by Mary McNear
“Are you sure it was Jake’s truck?”
“I’d know it anywhere, Dad,” she said, of Jake’s medium blue Ford truck, with its GONE FISHING sticker, and its QFE 7654 license plate number that he swore stood for “Quinn Forever.”
“What’d you do?”
“I kept driving. I was in a hurry. But I called him on my cell. He didn’t answer. And I didn’t leave a message. About five minutes later, after I got to my locker, he texted me. He said, Stuck in Ely. I’ll pick you up around 6:45 for the basketball game. There was no way that Jake was on Scuttle Hole Road in Winton one minute and half an hour away in Ely the next.”
Her dad slowed the pickup, going into a turn. He said nothing, but Quinn could feel his concern.
“I took the shortcut again on the way back,” she said. She’d hated the way doing that had made her feel. Spying on her boyfriend? That wasn’t her. She felt that same sick feeling now, remembering what she’d seen. “His truck was still there,” she said. “I don’t know whose house it was parked outside of,” she added. “I couldn’t see the number on the mailbox but the name said McGrath.”
“Did you think about getting out and ringing the doorbell?”
“I did. I’m not that brave, though.”
“You are plenty brave, Quinn.”
“Besides, I had to get home. I was late meeting you. My mind was racing the whole drive back, though.”
“Is there any way, Quinn, you think there might be a reasonable explanation for all this?”
“I don’t know,” she said, after a moment. But if she had to guess, she would guess it was an unreasonable explanation.
“Other than these incidents,” her dad said, choosing his words carefully, “he’s never mistreated you, has he? I don’t mean physically, of course, but in any other way?”
“No, Dad,” Quinn said, feeling protective of Jake for the first time. “He’s been a good boyfriend. You know that.” And he had been a good boyfriend. He’d been considerate, and tender and respectful. He was never harsh or unkind. She didn’t tell her father these things now, of course. But it didn’t matter. She could feel his judgment settling into place.
“Being a good boyfriend doesn’t mean anything if he’s not honest with you, Quinn.”
“I know,” she said.
Her dad was quiet. And then he asked gently, “Have you any idea why he’d lie to you?”
“I don’t know for sure,” Quinn said. And she didn’t. But there were usually only a handful of reasons she could imagine that someone would lie about their whereabouts: cheating, drugs, something illegal, something that needed to be lied about. One of the boys on Jake’s cross-country team had been expelled for using anabolic steroids. But Jake wouldn’t do that. Anyway, none of it was good.
He took the next turn in the road carefully. “Are you sure you want to see him tonight?”
“Yes. But I don’t want to go to the teachers’ basketball game. I already texted him that and told him I would meet him at the bonfire.” Quinn couldn’t imagine sitting tonight in the bleachers in a sea of raucous students for two hours. “I’ll drive myself or get a ride. I’m going to ask him at the bonfire, point-blank, where he was this afternoon. If he lies to me, I’ll have another way to get home.”
“That sounds like a sensible plan,” he said. “Keep an open mind when you talk to him. Hear him out. But, Quinn, if you don’t believe him, you can’t stay in a relationship with someone who isn’t truthful with you. You want someone who’s honest. Whether they’re a friend or a boyfriend. You know, someone like Gabriel.”
She nodded, distractedly. She was glad she hadn’t confided in Gabriel. He’d warned her about the conversation he’d overheard between Jake and his then girlfriend, Ashlyn. She’d called Jake a liar. Gabriel would never say “I told you so.” That didn’t mean that he wouldn’t think it.
It was warm in the truck now, and Quinn pulled off her gloves and looked down at her hands, pale in the lights from the dashboard. She flexed her fingers and frowned, then reached for her gloves and turned them inside out. “Oh, no,” she said, groping around her on the seat.
“What is it?” her dad asked. They were entering the town now and they stopped at Butternut’s only stoplight. “What’s wrong?”
She turned on the light, checked the seat around her, unfastened her seat belt, and checked the floor in front of her. “I lost my ring,” she said, staring at her dad in disbelief. “The one Jake gave me.”
