It was, but only with the help of the Lord.
She thought about it a minute and realized she wasn’t as upset as she was earlier.
****
Finally Quentin had something to feel positive about. He’d finagled more than one smile out of Amy and come away with the promise they could talk again. Tonight. His relief was immeasurable.
He headed his truck toward his office building, anxious to put this meeting with Bradley behind him. Hopefully they’d come away with a new understanding.
Russ’s truck sat in the parking lot in front of the building. Strange. Russ didn’t usually go to the office on Sunday. He must have left something behind.
The timing wasn’t the best since Bradley was on his way, but maybe they’d have at least a few minutes in private with no distractions. Quentin really wanted to find out what was bothering Russ, and he felt bad that he hadn’t pressed the issue sooner.
Quentin let himself in the front door, ready for some guy talk. But just before he called out a greeting, he stopped short. Something wasn’t right. Russ stood just inside Quentin’s office, talking on the phone. It was odd because Russ had a phone at his own desk. He had no reason to be in Quentin’s office.
After taking a step forward, Quentin stopped again. The conversation taking place...a sick feeling curled through his insides.
“That’s right. Macmillan’s bid is three-quarters of a mil for the first set of condos, and half a mil for each of the others. You should have no problem coming in well under that with the cut-rate you get on materials.”
This couldn’t be right. Russ giving away inside information to a competing company? Not very likely. There must be some sort of mistake. It couldn’t be what it appeared.
Quentin stepped closer and noticed the plans for the condo project spread out across his desk. Plans he deliberately hadn’t shown anyone. The condo project was supposed to help get his business back on track. Back on track after being out-bid on one project after another.
Russ was listening to whoever was on the other end of the phone, rubbing the back of his neck as if he had a tension headache. “Yeah, right. You’ll come out of it with a nice little profit. When can I expect payment?”
Not giving information away, selling it. Quentin’s blood ran cold.
“That’s not soon enough. I need—but my wife—”
Quentin watched Russ grow more and more agitated before he muttered something and hung up the phone. When he turned around and saw Quentin standing there, he jumped and his face flushed.
“Quentin, I’m sorry, I—”
“Don’t even bother.” Quentin wanted to pulverize him. He stepped toward him, fists clenched, one arm raised. Fear flickered in Russ’s eyes, and Quentin restrained himself. Not an easy task. “I don’t want to hear your sorry explanation,” he said through clenched teeth.
“You don’t under—”
“You’re right I don’t. You’ve just taken my daughter’s future and flushed it down the toilet. Because of you I’ll have to lay off some of the guys. And I’ll probably have to dip into Shayna’s college fund just to get by. There’s not much you can say that’ll make any of it right.”
Shame-faced, Russ looked down at his shoes. “I know,” he muttered.
Quentin wanted to punch something. Preferably Russ’s face. But he wasn’t a violent man. He settled for upending the desk. Russ flinched as it crashed to the floor and paper and drafting tools scattered everywhere. For the moment, Quentin didn’t care.
“I thought I was failing my daughter. Called myself every sort of loser. You even listened to me worry about it. What kind of friend are you? Get your things and get out.”
Russ didn’t protest. He walked out of Quentin’s office and headed toward the door. Quentin watched his friend walk out without so much as a backward glance. Russ didn’t even walk over to his own desk and retrieve the “World’s Best Dad” coffee mug his son had given him for his birthday last year. Something about Russ wasn’t quite right, and it went far beyond selling out his boss, co-workers, and friends.
After Russ drove away, Quentin cleaned up the mess he’d made, all the while wondering how his friend could betray him. And why? He just didn’t understand. It was so out of character for Russ. Something was terribly wrong, and he intended to find out. He searched for a piece of notepaper, and hastily scribbled a message to Bradley. They could meet later. Right now he had to catch up with Russ.
He tacked the note to the outside door. Hopefully Bradley would understand. Then he sprinted toward his truck and jumped in the cab. He was around the first sharp curve in the road when he realized he hadn’t fastened his seatbelt. He reached down to fumble with it, and at the same moment a rabbit darted in front of him. Out of instinct he swerved and slammed on the brakes at the same time. He struggled for control of the swaying truck, but was powerless to stop it as it slid head-on toward a massive oak.
****
Amy put the dust rag away and washed her hands. At this rate, she’d have the cleanest house in town. But dusting gave her a diversion. Something to take her mind off the fact that Quentin was almost two hours late. She couldn’t help wondering if he’d stood her up again.
This time, she wasn’t just disappointed for herself. She’d been anxious to hear how the talk with Bradley went. If Quentin had decided to give Bradley a chance, it meant Amy could give Quentin a chance. The thought was always at the back of her mind, alternately teasing and torturing her.
Perhaps things hadn’t gone well with Bradley, and Quentin didn’t want to tell her about it. Or it was possible the youth group ran late. But certainly not this late. Two hours? Something could have happened to one of the kids, but surely Quentin would have called.
No, her first assumption had to be right. Quentin didn’t want to face up to a tough conversation.
Amy had just been stood up...again.
