Leaving Bluestone

by Fredrick, MJ

  “Fine.” Leo shoved himself away from the bar. “Just don’t subject the rest of us to your temper when you’re together.”

  ***

  July bled over to August, passed by morning fishing trips, weekly poker games, weekend movies, concerts and baseball games. Business started dropping off during the week as more families stayed home and got ready to start the school year. Then the long weekends dwindled and before they knew it, Labor Day weekend was upon them, the last hurrah to make money to head through the cold winter. Maddox returned from Nashville, where he’d been recording his new album, and played Saturday night, and there was a craft show that Trinity had helped set up, and the baseball game on Monday.

  Lily kept her distance from Quinn. She couldn’t stand to hear him talk about selling the bar, how many people had called, though she knew only one person had actually driven out to look at the place. Now Quinn was talking about lowering the price to make it more appealing, and her stomach knotted. She’d thought after this summer that he’d see how wonderful this place was—how wonderful she was—and decide to stay. She was wrong. So wrong.

  Seeing her friends paired off didn’t help her peace of mind. She almost missed Adam, just to have a companion, but she didn’t want Adam. She wanted Quinn. And she was ready to do something about it.

  She headed over to his house after the bar closed on Wednesday night. He opened the door, his face drawn, his body tight. Immediately, she knew something was wrong.

  “What is it?”

  “My dad’s in the hospital. I’ve got to go.”

  She looked past him to see the open duffel on the couch and folded clothes piled about. “When did you find out?”

  “About an hour ago.”

  “What can I do? Help you pack? Get the keys to the bar?”

  His eyes flashed, making her think he hadn’t considered that. “Yeah, that’d be good. Beth knows how to make orders and things like that—”

  “So do I.”

  “The password to my computer is…”

  “I know your password.”

  He stopped and looked at her. “You do not.”

  “I do. It’s 08NEDLA.” His last name and birth year backwards.

  He blinked. “How did you figure that out?”

  She shrugged and stepped past him into the house. “What else do you need? Do you have a flight booked?”

  “Out of Brainerd. Cost an extra arm, but it’s faster.”

  “Do you want me to take you?”

  “No, I’ll leave my car there so it’s waiting when I get home. No idea when that will be.” He loaded a stack of clothes into the duffel then stopped, his hands on his hips. “I should take my suit.”

  She opened her mouth to ask why, then realized. He thought he’d be attending his father’s funeral.

  She turned to his duffel. “You have your cell phone charger?”

  “I don’t think I’ll be making many calls.”

  “We may need to call you.” And hope that he would call her if he needed to talk.

  “Good point. It’s on the counter over there.” He pointed to the breakfast bar.

  She retrieved it, wound it up and handed it to him. “Anything else I can do?”

  He stepped back, his gaze fixed on the duffel, and shook his head. “I can’t think of anything.”

  She wanted to ask if he wanted her to go with him. Now she knew about his childhood, she knew how hard this trip would be for him. “Are you staying at the house?”

  “No, thank God. I got a motel room. Not anything fancy, but I’ll have time to myself.”

  She nodded. Then, when she couldn’t think of anything else he’d need from her, she stepped close and folded her arms around him, pressing her head to his chest beneath his chin. He hesitated a minute, then closed his arms around her tightly, resting his cheek against her hair and blowing out a sigh. God, she could stay here forever, against him, offering him—whatever he wanted to take from her.

  Then he released her and moved back, keeping his head turned away. She felt bereft and wrapped her arms around herself. “Call me if you need anything.”

  But she knew he wouldn’t.

  Chapter Five

  Quinn sat crushed between a middle-aged woman on the aisle who jumped every time his arm brushed hers, and a snoozing over-sized teen who insisted on keeping the window shade down, which only made Quinn’s situation more claustrophobic.

  Less than two hours, and this was a hell of a lot better than the situation he’d find when he landed. He hadn’t been home since his sister’s wedding eleven years ago, and he hadn’t left on a good note then. But now he was older, his own man—though he’d been in the service then and feeling confident about his choices—and he could face his family.