“We’ll find it when we get home,” he said.
She shook her head. “It’s not here.” She checked her gloves again, the folds of her parka, the space between her seat and the door. Nothing. “I think I lost it fishing,” she said. “That’s the last time I took my gloves off. To bait the hooks.” She turned to her dad. “We have to go back.”
“Quinn, no. It’s dark out now.”
“We’ll use flashlights.”
“It’s not safe, honey. And there’s no guarantee we’ll find it, anyway.”
She looked at him beseechingly, but he was unmoved.
“How do you even know you lost it there?” he asked. “I mean, when was the last time you remember seeing it on?”
“I don’t know. I had it on in eighth period. I know that.” She knew because she’d gotten in the habit of twisting it around on her finger, and she remembered now that she was doing this in that class. “After that, I went to Pearl’s, I went back to school to get my textbook, I came home, and then we went ice fishing. I know I lost it fishing, though. I would have noticed if I’d lost it before then.”
“Not necessarily,” he said. “There are other places it could be. We’ll check the truck when we get back, and I’ll help you check the house, too. You can go to Pearl’s tomorrow, and school will be open Monday.”
“Can we check the lake tomorrow?”
“Ice conditions permitting,” he said. “It’s going to be all right, though. You’ll find it. We’ll find it.”
“Yeah, okay,” she said.
After they got home, her dad, bless his heart, helped her look for the ring. They’d searched his truck, her car, their house, and his truck, again. Nothing. They’d retrace her steps tomorrow, he’d promised her. One way or another, they’d find it.
He’d insisted, then, that she have some dinner, and she had, but when he’d offered to find someone else to take the night shift at the timber company—he was covering for a worker who was sick—it was Quinn’s turn to be firm. She’d reassured him that she’d be fine. He’d only agreed to leave her when she’d texted Gabriel and had asked him for a ride out to the bonfire. But between her anxiety over losing the ring and her dread over confronting Jake, the wait for Gabriel to pick her up had felt like an eternity.
“YOU’RE IN A hurry,” Gabriel commented, when Quinn scrambled into his dad’s pickup later that night. Gabriel was in a good mood. She saw that immediately.
“I want to get going,” she explained, tugging on her seat belt.
“All right then,” he said, looking at her quizzically. But when she didn’t offer any explanation, he put the truck in reverse.
Quinn leaned back against the seat, slightly breathless from her run out to the driveway. She’d been watching for him, at the front hall window, for the last fifteen minutes. He wasn’t late; he said he’d come at nine thirty and he’d come at nine thirty, but by then Quinn didn’t think she could endure being alone for one more second.
“Is everything okay?” he asked, as he backed out of her driveway and turned onto Webber Street. He looked over at her again.
“It’s been a weird day,” she said, not wanting to elaborate. She didn’t want to pretend there was nothing wrong now, but she didn’t want to tell Gabriel what was wrong either.
“Did you spill some gas in here?” she asked, sniffing the air. “As in, a lot of gas?”
“Um . . . not that I know of,” he said, looking surprised. “There’s a can of it on the floor,” he said, indicating the back
seat. “Maybe some of it splashed out or something. Do you want me to—?”
“It’s fine,” Quinn said, lowering her window a few inches.
They drove in silence through the town. “Thanks,” Quinn said, when they turned onto Main Street.
“For what?”
“For the ride.”
“Yeah. Of course. By the way, the teachers’ basketball game was pretty funny. Mr. Raebeck was wearing sports goggles that kept falling off. Hilarity ensued.” Gabriel was happy and relaxed, Quinn saw, almost with annoyance. “I don’t know how long I’ll end up staying tonight. These bonfires aren’t really my thing,” he added.
“I don’t know how long I’ll stay either,” she said. “But I have to talk to Jake.” Her stomach wobbled. She hoped she was wrong about this. About him. But she didn’t think she was.
“What’s up with you and Jake?” Gabriel asked, as they headed out of town.
“There’s something I have to ask him,” she said, with uncharacteristic evasiveness.
