The sander bucked in his hands and he hit the trigger to turn the motor off. He’d hit an exposed nailhead, something he could have avoided if he’d been paying closer attention. He checked, and sure enough, the sandpaper had torn, as well as a corner of the base pad.
Great.
“You look like a ghost.”
Quinn glanced over his shoulder. Lisa stood in the front entrance, the afternoon sun turning her hair into a halo and casting her face in shadow. She walked toward him, a tentative smile on her face, her high heels clicking on the marble floor.
“Where’s Amy?” he asked, glancing over her shoulder.
“I dropped her at home. She’s still pretty hungover. I think she was going to try to have a nap.”
He turned back to the concession stand, wiping sawdust off the countertop with his flattened hand. The silence stretched between them but he wasn’t about to break it. She was the one who’d come here and sought him out. She could do the heavy lifting.
“Do you really hate me that much, Quinn?”
“I don’t hate you.”
“You can barely stand to look at me.”
She’d always loved a bit of melodrama.
“I’m busy, in case you hadn’t noticed. The more stuff I get done while I’m in town, the less Amy has to do on her own.”
“You’re angry with me.”
He turned to face her fully. Clearly, she was determined to have a confrontation.
“What do you expect? You knew I was here, helping Amy. And you suddenly turn up, acting as though it’s a coincidence.”
“I’m not playing games, Quinn. I’ve been thinking about home a lot lately. About us, and Amy, how things were when we were all growing up. Do you know that apart from the two times when we broke up in high school and that one time at university, I haven’t been single since I was fifteen?”
It was on the tip of his tongue to point out that she’d been so far from single at one time that she’d actually had both a husband and a lover, but it would only prolong the discussion.
Six months ago, he would have relished the opportunity to go at her hammer and tongs, lash her with all her wrongs, parade his hurt and sense of betrayal in front of her. Now he didn’t see the point. Why waste the energy? They’d been married. He’d given it his best shot. He’d made mistakes. So had she, the last one being a real doozy. What had once been between them was broken, never to be repaired. There was nothing left to do bar sign the papers that dissolved their marriage so they could both move on.
“I don’t know what you want from me,” he said.
“Well, that makes two of us.”
That surprised him. Lisa fiddled with one of her rings. It took him a moment to recognize it as her wedding band, worn on her right hand now.
“Believe it or not, I never meant to hurt you, Quinn. I know that probably sounds disingenuous considering what I did, but it’s true. I was so miserable, and I didn’t know how to fix anything, so I made it worse.”
Man, he hated hearing that she’d been miserable in their marriage, even though he knew it must have been true for her to have the affair. He’d thought over those last years again and again, trying to work out in his own mind what he’d said or not said, done or not done that had pushed her into turning away from him instead of toward him. He’d never come up with a satisfactory answer.
“You want to conduct a postmortem? Is that it?” he asked.
“Do you think it would make any difference?”
“To what?”
“To us. To you being able to look me in the eye and have a civil conversation with me. Maybe even be friends again.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “You want to be friends now?”
Was that what this was all about?
“It would be nice to think that we could salvage something from this mess. We used to be good friends, you and I. We used to enjoy each other. Remember?”
He studied her for a long beat, looking into her clear blue eyes, noting the slight flush on her high cheekbones, the expensive sheen of her hair. She looked beautiful, as always—and very unhappy. He could see it in the way she clenched her hands together, in the tension in the tendons of her neck and the new lines around her eyes. She felt guilty about what had happened, obviously. Wanted to try to make things right between them, ease her conscience.
He shook his head. “We can’t turn back the clock, Lis.”
“I’m not expecting you to invite me over to your place to hang out and watch the TV or anything. It’s just…I miss you. I miss talking with you.”
Her quiet words affected him more than he wanted them to. He picked up the sander and started removing the torn sandpaper. As he’d just said, they couldn’t turn back the clock.
When he didn’t say anything, Lisa cleared her throat. “I guess I’ll get out of your hair, then.”
She waited a moment longer, giving him one last opportunity to step in. With what, he wondered. Absolution? A knock-knock joke? Then she turned and headed for the door.
He fingered the torn sandpaper once she was gone.
She wanted to be friends. She missed him.
He threw the sandpaper in the trash. It pissed him off no end, but he felt guilty for not responding to her overture. Despite all the great reasons he had for not wanting to have her in his life. Which showed how impossible it was to completely sever the emotional ties that had bound the two of them together for so many years.
Perhaps it would be different if they hadn’t grown up together as well as having been married. She was part of his personal history in so many ways. She’d been his first kiss, his first girlfriend. She’d been there when he took his first tentative steps into adulthood.
She was right. They had once been good friends. She had a sharp mind and he’d always enjoyed debating the merits of an argument with her. And no one could party like Lisa—when she let her hair down, anything could happen. Some of the worst hangovers of his life could be laid directly at her door. She’d always been generous with praise and gifts and her open-handedness was one of the things he’d loved about her the most.