  Part of him longed to bring Lily with him, just to have someone to unwind with. He wondered if any of his brothers played poker, but he knew that wasn’t what he wanted Lily for. She was so even-headed, and he’d probably need that after five minutes with his mother.

  He picked up the Sky Mall catalogue, thumbed through it, then tucked it back in the pocket. The woman to his left was reading on one of those e-reader devices, and the font was big enough that he could tell it was a hot romance. A smoking romance, based on what he could see. The sleeper next to him had an iPod, the earbuds jammed in his ears. Great, and he hadn’t even thought to grab a book or something. He sat back in his seat, closed his eyes, and felt Lily in his arms.

  He landed in Wichita, got a rental car and drove northwest. The landscape where he’d spent his childhood looked alien after the trees of Minnesota. This was the prairie, rolling hills, squares of land broken up for crops. The farmhouses were similar, spread apart, but the feel was nothing like home.

  Home. Where the hell had that thought come from?

  He drove through the tiny town of Jarvis, brick-fronted buildings right on the sidewalk, flat-faced, the place he’d come to escape the tension at home. The movie theater was closed, he saw, but it had been on its last legs when he was eighteen, only showing two movies at a time. The five and dime was gone, too, the building it had occupied was empty. Interesting that he’d gone from a dying small town to a dying small town. This place clearly didn’t have a Lily Prater around to shake things up.

  The urge to reach for his phone to call her was strong, but the street to his folks’ house came up. It wasn’t likely they were there—the old man was in the hospital in McPherson, the closest hospital. Still, he turned, his stomach knotting as he drove down the familiar tree-lined street. Most of the houses looked worse for wear. One or two had been renovated, some had been painted, including the one where he’d grown up. But a lot more were run-down, the yards dying, boards missing from white picket fences. Old cars sat in driveways.

  Depressing as hell.

  A couple of cars sat on the cracked driveway in front of his parents’ house. Maybe someone was home after all. He pulled up in front of the crumbling curb and parked. With a deep breath, he shoved open the door and got out. He smoothed a hand down the front of his shirt, tucking it into his jeans before he headed up the sidewalk and knocked on the door.

  The face on the woman who opened the door was a younger version of his mom, and a moment passed before Quinn’s sister Rose recognized him, and her round face creased with a smile. She pushed open the door wider and flung herself at him.

  “You came. I didn’t know if you would.”

  “I said I would.” He returned her hug half-heartedly. He didn’t know this woman, not anymore. She didn’t look like the scrawny kid with the skinned knees who had tried so hard to keep up with her big brothers. She’d become plump and red-cheeked, the picture of a farmer’s wife, which she was now, and mother of three. All boys. He imagined she had a time keeping up with them.

  She’d stayed close to home, had married right out of high school to the guy who’d knocked her up. Quinn had wanted to kick some ass when he learned she was ending her dream of being a clothes designer. The
girl could have sewn anything, spent most of her high school years copying fashion from magazines to wear to school. Now she wore elastic-waisted pants and a button-down blouse.

  He drew away and she looked past him to the car. “Did you come alone?”

  “Yeah.” Who had she expected him to bring? “I wasn’t sure anyone would be here. Thought you might be at the hospital.”

  “Dad needed his robe and the kids were getting restless so I brought them back for a bit. I’m getting ready to head back. We can go together. You haven’t met my kids.”

  That gave him a twinge. She turned around and yelled into the house, sounding so much like their mother that suddenly he was a kid again. Footsteps pounded on the wooden floor and three boys appeared in the hallway, stopping short when they saw Quinn. One boy was a head taller than Rose, another came to her shoulder, and the third was just a toddler.

  “Quinn, this is Rhys, Walker and Ronnie,” she said. “Boys, your uncle Quinn. He’s a soldier. A hero.”

  “Not anymore,” Quinn said when a touch of hero-worship lit the oldest boy’s, Rhys’s, face. “Not for awhile.”

