“It’s a long and complicated story. But I was scared.”
“What?”
“Scared. I was seventeen years old. I didn’t know how I would take care of you.”
“That was it?” Amy couldn’t believe her ears. Was this some kind of joke?
“No.” Quentin rubbed his hand across his face. “There’s more. Much more.”
“We had it all planned out, remember?”
“I know we did. What we didn’t have was a high school diploma, money in the bank, a job lined up. And we didn’t have God’s blessing.”
That last bit had her instant attention. She knew right then and there where Quentin’s hesitation had come from.
Oh, Lord, she prayed silently. Why? How could You lead him from me when we were so clearly meant for each other? Was Karen really so much better a Christian than I?
She fought to keep the tears at bay, not wanting Quentin to know how devastating this all was. To know, to have it revealed to her that God found her lacking...it was simply horrible.
It’s not about someone else being better.
“Yes, it is.”
“What?” Quentin looked at her when she mumbled the words under her breath.
“Nothing.”
It’s about timing. My timing.
Amy tried to ignore the words whispering through her heart, though a kernel of truth niggled deep inside.
“So, what? You talked to God and He told you not to meet me that night?”
“No. I mean I prayed about it, but I did something else. I went and talked to Karen.”
Still fighting tears, Amy gave him a hard look.
“I loved you, Amy. But when I went to talk to Karen that night, she told me—”
“There’s always a but, isn’t there? Why can’t you just say it? You loved Karen more.”
“No, Amy. Karen and I were just friends at the time. I loved her as a friend. Nothing more.”
“Then why did you marry her? Why would you marry someone you didn’t love when you could have married someone you did?”
“It wasn’t about love, Amy. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.” Quentin’s tone was frustrated, bordering on angry. “We were too young. I was too young. I couldn’t take care of you. Worrying about how I’d take care of you was keeping me awake nights, making me sick. And I didn’t feel right with God. I prayed about it and felt even less right. Then I went to talk to Karen, she told me something that changed everything. That’s when I made the decision that we, I, couldn’t run off.”
“And you couldn’t even tell me? You just left me sitting in a bus station in the middle of the night, waiting, wondering? How did that make you right with God?”
Lips pressed together, eyes etched with pain, Quentin shook his head. “It didn’t make me right with God, Amy.”
Amy closed her eyes against the pain in his voice, as if that would make it all go away. But of course, it didn’t. When she opened them again she found him staring at her, his eyes filled with so much emotion.
“There’s more, isn’t there?” She hated the flatness of her voice.
“I loved you so much,” Quentin whispered. “There was no way I could look you in the eyes and tell you what I had to tell you.”
“So you took the easy way out.”
Quentin nodded and looked away. “I knew you’d be hurt by my decision. I couldn’t face your pain. I couldn’t tell you what Karen told me. So I chickened out.”
Amy grabbed the necklace at her throat and held it up to him with an angry jerk.
“You said for keeps. For keeps. Didn’t that mean anything to you?”
“Yes, Amy, but there was more going on, and I need to tell you about it.”
“I don’t want to hear anymore. I’d packed my things, prepared myself never to see my family again. So your being scared just doesn’t cut it. I was scared, too. In fact, from the moment we made the decision to run away together, I was scared. But I followed through on my end. Why couldn’t you?” Angry, Amy tugged hard at the necklace and was horrified when the chain broke and pooled against her hand.
“Amy, here, let me—”
“No!” She thrust the broken necklace in his hand. It was the perfect symbol of her broken dreams, not to mention her heart. “You take it. I’m leaving.”
Quentin stared down at the necklace in his hands, the look on his face pure anguish. “Amy, there still more I need to tell you.”
“I don’t want to hear it.” Amy tried to force that look out of her heart as she grabbed her purse and headed for her car. No matter how sorry he was, Quentin Macmillan wouldn’t get the chance to break her heart again.