It was obvious he had feelings for her and wanted to rekindle something. And she was more than a little interested. But there were some lines she wouldn’t cross.
Being stood up more than once was the biggest. Playing second fiddle to Karen’s memory was another. It was too easy to get caught up in wondering if Quentin wanted her just because Karen wasn’t there and he needed to fill up the empty space. She didn’t want to be a substitute for Karen. She wanted to be cherished and loved for herself, obviously something she’d never be as far as Quentin was concerned. If it was, he wouldn’t have risked hurting her again.
Quentin had just proved once more he couldn’t be trusted.
****
The school day was nearly at an end. Amy had one class to go. She’d checked her cell phone several times, and she’d also been to the office several times that day to check her messages hoping there was some remote chance Quentin had called her with a simple explanation for blowing her off last night. Thus far there’d been no messages, and she’d been a major source of irritation to the school secretary.
After this last class was over, Amy planned to go home and soak in a nice hot tub with a good book. Then she’d go to bed early. And tonight she wouldn’t waste on minute’s sleep on Quentin Macmillan. It had been a long day, preceded by an even longer night. Amy’s eyes were heavy. They felt like sandpaper. She’d lain awake most of last night.
As the students filed in, she found herself searching for Shayna. There was no sign of her. Bradley sat in the back of the room, alone, and fifteen minutes after class began Amy stopped expecting her to walk through the door.
She thought about calling Quentin to make sure Shayna was all right but figured it would look like a vain attempt to see why he stood her up last night. She wasn’t about to stoop to that level.
Quentin Macmillan had no place in her thoughts or her heart, and it was high time she accepted it.
After class was over, she erased the blackboard then gathered her things. She was about to flip off the lights when Bradley came back in the door.
“Excuse me, Miss Welsh. Do y
ou have a minute?”
“Sure, Bradley. Did you forget something?”
“Yeah. It’s Mr. Macmillan. Shayna wanted me to tell you about last night. I wasn’t sure if you’d heard, and I didn’t want to tell you in front of everyone—just in case.”
“What are you talking about?” Alarmed, Amy clutched her briefcase tight to her chest.
“There—he—”
“Bradley?” Her tone was sharper than she intended. “What is it?”
“He’s in the hospital. There was an accident yesterday afternoon. Quentin wrecked his truck.”
Amy didn’t wait for the rest. She raced down the hall, still clutching her briefcase. It didn’t matter that there was a rule about running in the halls. She had to get to Quentin.
****
Amy stood in the doorway, breath held, watching Quentin as he slept in the uncomfortable looking hospital bed. At first glance, he appeared far too healthy to be here. Thank the Lord. His color was good, and he didn’t even have an IV.
So many feelings flooded her. She wanted to step inside the room but was afraid. What would his reaction be? Would he be happy to see her, or would he wonder why she wasn’t here last night? She really had no right to be here. Especially since she, once again, had leapt to the wrong conclusion and been conceited enough to think it was all about her. Why hadn’t she stopped to think something might be wrong?
She really owed him an apology.
As quiet as possible, she tiptoed over to the bed. Now that she was closer she could see the bruises on his forehead and right side of his face. She started to reach out and caress his cheek but pulled her hand back at the last instant.
Quentin stirred and his eyelids fluttered. Squinting as if trying to bring her face into focus, he finally smiled.
“Amy?”
“Hey,” she said softly. “How are you doing?”
“Better now that you’re here.” He reached for her, and she willingly took his hand. It was firm and warm, and he curled it around hers.
“I would have been here sooner but I— I didn’t know. Bradley just told me a few minutes ago.”
“Bradley.” Quentin caressed the back of her hand with his thumb. “He’s a good kid.”
Amy couldn’t help but smile. “I told you.”
“Did he tell you he’s the one who found me? He called 9-1-1 and stayed with me until they arrived. Then he called Shayna.”
“He’s not as bad as you thought, is he?”
“Not at all. He acted very responsibly.”
“I’m glad. Can I get you anything?”
“Nothing.” He patted the bed, somewhere in the vicinity of his knees. “Just sit.”
“Are you sure I should?”
“I think you should, so I’m sure it’s OK.” He spoke in a sleepy, lazy manner. “They want their patients to be happy.”
Amy felt her heart catch. Quentin was hurting, yet he intimated that having her nearby would make him happy. Smoothing the spot he’d indicated, she sat.
“So, tell me what happened. How did you wreck your truck?”
“Sheer stupidity. I was so distracted; I had no business on the road. None.”
He told her about Russ Miller, and his betrayal of their friendship. “I still can’t believe he did this.”
“What are you going to do?”
Quentin shrugged. “I’m not going to have him arrested or anything like that. But I can’t afford to have him working for me, either.”
“I’m sure he’d be too embarrassed to come back, anyway.”
“Probably. I know Russ, and the humiliation will eat at him until it destroys him. That, in itself, is bad enough.”
Quentin’s eyes drifted shut as his voice grew softer. Amy recognized exhaustion when she saw it.
“Let’s not talk about it anymore right now. You need to rest.” She started to rise, but he held tight to her hand. Perhaps he wasn’t as exhausted as she thought.