He’d lost a good friend as well as his wife and lover when she’d betrayed him. And no matter what happened between them in the future, they would never be able to recapture the old ease. It was gone, for good. And it was bloody sad.
Outside, a car sounded its horn and he realized he’d been staring at the silent sander for too long. He checked his watch, then made a decision. Lisa had said she’d dropped Amy at home. It was time for them to finish the conversation they’d started this morning.
He locked up the theatre and headed for his car. In a perfect world, he should probably wait until Amy had had a chance to recover from her hangover with a few hours’ sleep before descending on her, but he’d waited all night and most of the day. He wasn’t waiting any longer.
His gut was churning by the time he pulled into Amy’s street. As much as he hated to admit it, Lisa’s visit had thrown him. He parked in front of her house and took a moment to shake the sawdust from his hair, trying to clear his head at the same time. Then he swung the door open and started to climb out of the car.
Do you really hate me that much?
We used to be friends.
We used to enjoy each other.
He froze, one booted foot on the road, the other still in the car as Lisa’s words echoed inside him.
If he and Amy entered into a relationship and it failed, would he be having the exact same conversation with her in a few years? Facing the same sense of failure and loss? Would he one day be looking at her with anger in his gut and thinking about how much they’d lost?
He lowered his head and stared at the asphalt.
He thought about Amy, and her drunken declaration, and that kiss…God, that kiss. He thought about Lisa and his divorce and the loss of something that had once been good.
I can’t do this.
The thought came from his gut, pure instinct.
No way could he risk losing Amy the way he’d already lost Lisa. Not Amy. She meant too much to him. She was so much a part of him, of his life. If things screwed up…If he let her down or she let him down or if life somehow conspired to throw more at them than they could handle, he didn’t know how he would be able to move on from the loss.
He needed her in his life. It was that simple. And if the trade-off for guaranteeing the endurance of their friendship was the sacrifice of his desire to kiss and caress and hold her…then so be it.
He let his breath out on a long, heavy sigh. Then he pulled his foot back into the car, closed the door and started the engine.
As he drove away he thought about how much courage it must have taken for Amy to break sixteen years of silence and declare herself. Some of it had been liquid courage, sure, but he had no doubt that she’d had to work herself up to appearing on his doorstep with her heart in her hands.
He felt as though he was letting her down, denying them a chance without even exploring the potential of what lay between them.
Then he thought about the sadness in Lisa’s eyes and the bitter taste his marriage had left in his mouth.
I’m sorry, Ames. I need you in my life too much to risk screwing things up with you, too.
AMY WOKE EARLY the next morning. She showered, ate breakfast and drove to the Grand even though it was barely six.
Once there, she flicked on the lights and did a slow tour, trying to get her head around what needed doing next and not think about the mess that was her private life.
A futile effort, at the best of times.
She stopped by the concession stand, noting that Quinn had made a start on it yesterday. She ran her hand over the newly stripped wood. Then she turned away and climbed the stairs to the upper foyer.
“You’re a mad cow,” she said to herself as she reached the top. “A mad, irrational, contrary cow.”
Because she was angry with Quinn. There was no getting around it. She’d waited all afternoon and all night for him to call or come by her house. Even though she’d told him in no uncertain terms that she wanted to forget all about her declaration. Even though she’d been marinating in guilt since Lisa had unfolded her slim body from her expensive European car and reminded Amy of everything that was at stake.
She’d wanted Quinn to come to her, to force her to discuss what had happened. She’d wanted him to override all her objections and denials and say all the things she’d waited half a lifetime to hear.
Which made her officially crazy, because she already knew how he felt, what he wanted: to be friends. Period. He’d already told her so, after they’d kissed. And he’d told her again with his body language when she’d blurted out her drunken confession. Yet she’d still tensed every time she heard a car in the street last night.
Frustrated with herself, Amy tackled reorganizing their building supplies, forcibly keeping her tangled thoughts at bay with bruising physical labor. By the time she heard Quinn’s heavy tread in the rear exit corridor she was covered with sweat from lugging paint cans and ladders around. She stood and wiped her forearm across her forehead as Quinn entered the theatre.
“Hi,” she said. Her belly muscles did their usual tighten-release thing at the sight of him, hair still damp from the shower, thighs long and lean in worn denim. She might be angry and disappointed in him, but she still wanted him.
“How did your lunch go?”
“Good. Lis and I had a nice catch-up.”
She risked a glance at his face but couldn’t get a read on his mood.
“I saw you started on the concession stand,” she said. “Should come up well.”
“Yeah. Going to take a bit of work, though.”
“Yep. Lot of wood there.”
“Might need to get some paint stripper onto the carved sections,” he said.
“Right. I can get some stuff from the store later. Or you can go grab it if you like…?”
Dear God. This was excruciating. There were so many dead cows in the room it was a wonder either of them could fit.
You did this, Amy. You made things this way.
And the best thing was, there was more to come, thanks to the phone call she’d received from Lisa last night.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” she said suddenly. Might as well get it over and done with. “Lisa offered to help out at the Grand while she’s in town. I didn’t know how you’d feel about it. But I didn’t want to say no, either. So…”
Quinn’s jaw tensed.