****
Long after Amy left, Quentin held onto the broken necklace. It was still warm from being around her neck. Holding it in his hand now was almost like a way to be close to her. Was that how she’d felt? Wearing it all this time? That she’d even kept it touched him deep inside.
He stared out into the yard at nothing in particular. The CD player had long ago clicked off. Amy didn’t understand why he’d done what he had, and he didn’t blame her. He never should have said anything about being scared. He should have told her about Karen first, and maybe she would have understood. Maybe then she would have forgiven him.
For a while, he’d dared to hope she would. Especially after she’d promised to forgive him no matter what as long as he was honest with her. There was even a moment there, when it seemed she’d been about to say she loved him.
Now he wished he hadn’t stopped her. Maybe then it wouldn’t have been so easy for her to walk away from him.
Heavy hearted, he tucked the necklace into his jeans pocket and began to clear the table.
“Hi ya, Mr. Mac.” Mrs. Parsons’ gray head bobbled up on her side of the fence. Her red cheeks rounded with her smile.
Quentin restrained rolling his eyes. Even in the depths of his own pain, he’d never intentionally hurt her feelings. “Mrs. P., how are you?” He walked over toward the fence, even though he really wanted to retreat inside his house.
“I see you had some company tonight.”
Amy. Just thinking about her right now hurt. “That was Amy Welsh. Shayna’s journalism teacher.” Quentin knew good and well, Mrs. P. knew exactly who Amy was even though she’d never admit it.
“Oh...” A sideways half-smile rounded one side of Mrs. P.’s face. “Mr. Mac, you didn’t tell me you had a lady friend.”
“She’s just a friend.” He really didn’t want to tell Mrs. P. much more about Amy. He didn’t want to talk about her at all.
“Well, then.” Mrs. P. looked a little too pleased, obviously not believing him. “I hope you’ll introduce us the next time she’s over.”
Quentin was sure that would never happen. He’d be lucky if Amy ever spoke to him again, let alone grace him with her presence in his house.
“Oh, before I go.” Mrs. Parson’s tone sounded a little strained. “I see you’ve gotten rid of that duck. Good.”
Something almost undetectable changed in the woman’s expression—like the sparkle went out of her eyes. Quentin had the distinct feeling she wasn’t telling the truth. If he had to place a bet, he’d say Mrs. P. missed Rufus. Of course, she’d never admit it.
Quentin scooped up a few of the dishes from the picnic table and nodded at his neighbor.
“Good night, Mrs. P.” Not wanting to give the appearance of rudely dismissing her, he added, “I’ll talk to you later. Give Foster my regards.”
He swore her face lit up at the mention of her cat and knew he’d done the right thing. He’d made his lonely neighbor feel good.
Now if only someone could do the same for him.
****
It was one of the hardest things she’d ever done, but Amy went to church on Sunday morning. She had to. Even though she was confused and upset by Quentin’s revelation that ultimately the Lord had led him from her, she needed the comfort she’d find in an hour spent in worship service.
In the parking lot before getting out of the car, she said a short prayer for courage and strength. She was afraid to see Quentin, afraid for him to see the dark smudges under her eyes.
“I’m not strong enough to forgive him on my own, Lord. And I promised Quentin that whatever his reasons, I’d forgive him. Please help me keep that promise.”
But even if she made it to the point where she could forgive him, Amy was fairly certain she wouldn’t be able to forget.
No sooner did she walk through the church doors than she found herself wishing she’d stayed home. Shayna stood smack in the middle of the foyer, a huge smile on her face, obviously oblivious to last night’s disaster.
“Amy— I mean Miss Welsh. How’d Rufus do last night?”
“Great, Shayna.” Looking into eyes so like Quentin’s, Amy forced herself to smile. “He seemed quite content this morning. He was sitting on one of the back steps when I left a little while ago.”
Shayna looked so relieved, Amy wanted to hug her. But of course, she couldn’t. For now, she had to keep her distance. Her heart could only take so much.
