by Mary McNear
And she felt it now, sitting in the armchair by the window, that ache that was no less of an ache for having been with her for so long. It was different from missing Jake, or Gabriel, different from missing a person she’d known who was complicated, and real, and whole. Missing her mother was more like missing the idea of having a mother. Missing something, or someone, you don’t quite know how to miss. Like missing a language you’ve never spoken, or an instrument you’ve never played, or a place you’ve never been.
Quinn got up and looked out the window. There was Annika’s son, Jesse, wearing his backpack and trudging up the driveway to the road. It was a Tuesday; he must be headed to his school bus stop. She should get moving too. She’d take a shower, and then she’d go see Gabriel. Despite the fact that he’d blown her off yesterday, she wanted to see him again. No, she needed to see him again.
Chapter 24
By the time Quinn left Loon Bay later that morning, the rain had stopped. But as she drove to Gabriel’s cabin, the view through her windshield was of a landscape saturated with water. Still, even in her hungover state, she found it beautiful. The mist that had gathered in the hollows along the roadside lent everything a mysterious, primordial quality. She drove slowly through puddles as wide as the road, and turned her windshield wipers on whenever the wind shook another shower loose from the pine boughs hanging overhead.
When she reached the B. PHIPPS sign and turned into the gravel driveway, she rolled down her window. It was warmer now, and the air bathed her face in dampness. There, that was better. She wished, though, that she’d had the presence of mind to bring a bottled water and extra-strength Advil with her. Something to eat before she’d left the cabin would have been a good idea too. In her experience, it was better to confront a hangover on a full stomach. There was a simple breakfast served at Loon Bay—coffee, juice, fruit, baked goods, and cereal—but it was served in the bar and grill and she hadn’t been able to face the scene of last night’s transgression this soon. She wondered, now, who’d found the scattering of empty airplane bottles she’d left on the bar. Not Annika, she hoped.
She slowed her car as the cabin came into sight. Gabriel’s pickup was parked in the driveway, and there, in the garage beside the cabin, was Gabriel. He’d propped open the hood of a car and was working on its engine, but he looked up as she parked. And, as she walked over to the garage, he turned and went back to working on the car, a green Toyota Camry. Even before she reached the garage, she knew that whatever ground she’d gained with him the day before yesterday had been lost.
“Hey,” she said, coming over to him.
He didn’t look up. “You’re still here,” he said.
“I wish people would stop saying that,” she said, rubbing her temples, which were throbbing from the effort of getting out of her car. All she wanted was a simple Hi, Quinn, nice to see you. But she was hoping for more than she was going to get. Gabriel was clearly irritated that she was here. She stood a little distance from him now and surreptitiously studied his profile. It was beautiful. He glanced at her, and she saw that he was paler than usual, and his eyes—more blue than gray in this light—had faint, purplish circles under them.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Am I okay?” he clarified, and the way he looked at her, briefly, skeptically, made her wonder if she looked like she was under the weather too. Her hand traveled, almost involuntarily, to her hair, still damp from the shower, twisted into a messy knot on the top of her head. The cardigan she was wearing now—the one full of holes she liked to wear when she was writing—was misbuttoned, and one of her Converse sneakers, she saw, was muddy from a misstep into a puddle on the way to her car.
“Okay, so we both look like hell,” she said, trying to shove some loose hair back into her bun.
“I didn’t say you looked like hell,” Gabriel pointed out, before he turned his attention back to the engine. He put a cap back on what she thought might be the coolant system—her dad had taught her some basics about car maintenance. And it occurred to her that Gabriel wasn’t irritated at her. He didn’t care enough about her to be irritated at her. He didn’t even care if she was here or not. So, why am I here?
