Apparently his staff had a modicum of respect for him because his paperwork sat on the floor—right where his desk should be. Grumbling some more, he grabbed the papers pertaining to the bakery and plopped himself on the floor—where his chair should be. But settling down to work was no easy task because thoughts of Amy and their upcoming lunch kept crowding his mind.
****
Amy didn’t know how she’d get through the day. She sat at the desk in her empty classroom, staring at the clock, watching the second hand slowly click around the face, marking each second with a tick. Earlier that morning she’d considered calling in sick. Though it would have been close to the truth, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. The school might not be able to find someone to substitute on short notice, and she hated to dump anything on anyone at the last minute unless it was an emergency. Besides, sitting at home wallowing in apprehension over meeting with Quentin wouldn’t do her any good. She was better off here, at school.
She swallowed hard past the swelling lump in her throat and blinked hard. Do not dwell on the past. The thought, a Scripture from Isaiah, whispered through her and she acknowledged, grudgingly, that yes, the past was over and done with and it served no point to dwell on it. Who could change it? Only God. If He cared to. An instant of guilt pricked her heart. No, she wasn’t being fair. Quentin made his decision seventeen years ago, not God.
The first bell rang and two dozen kids burst through the door and slid into their seats, reminding her that she needed to concentrate on teaching. It wasn’t until later, during her break in the teachers’ lounge, when she allowed herself to think about her meeting with Quentin. She refused to call it lunch.
Lunch sounded too much like a date, and a date with Quentin was the last thing her heart could take. Besides, she thought as she dipped a teabag into her mug of hot water, she intended to eat during her regular lunch break. Not with Quentin. If she waited until two o’clock, when school was out, she’d starve.
“You look like you lost your only friend.”
Amy looked up and smiled half-heartedly as Miki approached her from across the room.
Miki Loretta was a tiny woman, delicate and ultra-feminine, an unusual and lovely mixture of Japanese and Italian. She was also kind and generous in spirit, with a delightful sense of humor. Her dark, slightly tilted eyes twinkled as she sat down across from Amy. “Since I thought that honor fell to moi, I know it’s not true. Unless…” Miki paused dramatically and raised one eyebrow. “…there’s something you haven’t told me.”
Amy couldn’t help but grin. Miki was a great drama coach, but she would have been even better in the spotlight.
“You don’t want to know.” Amy tried to sound nonchalant, but when Miki looked at her with those piercing dark eyes, she knew she’d failed.
“Relax, Amy. Things will change. I promise. Before long, you’ll get to know lots of people. I just heard some of the other staff members say how lovely they think you are.”
“Might one of them have been Stewart Snyder?”
“Come on,” Miki coaxed. “It can’t be as bad as you think.”
If she only knew. Amy had never shared her secret heartbreak over Quentin. Though Miki had been her friend in school, probably the closest thing she’d had to a best friend, they hadn’t really kept in touch. Their friendship had only recently been rekindled, and it didn’t go deep enough yet for her to share her deepest hopes and hurts. Since Miki was her friend in school, she knew Amy and Quentin had dated, she just never knew how it all ended.
“I’m having a little trouble with one of my students. No,” she amended. “It’s actually the parent.”
“Let me guess. Mom swears up and down that her precious son would never put dyed rabbit pellets in your M&Ms jar.”
Amy had to laugh at Miki’s imagination. “Something like that.”
“Don’t sweat it.” Miki gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder. “These sorts of problems occur all year long. Every parent thinks their darling can do no wrong. At least that’s what they say. I’ll bet deep down each and every one of them knows exactly what their beloved teenagers are capable of.”
“I think that’s the problem,” she said cynically. “This parent is afraid to admit his kid might be human.” Not wanting to explain further, Amy made her excuses and prepared to get back to her classroom.
“Wait,” Miki called out before she could disappear through the door. “We’re having a potluck after church on Sunday. Why don’t you come?”
“I’ll think about it.” Amy shut the door behind her, hating to disappoint her friend but reluctant to commit. Truthfully, she’d yet to attend church since coming back to Goose Bay. Not because she didn’t want to. It was just so hard to walk into an unfamiliar church for the first time—even if she did know at least one person there. She missed the fellowship, longed for it in fact, and knew she’d have to make an extra effort to take that first step.
More than once during her afternoon journalism class, Amy had the sensation of being watched. A couple of times, she’d glanced up from her desk in time to see Shayna quickly look away. Did she suspect Amy had overheard the girls’ conversation yesterday and worry her dad might find out? Good. Let her worry. Maybe she’d think twice about sneaking out of the house tonight.
Any hopes Amy had of Shayna changing her mind were dashed as soon as class was over. As Shayna and Ashley were leaving the room, she heard the word ‘drool’ several times followed by titters and giggles. Though she’d been worried before, Amy now knew she’d made the right choice in mentioning Shayna’s plans to Quentin. She glanced at the clock. Now that her last class was over, she had a forty-five minute planning session before meeting him. Would he show up?
Amy’s stomach knotted with apprehension. She shut the door behind the last of the classroom stragglers and slowly walked toward her desk.