  “Still a hero.” Rose tucked her arm through his and leaned her cheek against his tattoo. “We need to get back to the hospital. Why don’t you ride with us?”

  He didn’t want to, wanted to be alone, but it was probably a good idea to go, to get to know his sister again, maybe have an ally over the next few days. He nodded and followed her out to her minivan. She unlocked the passenger seat and spent several minutes clearing off the detritus on the seat—receipts, reusable grocery bags, half-used bottles of hand sanitizer. She tossed it into the back seat as her boys climbed in, and he saw more crap in the back. She smiled apologetically over her shoulder at him.

  “Boys, you know.”

  He made a noncommittal noise and climbed into the passenger seat and untangled the seatbelt before fastening it. Rose started the car on the third try and backed out of the driveway, narrowly missing his rental car. He took advantage of the “O.S.” handle above the window as they headed through town and out to McPherson.

  Behind him, the boys nudged and argued and kicked the back of his chair while his sister drove on, oblivious.

  “So you own a bar now? How do you like it? You doing well?”

  “Business is picking up again,” he said, trying to remember if he’d ever told her he owned a bar. “May slow now that winter’s coming.”

  “I don’t know how you can stand those winters up there. Didn’t you have snow in May or something?”

  “Not this year, but in years past, yes. It’s rough, but you learn. Nothing like Kansas winters, though we had some hellacious blizzards growing up.”

  “Still do, now and again, but very rarely past February.”

  They were talking about the weather after eleven years apart. How sad was that? He didn’t know how to make conversation.

  “And you’re liking living out on the farm? How’s that going?”

  “We had a pretty good year. Got some bills paid off, including this one.” She patted the steering wheel of the minivan that looked to be at least ten years old. Maybe that was just wear and tear.

  “That’s good. How’s Dad?”

  Okay, maybe he shouldn’t have just blurted it like that. Her nose pinched and she kept her gaze on the road in front of her, for a change. “He’s apparently been sick for a while and hasn’t told anyone. So it’s pretty bad.”

  “He’s too stubborn to die.”

  A ghost of a smile lifted the corners of her mouth, but she didn’t respond.

  “Are Liam and Jared at the hospital?”

  “Jared is at school. Liam is at work, but he’ll be by later.” She glanced into the rearview mirror at her sons. “Mom’s not handling this too well, so you know.”

  Big surprise. His mother never handled anything well.

  McPherson was closer than he remembered, or at least closer the way Rose drove. In no time, they were at the hospital.

  If any part of him had expected a warm greeting from his parents, that was put to rest as soon as he walked through the door after Rose and her kids. His mother popped out of her chair beside his father’s bed, her face cold, blank.

  “What are you doing here?”

  He planted his feet, hands folded in front of him. “Rose said Dad was in the hospital and that I should come.” He chanced a glance at the old man, who was lying in the bed, an oxygen cannula creasing his face, an IV and monitor wires strapping the big man down. Well, he wasn’t big anymore. He was wasted and thin, and how no one hadn’t figured out he was sick, he had no idea. His father’s eyes were barely open, and Quinn had no idea if the man knew he was there.

  Suddenly, his mother was in front of him, only coming up to the middle of his chest. “You haven’t been home in a dozen years, but you hear your father is under the weather and you come hurrying back? Are you looking to get back in the will?”

  “Under the weather?” he asked, incredulous. “And, no, I don’t want anything from you.” Except to find peace, maybe, in their relationship. To mend fences, but not so he could come back and be a part of their lives. To say good-bye to his father peacefully. By the looks of it, he’d come in the nick of time. Whether he’d be allowed…

  “You just want what you think is coming to you,” his mother accused. “Trying to get in our good graces.”

  They’d never had good graces. But he’d come to make peace, not trouble. “I wanted to see my father. I don’t need anything from any of you.” If only that was true. If it was, he wouldn’t be here.