“You’re being very mysterious,” Gabriel said, brushing hair out of his eyes. “You sure he’s even going to be there?”
“Jake? Yes. Why wouldn’t he be?”
“I don’t know.” He fiddled with the radio, found “Same Girl” by R. Kelly and Usher, and turned it up.
“He told me he’d meet me there at ten,” Quinn said, loudly, too loudly, over the music. It had never occurred to her that Jake might not be there.
“Okay, okay,” Gabriel said. “Don’t get mad at me. I was just wondering.” He turned down the radio.
“Well, stop wondering. He’ll be there,” she snapped, and then immediately regretted it. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, more to the window than to him.
“Did you finish your government paper?” he asked, after they’d gotten onto Butternut Lake Drive. He obviously wanted to steer the conversation into neutral territory.
“I have to write the conclusion,” Quinn said, staring at the woods out the window. They were much darker now than they had been three hours earlier when she and her dad had made this drive in reverse. “I’m not that worried about it, though,” she added, chewing her lip. And she knew it was irrational, but she couldn’t help but feel that if she hadn’t forgotten the AP government textbook in her locker, she’d never have seen Jake’s truck and she wouldn’t have to confront him tonight.
“I have a couple pages left,” Gabriel said. “I have to admit, though, that getting in early decision has kind of put a damper on my academic ambition.”
“Don’t forget, if your grades fall too much they can retract your acceptance,” Quinn said.
He laughed. “They’re not falling that much.”
“You’re in a good mood,” she said.
“Anything wrong with that?” Gabriel asked.
“No.” But she was too preoccupied, too tense to pursue the conversation any further. They lapsed into silence, and as they got closer to the lake, she tried, as best she could, to steel herself for seeing Jake. Not much longer now, she told herself, as they took the turnoff for Shell Lake. And, as if to spare her any more suspense, Jake’s pickup was the first one she saw when they pulled into the parking area.
“See, he’s here,” she said, pointing.
“So he is,” Gabriel said, slowing. He drove by Jake’s truck, though, and parked at the other end of the lot. From her vantage point in the front seat, Quinn scanned the beach below. A couple of dozen students were already gathered around a big bonfire, its sparks drifting high into the blue-black sky. Beyond the narrow beach was the frozen lake: a dull grayish-white expanse that echoed the emptiness of the sky.
“It’s strange,” Quinn murmured of the scene. “They almost look like shipwreck survivors, don’t they?” she said of the students huddled around the fire, as though at the edge of a frozen world.
“Maybe,” Gabriel said, putting the truck in park and cutting the engine. “But if they’re shipwreck survivors, they’re drunk shipwreck survivors,” he added, when one of the boys threw a wooden packing crate onto the fire, sending a shower of sparks, and a volley of raucous cheers, into the sky. Quinn smiled distractedly. Typically, she liked these bonfires. She’d never gone to them before she’d started dating Jake, and she could still do without their drunken rowdiness, but she liked the fire itself, liked feeling the heat of it on her face, hearing the roar of it in her ears. Not tonight, she thought, trying to pick Jake out of the crowd.
“I don’t see him,” Gabriel said.
“No. Maybe he’s at the picnic tables,” Quinn said, of the other place where people gathered to talk and drink but mostly to drink. “I’ll find him, and then . . .” She trailed off. And then what? What would happen after she found him? After she talked to him? She didn’t know. She hadn’t gotten that far. If he was honest with her, she supposed she’d stay. If he wasn’t, well, she’d get a ride home. To the extent that she had a plan, that was it. As she unfastened her seat belt, she realized her hands were clammy and slippery on the metal.
“Hey,” Gabriel said, trying to get a smile out of her. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Quinn could only nod. They got out of the truck, and Gabriel headed down to the beach, while Quinn followed the footpath to the picnic area. As she walked, she pulled on her gloves, self-conscious about her ringless finger. Best to keep it under wraps for now. She pulled on her wool hat, too, though it wasn’t as cold as it had been the last time she’d been here at night, a couple of weeks ago. That night was freezing, the icy air a stinging reproof to every inch of skin she’d left exposed. Tonight, it felt warmer. Cold, but clear, with no wind. This was good. She didn’t know how much more frigid weather she could take in one winter.