Forty-five minutes could be a long time. Forty-five minutes to sit and think...to wonder and worry.
About Quentin.
Would he stand her up again?
****
“Louise, contact...” Quentin glanced at his watch. One-forty-five. He had just enough time to get to the school and meet Amy. He dropped the folder on his secretary’s desk and ignored her raised brow. “Look, you take care of this. I have to go.”
It hadn’t been easy working without a desk, but once he’d put thoughts of Amy to rest, the morning had practically flown by. All he’d had to do was put those brown eyes out of his mind and stop thinking about the way her chestnut hair brushed her delicate jaw line, forget how it had felt as she’d touched his arm, and how tender and warm her hand had felt beneath his own.
Everyone seemed to stop work and stare at him as he headed to the men’s room to wash up before leaving the office. He’d been so busy he hadn’t been in there once today. He swung the door open and stopped with a groan. He should have known. There, for all to stumble over as they walked in or out, sat his desk. His chair sat on top like a throne, and toilet tissue was strung over both. He turned to glare at his laughing employees, who stood scattered throughout the office staring as if they’d waited all day for this moment.
“I don’t even want to know,” he said with disgust.
“Maybe you should call Dr. Wendy,” Bobby said. Then, pointedly and in a false voice, “John.”
Everyone burst out laughing, and Quentin felt the corners of his mouth twitch—until he looked at Russ, who once again hung back from the crowd looking lonelier than he’d ever seen him.
Before he could think about it further, Louise added, “I’m sure she’ll give you some good advice on dealing with ornery co-workers.”
“You’re not my co-workers. You’re my employees.” He growled with frustration. “And I know exactly how to deal with you. Or, how I should deal with you. But I don’t have time right now. I’m late for an appointment. I expect this desk to be back in my office when I return. And no more of your stupid pranks. That’s not what I pay you for.”
“A date?” Louise asked immediately interested.
“Why would you say that?” Was it that obvious he had a woman on his mind?
“You usually eat in the office. I noticed you didn’t even bring your lunch today.”
He shrugged innocently. “I didn’t get to the grocery store yet. Now will you people kindly mind your own business and get back to work? After,” he added meaningfully, “you get my desk back where it belongs.”
****
At ten after two, Quentin hadn’t arrived. Amy felt like a fool, sitting on the bench under the trees lining the parking lot. Of course, she should have expected this. It’s only exactly what he’d done to her before. Promised he’d be there and then not shown up.
She should have just told him she’d meet him somewhere else. Sitting on this bench was an ironic twist of fate. It was the exact bench she’d sat on in a wind and rainstorm on a dark November night nearly seventeen years ago.
She’d huddled there, two bags holding her most precious belongings, soaking up the rain and mud, trying not to feel the cold as she waited for Quentin to pick her up in his battered blue truck. But it wasn’t until he was an hour late that she’d even felt the need to huddle and try to block out the cold, since she’d been so flushed with excitement over this new adventure with him.
Because her father was in the military, her family moved a lot. Her father’s new orders were taking her family halfway across the world to Germany, and from Quentin. She’d been heartbroken at the prospect of leaving him. But he’d brilliantly, and romantically, come up with the idea of running off to California where they would get married. They’d both cleaned out their respective savings accounts earlier that day.
Between them, they had barely enough gas and food money to get to California. But they weren’t worried. Jobs were supposedly plentiful in the Golden State. Besides, they had each other. That was all that mattered.
Quentin had wanted to leave right then, but Amy had insisted she go home and have one last meal with her family. She’d say good-bye in her own way, leave them a note, then sneak out. Just before she’d gone in the house, Quentin had gently touched the single precious pearl she wore around her neck. The one he’d given her a few short weeks ago. Then he kissed her and whispered a promise that he’d love her forever. She was his and he was hers...for keeps.
It hadn’t been easy saying her silent good-byes to her family over the dinner table, then writing the note she’d hoped would explain all her heartfelt love for them. But she also loved Quentin, and the thought of never seeing him again hurt worse than any pain she could imagine.
That was before he didn’t show up...before her heart shattered into tiny bits.
Two hours after Quentin was supposed to show up, Amy had forced herself off the bench and slowly trudged home through the dark, muddy woods behind the school.
Once in the house, she’d retrieved the note and despondently added her bags to the pile of luggage already sitting at the front door. At seven in the morning her family—Amy included—would drive to SeaTac Airport and board a plane that would fly them out of the country.
All the rest of the night she sat in the darkened living room, waiting, hoping Quentin would call or come by. But he never did.
Pride kept her from calling him. Silly, stupid pride. Because she knew with a certainty that sometime after he’d dropped her off at her house that afternoon, with a kiss and a promise to pick her up in the school parking lot at ten, he’d stopped loving her.
If her parents or sister thought there was anything strange about the mud on her baggage the next morning, or her disheveled clothes and hair, they never said a word.
As they drove out of town, Amy leaned her forehead against the car window and watched Goose Bay fade in the distance. What didn’t fade though were the memories of Quentin kissing her tenderly, passionately, telling her he loved her for always and that they’d be together forever.