“Ashley and I want to come by and see him later. Is that OK?”
“Of course. He’s yours. You can come anytime you like.” Just leave your father home.
As if she read Amy’s thoughts, she said, “Dad won’t be coming. He’s meeting Bradley after church.”
Quentin was still meeting with Bradley? Even after last night, when he obviously thought any chance for them was gone? Surprised, and pleased, Amy realized Quentin meant what he said about forgiveness and second chances. She was the one who had some serious work to do in that area.
“Come sit with us, Miss Welsh.” Shayna tugged on her sleeve.
Over Shayna’s shoulder, Amy could see Quentin looking at her expectantly. Or was he looking hopeful? She was too tired to tell. He looked as though his night had been as sleepless as hers. Served him right.
Almost as if to point out the inappropriateness of such thoughts in church, the congregation began to sing.
“Not today, Shayna. I’m sitting right there.” Amy indicated a pew near the back and quickly slid between two elderly ladies. “Excuse me,” she whispered as she sat down. Guilt over her rudeness to Shayna plagued her. It wasn’t Shayna’s fault Amy and Quentin had serious issues to work out before they could be friends again.
The sermon was about grudges and forgiveness. Amy squirmed in her seat.
Quentin looked over his shoulder and their eyes met. She turned away, but the look in his eyes burned into her mind. When they sang, she could hear his voice. When they bowed their heads in prayer, she kept replaying last night’s conversation. The fact that Quentin stood her up that night, just because he was scared—well it hurt worse than if it had been for any one of the reasons she’d imagined. Amy didn’t know if she could ever forget how fresh and raw that pain had been.
After church she drove to a fast food drive-thru, then down to the beach to eat her lunch.
For some reason, she wasn’t surprised when Quentin pulled up next to her on the passenger side. When he got out of his truck she turned to look out her window, ignoring him. He knocked on the passenger window, persistent, until she finally reached over and unlocked the door.
Hesitantly, he stuck his head in the door.
“What?” She couldn’t help sounding grouchy.
“So this is what it’s like inside a pink car.”
“Mauve. What do you want?” Ouch. Amy winced right along with Quentin at her clipped, hateful tone.
“Amy, I’m sorry. Really, I am. I wish there was something, anything I could do to change the way I treated you. I’ve wished it every night for seventeen years. But I can’t.”
“You’re right, you can’t. You can go now.”
“Amy, don’t be like this.” His voice was soothing, pleading.
“Why not? I’m not allowed to be hurt? I’m just supposed to let it go? Forgive you just like that? Pretend it never happened? I’m not that good a Christian, Quentin.”
“I don’t think it’s a matter of being a ‘good’ Christian. I think being mad feels good and it’s easier for you to hang onto these feelings than to live with the rejection and your true feelings.”
“You’re right. I want to stay mad and sulk. So leave.”
“Amy, please? I still have more to tell you.”
What more could there possibly be? She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to ignore the pull he had on her. “No. Leave.”
Quentin sighed, obviously exasperated. At least he realized it was useless to argue with her. He got out of the car and stood next to his truck, the pleading look still in his eyes.
As she started the car and put it in reverse, a seagull flew overhead—the inspiration for a very wicked thought.
Amy pushed the button and rolled down the passenger window.
“Quentin, there’s one more thing.”
A hopeful look lit his eyes and he stepped toward her. At the same moment, Amy tossed her uneaten hamburger across the car seat and out the open window. It landed at Quentin’s feet but stayed there only a fraction of a second before it was besieged upon by a flurry of wings. Somewhere amidst the screaming seagulls, stood Quentin and it gave her a feeling of satisfaction to know he wouldn’t be able to escape without at least a little bit of seagull mess landing on him and his shining black truck.
14
“I’m sorry, Lord. Why can’t I just let go and be nice? I don’t understand what’s happening to me.”