As she reached the picnic grove she heard Jake’s voice before she saw him. “Dom, what the hell?” he said. “Are you gonna finish the whole thing? Christ! Give it to me.” Quinn frowned. He sounded different. She kept walking, until he and Dom and Griffin came into view. They were standing around a table wet with melted snow and passing a brown bottle between them. She watched as Jake took a long pull from it now.
“Jake,” she said, though not loud enough for him to hear. But it didn’t matter. Griffin saw her.
“Quinn,” he called, and Jake turned and grinned at her as he handed off the bottle to Dom. He met her, halfway to the picnic table, and if she’d been nervous about seeing him, that nervousness dissolved, almost instantly, into disbelief. He was drunk.
“Hey, baby,” he said, folding her into his arms, their down jackets swishing together. He kissed her before she could say anything to him. She smelled it on him and then tasted it on him. Whiskey, she thought, though she wasn’t sure. Jack Daniel’s, she found out later. She stopped kissing him, but Jake, undiscouraged, pulled off her hat and started kissing her hair. “I am so glad you’re here.”
“How much have you had to drink?” she asked, trying to extricate herself from him. She was completely blindsided. She hadn’t seen him drink anything since that night in the Hoyers’ cabin. And even then he hadn’t finished his cup of wine. He was training hard now; he had back-to-back indoor track meets coming up.
“Only a little,” he said, kissing her jaw, her chin, her neck. She felt disarmed. She was familiar with the intensity of his affection, but this felt different.
“I think you’ve had more than a little,” she said, self-conscious about the proximity of his friends. Not that they seemed to care. Not that they even seemed to notice. How long, she wondered, had they all been drinking here? “Can I talk to you?” she asked. “Somewhere private?”
“Yeah, somewhere private,” he agreed, kissing her mouth again. “I want to be somewhere private with you.”
“To talk,” she emphasized, disentangling herself from him. “We can go down there.” She pointed toward another clumping of picnic tables in the distance.
She started walking and Jake caught up to her and grabbed her hand. “We’ll be back,” he called over his shoulder to his fr
iends, and then he smiled at her. It looked forced, devoid of Jake’s easy charm. He stumbled, then, on a tree root, and Quinn thought he might fall, but he recovered, gracefully, and wrapped his arms around her instead.
Quinn stopped at another picnic table. “What are you doing?” she asked. “Seriously, Jake. I’ve never seen you tipsy before, let alone—”
“I’m fine,” he interrupted. He reached up and, clumsily but gently, touched her right ear. “Your earring is loose.”
Quinn peeled her glove off and readjusted the gold hoop she’d put on earlier that night.
“Hey,” Jake said, and she realized, too late, her mistake. “What happened to your ring?”
Quinn looked down at her hand as if asking herself the same question. For once, she wanted to lie. I took it off to clean the fish . . . wash the dishes . . . take a shower. But the lie wouldn’t come. “I lost it,” she said.
“When?” Jake asked. Somehow, she had cut through the fog of alcohol.
“I don’t know. I think it might have been when I was ice fishing with my dad here today,” she said, gesturing at the lake.
He looked crestfallen, but only for a moment. “I’ll find it,” he said, confidently. “Where’d you go fishing?” he asked, already starting to head in the direction of the lake.
She caught his arm. “Jake. Wait. Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t go out there now. It’s dark. My dad already said he’d help me look for it tomorrow.”
“No, I need to find it. Where were you on the lake?” he said, trying to move again in the direction of the lake. She pulled him back.
“Jake, you can’t look for it now. It’s too dark. Besides, I was way out on the middle of the lake,” Quinn said, gesturing out there. This time the lie came. She thought if she said she’d lost it out there, in the middle of the lake, instead of near the shore where she and her dad had been ice fishing, Jake wouldn’t go looking for it. And this seemed to work, because he stopped, wavered, then appeared to reconsider his plan.