He looked up, briefly, and shook his head, almost imperceptibly, as if he’d heard her silent question. Please go, he seemed to be thinking. Not a chance, she thought, looking around for a place to sit and finding it on top of a grimy cooler a few feet away from him. She perched there and watched as Gabriel continued to work. He had a rag in his hand and appeared to be cleaning a part of the engine. She shivered, in the damp, chilly garage, and, as she nursed her hangover, she thought that she wouldn’t say no to a cup of his black coffee if he offered one to her. And although she’d first felt miffed by his indifference, now she felt hurt. No time for feeling hurt, Quinn. Keep going. Don’t give up, she told herself in a little internal pep talk. Searching for something to talk about, she settled on his photography.
“Are you still taking pictures?” she asked. He looked up from the engine and met her eyes before looking down again.
“Yeah. Sometimes. When I’m inspired.”
“What inspires you?” she asked, thinking of the photographs on his bedroom wall.
“Things,” he said, mysteriously.
“What kind of things?” Quinn asked.
“Inspiring things, Quinn,” he said. But she could tell he was joking.
Talk to me, Gabriel, she wanted to say. But he’d resumed working. Everything felt different than it had when she’d seen him two days ago. He’d been almost friendly then. Or, at the least, he’d opened up a little. Today, though, she couldn’t find a way in.
“Did you forget we were supposed to meet yesterday or were you avoiding me?” she asked, suddenly. She didn’t want to sound injured or peevish, though, in truth, she was feeling both of those things right now.
He didn’t answer this. He had a question for her. “Seriously, Quinn, why do you keep showing up here?” he asked, with more curiosity than hostility.
“Because I want to see you, Gabriel,” she said. Silence. She was rankled now. She rubbed her temples, again, and decided to change the subject.
“I’m staying at Loon Bay,” she said, into the silence. “I like it there. It’s been very welcoming. Butternut, on the other hand, not so much.” Although she hadn’t told him the last time she’d seen him, she started telling him now about her run-in with Theresa Dobbs at the Corner Bar.
“She’s a troubled soul,” he interrupted her, looking up from his work. “Who drinks. A lot. I would take whatever she said with a grain of salt,” he said, going back to work.
She thought about continuing, and telling him exactly what Theresa had said to her, but she decided against it. Only later did she realize why. She was afraid Gabriel would confirm what Theresa had seemed to imply: that Quinn was somehow to blame for the accident.
“I ran into Tanner, Tanner Lightman,” she tossed out, changing the subject. “I saw him last night at the bar at Loon Bay.” Why had she brought that up?
Gabriel nodded. Something about her tone, though, made him look up at her again.
“I guess he likes staying there,” she went on. “He comes up every month or so and checks in to the same cabin.” Cabin 9, to be exact. He’d told her it was larger than the others and had a better view of the lake. “At first, I thought it was kind of weird. I mean, it’s four and a half hours from Minneapolis, and I don’t think he sees that much of his parents while he’s here, but he said . . .” She stopped. She didn’t want to betray Tanner’s confidences about coming to Loon Bay to be “closer” to Jake.
Gabriel was staring at her now. She had his full attention. “And? How’s he doing?” he asked.
“Um, he’s good,” she said. “But, honestly, I got a little tipsy. We ended up closing the place down. If you can call it that—which, I’m not sure you can—if you’re the only two customers there.” She felt a flush traveling up from her chest to her neck and then to h
er face.
“Quinn.” He shook his head.
“What?” she said, defensively.
“You didn’t . . . the two of you?”
She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. Her guilty expression must have said it all.
“Hmmm,” he said. He didn’t look disgusted, she saw with relief. More mystified. “Wait . . . let me get this straight,” he said. “You slept with your dead boyfriend’s brother?”
“I did,” she said, looking at him, but wanting to look away.
He stared at her for another long moment, but said nothing.
“I know. I know,” she said. “I don’t know what came over me. Over us. We were drinking, as I said. And we were having fun. I don’t have much fun these days, Gabriel. And it just happened. We didn’t plan it.”
Gabriel still didn’t say anything. But Quinn chafed at her own defensiveness. “Look, it was a mistake. Obviously,” she said. “It’s not going to happen again. But I’m an adult. And it’s not like I was cheating on anyone.”