Horrified to realize what she’d just done to Quentin, Amy pulled over to the side of the road. Should she go back and apologize? She’d been totally irrational. All that talk about forgiving Quentin as long as he was honest...well, it went right out of her heart as soon as he told her why he’d stood her up.
Turning her car toward home, Amy realized Quentin would be in no mood to talk to her after the seagulls finished with him. Once there, she walked aimlessly around the house with a dust rag, waiting for a decent amount of time to pass before she could call Quentin. When she finally did call, there was no answer. Ashamed, she realized he probably needed to shower, change, and wash his truck.
After she washed the dishes, she tried again. Still no answer. He probably had caller ID and didn’t want to talk to her. Not that she blamed him. She wouldn’t want to talk to herself, either. Her behavior was inexcusable.
After peeling a few leaves from a head of lettuce, Amy went out to the backyard. She tried to coax Rufus over, but he wouldn’t come near her. He probably had some weird duck sense and knew what she’d done to his master.
Amy sat down on the steps to the back porch and tore the lettuce into tiny pieces. Then she tossed a little to Rufus.
“If you’re really patient, you can get him to take it out of your hand.”
Startled, Amy looked up to see Quentin standing near the gate. Still damp from a shower, his hair was neatly combed even though one dark wave fell across his forehead.
His expression was one of uncertainty, lacking any sort of smile.
Surprised, relieved, Amy just stared. Never before had the sight of Quentin been so good. She’d been so sure he’d never want to see her again, that she’d never have a chance to apologize. She could feel the blush, the shame, washing over her.
“Quentin, I’m really sorry.”
“How sorry?”
Confused, she watched him walk toward her. The dark blue shirt fit him just right, making him appear huggable, and brought out the richness of his eyes.
“What do you mean?”
“Are you sorry enough to go somewhere with me after youth group tonight, so we can talk about it?”
Talk? She wasn’t ready to talk. Was she? She wanted to, but...she didn’t want to, but...she needed to.
“Where?”
“I don’t care. Anywhere. We need to clear this up.”
Whether or not it was possible to ever settle things between them, Amy had to try.
Finally, she nodded. “OK.”
“Great.” The uncertainty faded from Quentin’s face and a smile lifted the corners of his mouth. Amy had a hard time not smiling back.
“You clean up pretty nice.” The words were out of her mouth before she realized it. Amy couldn’t believe she’d been so bold.
“Thanks. Now give me that lettuce and let me show you how it’s done.”
Their fingertips touched when she handed him the lettuce. She wanted more, wanted him to take advantage of the moment and cover her hand with his. But he didn’t. Instead, he demonstrated with great patience, how to coax the duck over to eat out of his hand.
When Amy tried it, the duck only came so far. He’d get within two feet of her and stop. Then he’d back way off and they’d start the whole process again.
“I give up.” Dejected, Amy plopped herself back on the porch. “He’s never going to warm to me.”
“It just takes time, Amy. You have to be patient.”
“No.” She shook her head. “That isn’t it at all. He knows.”
“Knows what? He’s a duck.” Quentin looked at her like she was crazy.
“He knows what I did to you. He’s snubbing me.”
Quentin laughed. “Just keep on trying. I’ve got to go now. I have a few things to do at the office before Bradley shows up for our meeting.”
“Oh, yeah.” Amy had almost forgotten. “Good luck.” She smiled to show she meant it, and he dropped a kiss on her cheek.
“Listen, Amy.” Quentin’s tone was serious, as was the look in his eyes. “More than anything, I want your forgiveness. If it never goes beyond that, then OK. But it is as important to be forgiven as it is to forgive. Just remember that, OK?”
Not trusting herself to speak, she simply nodded.
“See you tonight,” he whispered.
Hope lifted Amy’s spirit and battled with the uncertainty still there. Quentin had forgiven her act of meanness. Was it, then, possible for her to forgive him for doing something he thought was right?
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