminds me of you as a baby: strong and always hungry. Now I have two little pumpkins.

Quinn dropped the letter. Tears streamed down her face, dripping on the black ink, swirling the words into nothingness.

How dare he name him after my grandfather; how dare he call him pumpkin.

Black shapes shifted against the wall, slithering closer, mirroring the storm brewing inside, urging her to focus on her pain. “Throw a little money your way and you’ll forget the last two years of hell?” Shaded voices overlapped with her thoughts, one feeding off the other.

He could have asked me to come live with him months ago.

“That’s right,” the shadow voice agreed.

He could have sent me a plane ticket to visit him. He didn’t even tell me she was pregnant!

“He was too busy making a new life without you,” it added.

Without me.

Anger, trapped for so long inside her, bubbled to the surface. She buried her head in her hands and dug her nails into her scalp, and the lights flickered and dimmed.

“People you love always leave.”

Dad left me.
A bang of her forehead against her knees punctuated each bleak thought.

“Jeff left you.”

And Mom?

“She’s always running away to work. She’s never here when you really need her.”

I really need her.

Quinn jerked her head from her hands, and the shadows scattered as the lights brightened. Wadding the letter into a tight ball, she slammed it into the trash and turned the radio on, volume to the max. The loud frantic scream of Smashrock’s lead singer matched her mood perfectly. Letting the hysteria of the music spur her anger, she kicked the trashcan. It flew into the wall. Its wicker side creaked against the force as crumpled tissues and wads of paper exploded across the room.

Broken promises, broken dreams, broken heart—nothing but pieces of her remained. Quinn crawled on her hands and knees, banging her fists on the floor, primal pain thrumming through her. She screamed and crawled, banged and drummed, and between fits of rage, retrieved bits of Kleenex to stuff back into the trashcan. She tried stuffing down all the emotion, but the confusion in her head melted into the confusion of the music, each driving the other to a higher frenzy.