  “Well, your father is—not awake,” his mother said, returning his steady gaze. “Come back later.”

  Not awake? The man was unconscious. But he stepped backwards. “I’ll wait in the hall, since I came with Rose.”

  “You won’t.” Rose stepped forward and took his hand, guiding him to the bed beside his father. “Dad, look who came to see you.” She placed his hand on his father’s cold, wrinkled one.

  The man who had always been so big and stern was small and weak. His skin was loose and bruised, once strong arms slack. Quinn’s stomach turned to see the tattoos that had once fascinated him now faded and misshapen. He resisted the urge to rub his own tattoo.

  His child would never be afraid of him, though. His child would know love and support.

  He’d never really thought about having a child before, but imagined one now, a little boy like Rose’s youngest, plump and happy and running into his arms from his mother.

  Lily.

  No, he didn’t have room for her here. She was sunshine and this place…wasn’t.

  His father’s eyelids fluttered and he met Quinn’s gaze with eyes identical to his. His loose mouth twisted into a snarl. For a moment, Quinn was eight years old again. He wanted to pull away, bolt, go back home, be out on the boat fishing, playing poker with Lily.

  “You,” his father rasped. “Never thought I’d see you again.”

  But it wasn’t a welcoming tone, a loving tone. But then George Alden had never used a loving tone with his children.

  “Figures I’d have to be on my death-bed before you’d return. Worthless.”

  “Dad, Quinn’s a hero.”

  George’s nostrils flared. “The hell he is. A hero doesn’t slink away when his duty’s done. He stands up and is proud, makes his family proud.”

  “He didn’t slink away.”

  “He didn’t come back here, did he?”

  “I wasn’t sure of my welcome.” He’d left under, well, bad circumstances didn’t begin to cover it. And his welcome today had proved his instincts right. “I’ll be in the waiting room when you’re ready,” he said to his sister, and stepped back, then into the hall.

  He was just getting comfortable in the stiff upholstered chair, cursing himself for spending the money to get down here, the hours away from Bluestone when the weather was still gorgeous, when a tall figure walked through the door. He rose even before recognition s
truck.

  “Liam.”

  His older brother hesitated almost comically, mid-step, and pivoted. He squinted a moment, that mean-eyed squint so like their father’s, and then his brother embraced him, clapping him on the back, surprising the hell out of him.

  “I sure as hell didn’t think you’d come back here. What did the folks say?”

  Quinn spread his hands to indicate his surroundings. “This might give you a clue.”

  “Ah, they’ll come around. Was just a shock, I’m sure.”

  “I’m just here waiting for Rose. I came up with her and her boys.”

  Liam laughed, another surprise. This Liam seemed more light-hearted than the brother he’d grown up battling.

  “That’s an adventure. Come back with me and my wife. You haven’t met her. She’ll be along in a bit. Had to stop to go to the bathroom. Pregnant again.”

  All that statement needed was a chest-thumping. “How many kids do you have?”

  “This’ll be number three.”

  Three was apparently a magic number in his family.

  “What about you? You got kids?”

  “Not married.”

  “No one can put up with your bull, huh?”

  “That’s probably true.”

  A pretty redhead came around the corner then, breathless, her hand resting on the top of her round belly. Liam greeted her with a tender kiss that surprised Quinn more than the welcome embrace. Maybe this was the reason he was different, this woman.

  “Tammy, meet my younger brother Quinn.”

  The pretty young woman smiled and offered her hand. Quinn couldn’t help smiling in return. Well, hell.

  “Quinn, I’m so glad to finally meet you. I’m sorry it’s under such bad circumstances.”

  “What are the circumstances, exactly?” Quinn asked, sitting down again. “Rose talked a lot coming up here, but she didn’t want to tell me in front of the kids.”

  Liam sat across from him, Tammy perching on the chair behind him, balancing on the arm. “Stage four colon cancer. Bad. Like, he was being fed through a tube until yesterday. The doctors said maybe a week.”

  “Was he doing chemo or anything?”