Gabriel raised his eyebrows. “Interesting statement, Quinn.”
“I mean, I’m not in a relationship,” Quinn said now. “And you seem to be forgetting that I’m human. I make mistakes. I never claimed to be perfect. I would think you, of all people, would know that.”
He went back to the car engine. “So you think it was a mistake. Do you think Tanner thinks so too?”
“I don’t know,” Quinn admitted, surprised by the question. “I don’t know what he’s thinking.” She hadn’t wanted to wake him this morning, but she hoped that he felt the same way she did, that it would not be repeated.
They were silent while Gabriel worked on the car engine. “You’re right, Quinn,” he said, finally. “You’re an adult. You can do whatever you want.”
Yes, she thought, even if what I’ve done is the wrong thing. She shifted on the ice chest, trying to get comfortable. Something dripped, loudly, in the garage, working on her frayed nerves. Every time she blinked, her eyes felt like sandpaper. Dehydration. There was water everywhere, but none for her to drink. It was hard, in fact, to overstate her misery right then. The hangover was bad enough, but what was happening now between her and Gabriel was worse. She felt even further away from him than she had on that first day.
“It’s not easy being back here,” she said, almost to herself.
“No? Well, you should try never leaving,” Gabriel said.
“Then why didn’t you leave?” she asked him.
“What? And give up all this?” he asked, gesturing around the garage. There was a glint of humor in his eyes, but Quinn was not amused. She wanted to know more and he was making light of it. But before she could press him on this, Gabriel went to get a gas can off a nearby shelf. He unscrewed the lid on the car’s gas tank and fitted the can’s nozzle into it. Glug, glug, glug. Listening to the gas going into the tank, she smiled.
“Remember homecoming, our senior year? Gingy Harris brought the Wolverines quarterback to the dance, and the football team got you to siphon the gas out of his tank so they’d be stranded afterward?” She laughed. It had been such an un-Gabriel-like thing to do. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you’re working on cars,” she said. “You might not have wanted to learn all the stuff your dad taught you, but you learned it anyway.”
The glugging sound stopped. Still, Gabriel didn’t move. At all. It was as if he were frozen in place. And his face, or at least the little she could see of it, was startlingly pale.
“Gabriel,” she said, feeling a surge of protectiveness. “Are you okay?” But he didn’t answer her. It was as if he hadn’t even heard her. She got up and went over to him. He was still standing there with the gas container in his hand. “My God, you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she said. It’s your family, isn’t it, she wanted to say. I shouldn’t have brought them up. Shouldn’t have called attention to the fact that you’re doing the one thing you said you never wanted to do; you’re working on cars.
Gabriel, though, turned abruptly and put the gas can back on the shelf. Then he removed the hood prop, slammed the hood of the car, and grabbed a rag and started wiping down tools.
“Gabriel, what is it?” Quinn persisted. “I’m worried about you,” she said, edging closer to him. “What’s going on?”
“I could ask you the same question, Quinn,” he said. He moved farther away from her, putting the tools back on the shelves. “What’s going on with you? I mean, I could see you coming for the dedication. But why are you still here three days later?” He stopped to look at her, running his hand through his hair.
“I’m here because I thought I should spend some time in Butternut,” she said.
“Yes, you told me that the first day. That you felt you should be here. But why should? Like being here is some kind of an obligation.”
“It’s not an obligation. But I feel like I need to be here. I need to deal with things I haven’t dealt with yet. I know that sounds vague. But that’s the best I can do,” Quinn said. What she didn’t tell Gabriel about was her belief that if she didn’t come to terms with her past, particularly the accident, it would forever trip her up. Or worse, it would leave her paralyzed, incapable of moving forward.
“But that’s not the only reason I stayed in Butternut, Gabriel. I want to spend time with you, too.”
“Are you sure that want is not a should, Quinn?”
“What? No.” Her hangover should have been wearing off, but it wasn’t. She felt worse now than ever. And even Gabriel appeared to notice.