And as it had the night before, her heart shattered all over again as she realized her dreams for a future with Quentin would never happen. She’d wanted to jerk the pearl necklace from her throat, but for some reason she’d stopped herself. It was almost as if by doing so she’d tear all traces of Quentin from her memory, and she hadn’t quite been ready for such a huge step.
Now, all these years later, she was startled to realize just how painful those memories still were. Even more surprising was the moisture on her cheeks, the blurring of her eyes. Fumbling in her purse, she was dismayed to find no tissue. She wiped her eyes on the sleeves of her pale yellow sweater, thankful she didn’t wear eye make-up. Then she looked around. Still no sign of Quentin. History was repeating itself. She just must be the kind of woman men stood up.
A sick dejected feeling started deep in her stomach and Amy stood, ready to leave. At the same moment, she heard the sound of an engine in the distance. Her heart picked up speed as a vehicle, a pick-up truck, came into view. Quentin? The honking of the horn confirmed her hopes. She was so relieved, her knees almost gave out as she walked toward his truck.
Not old and battered and blue like the one he’d had as a teen, this one was black and shiny and new with Macmillan Construction professionally painted on the side panels. So he was in construction. She wondered what happened to his dream of being a wildlife photographer.
Quentin left the truck idling as he jumped out in a rush. He wore a red flannel shirt and black jeans, and his blue eyes were shadowed with concern. “I’m sorry I’m late, Amy. I had some things to deal with.”
By his disgusted tone, she gathered he wasn’t happy with something at work. “Problems?”
“No. Not any longer. Come on. I’ll tell you about it on the way.” He hurried around to the passenger side to hold the door for her. Amy smiled, remembering that the Quentin of her past was nothing if not a gentleman. She was glad he hadn’t lost that touch.
Amy settled comfortably into the plush passenger seat of Quentin’s truck, noting it appeared to be first class all the way. No hard bench seats in this truck. It was a far cry from the old beat up one he used to drive. She snapped her seatbelt into place then turned to Quentin with her nose wrinkled up.
“What?”
“It smells a lot better in here than your old truck used to.”
He burst out laughing, which injected a sense of ease into the air and gave Amy the courage to finally ask if he’d been the one to tell Shayna about their past.
“No.” He seemed genuinely surprised, so Amy had no reason to doubt his denial.
“But who did, and why?”
Keeping his eyes on the road, Quentin shook his head. “I don’t have the slightest idea. How do you know she knows?”
Briefly, Amy filled him in on the day in class where they’d done the mock interview.
After hearing all the details, Quentin glanced at Amy for a brief second before looking back at the road. “I’ll bet it was Ashley’s mom. She likes to keep the pot stirring. All the time.” Amy couldn’t help laughing, but she was still puzzled. “How would Ashley’s mom have known about us, and why would she tell Shayna?”
“Ashley’s mom is Misty Morgan.”
The name meant nothing to Amy. She shrugged. “So?”
“Misty Morgan used to be Misty Conner.” After a moment’s pause, he added, “One of Karen’s close friends in high school.” Quentin didn’t even glance at Amy; he just kept his eyes glued to the road.
“Oh.” She didn’t want to talk about Karen, even if Quentin did. Feeling the sudden tension in the air, Amy changed the subject as smoothly as she possibly could, even though her insides quaked. “So, tell me. What happened at work this morning to make you so tense?”
Amy listened with amusement as Quentin detailed the morning’s escapade with his employees. Truth to tell, she could just picture his irritation with his staff. By the set of his jaw and the light dancing in his eyes, she knew it was irritation mixed with fondness. He must have an easy relationship with them. Otherwise
they would have known to draw the line at hiding his desk in the men’s room. She liked this little glimpse into his working relationships.
“So why did they do it? I mean, practical jokes I can see, but why the desk? And why hide it in the restroom?”
“I think it was the only hiding place they could find. If I’m reading them right, it was their way of telling me my life is in the toilet.”
“Your life?” Amy felt dumb even asking.
Instead of answering, Quentin cast a sidelong glance at her, his lips pressed together.
“Oh.” Understanding dawned. “They heard the radio show.”
He nodded. “I think they lost some of their respect for me today.”
“How can that be? Everyone has problems.”
“Yeah but not everyone calls wacky talk-radio shrinks.”
That was true, but it seemed to her he’d done it in a moment of desperation. Who could blame him for that? “I think it shows how much you care.”
“They think it shows how incompetent I am.”
Something was definitely wrong in Quentin’s life, but he obviously didn’t want to share it with her.
“Quentin, you’re far from incompetent. You’re a wonderful, caring father, and you’re a good provider. No one can point a finger at you and say you haven’t given Shayna everything you possibly can.”
“Everything except a mother.”
Karen. Quentin was missing his wife. She ached to reach toward him, to take his pain away.
“She’s fourteen years old. You can’t just pick a woman to replace her mother. She’s old enough to know you’d just be doing it for her sake. She’s smart enough to realize it wouldn’t be for the right reasons.”
“You’re exactly right. But I’m afraid Russ doesn’t see it that way.”
“Russ?”
“Russell Miller. My project manager. He’s also a good friend of mine. I think you’d remember him if you saw him.”
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