“Amy,” he whispered thickly. “Don’t leave me.”
The plea tore at her heart. Was he asking her to stay at the hospital or stay in his life? She suspected a little of both, and she wanted him to mean both. But was she ready to step past the humiliation and pain he’d caused her?
It was certainly well past time. But it was easier said than done.
As if he sensed her inner struggle, Quentin opened his eyes. He tried to sit up, but Amy managed to convince him to stay put.
“Is there something else you need?”
Relaxing back against the pillows, Quentin whispered one more thing before he let go of her hand. “Forgiveness, Amy. Remember?”
“I remember, Quentin. And I’m trying.” As soon as she spoke the words, she knew she truly meant them.
“Good. Thank you. I hope you’ll still feel that way when I tell you the rest.”
The rest. A chill shimmied up Amy’s spine. Quentin watched her with an odd expression and she couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking.
“Is something wrong? Do you need something?”
Quentin continued to watch her for a moment before nodding. “Ice chips.”
The paper cup of ice chips sat on his bedside tray. Amy shook off her sense of foreboding, stood from the bed and picked up the ice chips. As she did, Quentin tried to reach for them. “No.” She shook her head. “Let me do it.”
He made a face, but she lifted the spoon of ice to his lips. It was the least she could do. When she set the cup down, he reached for her hand.
“Amy, don’t be mad at me, OK?”
“Why on earth would I be mad?”
“Because I didn’t show up last night.”
“Of course, I’m not mad. I’m just glad you’re going to be OK.”
He was strangely quiet.
“Quentin? You are going to be OK, aren’t you?”
“That’s the other reason you might be mad.”
Confused, she stared at him. He reached out and stroked her cheek, then gestured for her to move away. She stepped back, still confused even when Quentin sat up without a struggle.
“I’m going to be just fine. The doctor left just before you got here and said I could go home as soon as someone could pick me up. I heard you talking to the nurse in the hallway, so I pretended to be asleep.” He looked sheepish. “I guess I wanted you to give me some tender loving care.”
She wasn’t mad. She wanted to smack him with his pillow, but she wasn’t mad. In fact...she was kind of pleased.
“Amy, my truck’s a wreck. Would you take me home?”
In that moment her heart felt lighter and she knew the Lord had just lifted a little more of the pain from her heart.
15
It wasn’t quite daylight when Amy stepped out on the back porch on Thursday morning. She had to get an early start this morning. It seemed the closer it grew to the end of the school year, the more work there was to do and the only way to finish everything was to go in early.
She walked down to the pen to let Rufus out, and thought of Quentin. She couldn’t help it. Every time she looked at his duck, she thought about him. He was doing well, the soreness had eased, and he was planning to go back to work today. His truck was being repaired, and he had to drive a rental car that he kept complaining about.
She hadn’t seen him since Monday night when she’d taken him home from the hospital, though they’d talked on the phone a few times. She’d just been too busy with school. At least that’s what she’d managed to convince herself.
Truthfully, Amy was more than a little afraid of her feelings for him. They’d grown. Changed. They weren’t the same feelings she’d had as a teenager. They weren’t even the same feelings she’d experienced after they’d spent the evening together at the drive-in. This was something much greater.
If she had to pinpoint what had changed, she’d have to say it began with the forgiveness. Once Amy realized she wasn’t upset with him any longer, something in her heart changed. She no longer looked at Quentin with suspic
ion, like he was going to hurt her again. She still felt like she was second-rate to Karen and really didn’t understand why it was OK for Quentin to marry Karen so soon after Amy left town. But she was dealing with it.
After putting food out for the duck, she headed back into the house to do a final check of the kitchen before leaving for work. The iron was unplugged; the stove was off. Amy gathered her briefcase and purse from the kitchen table then glanced out the window. Perhaps she should grab a sweater. It was gray, overcast, and didn’t look like the sun had any intention of coming out today.
A flurry of movement in the yard caught her eye and she stepped closer to the window.
At first she thought it was a cat, but it was too big. She opened the back door. At the sound, the animal raised its head. A raccoon. A cute, furry little bandit. He stared straight at her for a fraction of a second, then bent his head and went back to whatever he was doing.
It took another split second for Amy to realize what the raccoon had in its grasp. When she did, she gasped and raced down the steps.
“Get away! Go,” she screamed. The raccoon looked at her but didn’t move.
“Go!” Amy screamed again and ran closer.
Frantically, she looked around for something to throw. Nothing. She pulled off her shoe and threw it at the animal. The raccoon fled.
“Rufus. Oh, Rufus.” Amy ran over to the injured duck. He lay on the ground near his pen. His neck was bent at a funny angle and blood dampened his green feathers.
She raced to the house and grabbed a towel and her cell phone. After she had the duck wrapped as best she could, she punched in Quentin’s number.
“Quentin! A raccoon. The duck. He’s bad. I don’t know what to do. Please hurry!”
“I’ll be right there.”
Five minutes later, Quentin pulled up in his little rental car, unshaven, hair rumpled, in gray sweats, smelling of minty toothpaste.
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