“Let me walk you to your car,” he said, in a gentler tone.
“Can I come back tomorrow?”
He shook his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“Look, I should have said this to you the first time you came here, after the dedication. I’m glad you’re doing well. Not right this minute, maybe”—this was said with a wry smile—“but in general. Your life and your career. I feel like you got what you wanted. And I’m happy for you. I mean that—”
“Do you?” Quinn interrupted him. “Because you don’t look happy to me. About anything.”
“Maybe I’m not happy for myself. Not everyone deserves to be happy, Quinn. But I’m happy for you.”
“What do you mean, ‘not everyone deserves to be happy’? Because good people deserve to be happy. And you’re a good person,” Quinn said.
“You don’t know that,” he said, looking away.
“Yes, I do,” Quinn said.
“Look, let me finish what I started to say,” he said, with exasperation. “I wish you well, Quinn, but I don’t want to spend time with you. I don’t want to spend time with anyone right now.”
“You ‘wish me well’?” Quinn repeated. “Is that what we’ve come down to? Gabriel, you were my closest friend, and now you ‘wish me well’? What does that even mean?” Frustrated by his formality, his remoteness, she added, “And why are you even talking to me this way? It’s not . . . it’s not you.”
“This is me, Quinn. And you need to respect it.”
“I . . . I can’t,” she said.
“You’ve got to, though. And another thing. You don’t need to worry about me, okay? I’m fine.” Quinn tried to dispute this, but he kept going. “No. Seriously. And if you’re feeling guilty about losing touch with me, don’t. It’s not something you have to make up for by spending time with me now. Forget what I said that first day, okay? Our losing touch wasn’t your fault. It was mine, too. I shouldn’t have placed all the blame on you like that. You haven’t done anything wrong, Quinn, and you don’t need to make amends. You can stop coming here. You can go back to Evanston.”
Quinn shook her head. He was dismissing her. She didn’t want to be dismissed. She wanted to stay here with him, though given his current attitude toward her, she didn’t exactly know why.
“You can’t do this,” she said. “You can’t just send me away. Like we were never even friends.”
>
“You have to go now,” he said. He sounded weary. And for some reason it touched her. He wasn’t being unkind, she saw. Not intentionally. Her anger receded. And when he started walking over to her car, she followed him.
“Could I possibly have your cell-phone number?” she asked when he opened her car door for her.
“No,” he said. “That’s not a good idea.” And then, as if to soften those words, he smiled at her, his eyes full of something she couldn’t fathom. “Now go,” he said, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek. “Back to your life.”
Somehow Quinn made her limbs, heavy with resistance, move. She got into the car.
“Good-bye,” she said. Her voice broke.
“Drive safely,” he said.
When she looked in her rearview mirror, just before the driveway ended, she saw that he’d already disappeared, whether into the cabin or back into the garage, she didn’t know.
ON THE DRIVE back to Loon Bay, Quinn felt her sadness giving way to something else. Depression? No. It was worse than that. It was defeat. She hated that feeling. Her father had discouraged it when she was a child, and she had tried to avoid it as an adult, but it was defeat she felt now, staring her in the face. She’d failed to reach Gabriel, failed to reconnect with him. And there was nothing she could do. She was stymied. He’d told her to leave. He’d told her not to come back. He’d told her, point-blank, that he didn’t want her in his life anymore. She couldn’t very well keep forcing herself on him, turning up unannounced on his doorstep.
And yet he wasn’t just one of the reasons, she realized, that she was still here. He was the main reason. She’d returned in order to come to terms with the accident, and in doing so she’d unexpectedly found Gabriel again. And seeing him had become, somehow, fundamental to understanding everything. She wasn’t sure exactly how, but she knew this, intuitively, to be true. If she acceded to his demand, she’d lose one of the few people in Butternut who mattered to her. And perhaps then she’d lose her purpose for being here. Lose her purpose, it felt for a moment, for being anywhere.