“Sorry.” It felt woefully inadequate. She was well aware that he hadn’t taken time off work so he could rub shoulders with his estranged wife.
“It’s not your fault. How long is she here?”
Amy pushed her hair back from her forehead. She hated having a conversation that cast Lisa as the stinky kid, but the reality was that Quinn had every right to not want to spend time with her. It was an awkward situation, any way you looked at it.
“Two days, I think.”
He glanced at the floor for a long moment, then nodded. “Okay. Where do you want me today? Back on the concession stand?”
“I know it’s uncomfortable,” she said. “I didn’t know how to put her off without hurting her feelings.”
“It’s all right, Ames. I’m a big boy. I can handle it. Where do you want me?”
He didn’t want to talk about it. Which made two of them.
“You’ve made a great start on the stand. So if you wanted to keep at it, that would be great.”
“Sure.” He exited to the foyer.
Amy closed her eyes for a long beat. If only she’d had the presence of mind to politely deflect Lisa’s offer. And if only Lisa hadn’t asked in the first place.
She’d made a start in the ladies’ bathroom by the time Lisa arrived an hour later. Lisa struck a pose in the doorway, showing off what was obviously a brand-new pair of jeans and a crisp white T-shirt. “Check it out. The best Daylesford fashion has to offer. Good look for me, huh?”
She was being sarcastic since the jeans were about fifteen years out of date, but Lisa could make sackcloth look good.
“That T-shirt is going to stay clean for approximately sixty seconds. You know that, right?” Amy said, pushing her protective eye goggles up onto her forehead.
“Sacrifices have to be made. So, where do you want me?” Lisa rubbed her hands together as though she couldn’t wait to dive into work.
Amy gestured toward the wall where she was scraping tile. “Grab a dust mask and some goggles and get banging. When we’re done here, there’s the gents’ next door to tackle.”
Amy had half expected Lisa to balk at the prospect of chipping tile off with a hammer and chisel, but she reached for the second pair of safety goggles without hesitation.
“Was Quinn okay about me helping out?” she asked after a short silence.
Amy hesitated a moment, wondering what her obligations were in this situation. Protect Lisa’s feelings? Play peacekeeper?
“He wasn’t exactly jumping for joy, but he’s cool with it,” she said, deciding simple honesty would have to do the trick.
A flicker of hurt crossed Lisa’s face. Then she mustered a smile. “Well. I guess I should get used to that. So, am I just smashing the hell out of this stuff or is there an art to it?”
They worked side by side all morning. The tension banding Amy’s chest slowly dissolved as she and Lisa caught up on each other’s lives. It was uncomfortable hearing her friend talk about Stuart, the man she’d left Quinn for, but Amy figured she was going to have to get used to it if she and Lisa were to continue being friends. They were laughing about one of Lisa’s court stories when Quinn appeared in the doorway.
“Lunch is up.”
He didn’t hang around for a response, slipping out the door and into the theatre. Amy tugged off her goggles and tried not to feel like a traitor because she’d been giggling with the enemy.
When she and Lisa entered the foyer they
discovered Quinn had been out and bought rolls and doughnuts from the bakery, as well as large take-out coffees. He nudged the one marked low-fat toward Lisa wordlessly. She looked surprised for a moment before she took it and murmured a thank-you.
Amy watched them both surreptitiously as she ate her ham and salad roll. Ostensibly Quinn looked at ease, sprawled on the stairs, but she wondered if it was an act. Lisa kept up a steady stream of chatter about nothing much, a sure sign she was nervous. Amy swallowed the last bite of her roll as quickly as possible.
Not the most pleasant and relaxed meal of her lifetime, that was for sure.
She and Lisa went back to work once they’d polished off their doughnuts and by late afternoon they’d stripped all the walls bare.
“Coffee break,” Amy declared as the last tile smashed to the floor. She sat back on her heels, dropped her hammer and chisel and shook out her aching arms.
“Isn’t there a machine you can hire that can do this for you?” Lisa asked from the other side of the room.
She sounded exhausted and Amy spared her a glance. Her face was coated with dust and dirt and, as Amy had predicted, her T-shirt was beyond redemption.
“Probably, but I can’t afford it,” Amy said with a tired grin.
“I’ll give you the money. Hell, I’ll buy you the machine, no matter what it costs. Consider it a donation.”
Amy pushed herself to her feet. “Come on. I’ll buy you another one of those disgusting low-fat lattes you love so much and you’ll feel better.”
Quinn was working on the front panel of the counter when they passed. He glanced up at Amy when she rested a hand on his shoulder to get his attention but didn’t turn the sander off. She mimed drinking a coffee and he nodded yes. Amy unlocked the front door and started walking toward the Gourmet Larder.
“I hope I haven’t made things weird between you and Quinn,” Lisa said after a moment.
Amy shot her a wary look. “What do you mean?”
“Well, it was just the two of you, before I came along. I’d hate to think I was cramping your style, making things weird between you both.”
Her Best Friend Page 17