Shelter for Quinn

by Susan Stoker

  The ladies even offered to help with the dishes afterward, and Jen insisted that she and Taco could take care of them.

  They finally all settled down in the living room after the dishes had been done.

  Driftwood was next to Quinn on the loveseat, Jen and Taco were on the couch, and Beth was sitting in Sledge’s lap in an oversized chair.

  “So, what do you do for a living, Jen?” Sledge asked. Somehow in all the talk at the dinner table about Beth and Quinn’s jobs, Jen’s never came up.

  “I help my brother with his business. It’s only part-time though, so I have time to do things like cook dinner for Hudson.”

  “And you’re going to school for nursing too, right?” Quinn asked.

  Jen looked at her blankly for a moment, then nodded. “Of course. That too.”

  Taco gave her a small smile.

  “What does your brother do?” Beth asked.

  “He owns his own company,” Jen said.

  “And what’s that?” Beth asked once more, obviously prying for more information.

  “He’s a spiritual advisor.”

  Driftwood blinked. Wow, he wasn’t expecting that.

  “Really?” Beth asked. “I’m not sure I’ve ever met a spiritual advisor. What exactly does he do?”

  Jen looked annoyed now. “He’s like a mentor. He meets with people and helps them with life choices from a spiritual perspective.”

  “What people?” Beth pressed.

  “Why are you so concerned about my brother and what he does?” Jen asked, more than a little belligerently.

  “I’m just curious,” Beth said without raising her voice.

  “He meets with homeless teens and families and tries to help get them back on their feet. He runs a website as well, and answers questions that people ask there.”

  Driftwood could see Beth’s mind spinning. A website meant she could hack into it and find out more information. Sledge obviously realized the same thing, because Driftwood saw him put his hand on Beth’s leg and squeeze in warning.

  “Hey, did you guys hear about the call the guys got today?” Driftwood asked, wanting to change the subject.

  “No, what?” Taco asked. “I was helping Jen most of the day.”

  “And I was…um…helping Beth. What’s up?” Sledge asked.

  Driftwood knew how Sledge had been “helping” Beth was probably very different than how Taco was helping Jen. He tried not to smirk at his friend’s sexual innuendo.

  “They were called to a grass fire. Which isn’t that unusual around here, but when they got there, they found a DB at the origination point.”

  “A DB?” Jen asked.

  “Dead body,” Taco interpreted.

  “Gross,” Jen said.

  “Anyway, it was burned to a crisp. They couldn’t even tell if it was a female or a male.”

  “Holy cow, what happened?” Quinn asked.

  “Not sure,” Driftwood said. “They’re still investigating, but it looks like it was a homicide.”

  “That’s terrible,” Beth said.

  “Yeah, and unusual. The ME will have to tell us if the person was already dead before they were set on fire.” Driftwood felt Quinn shiver next to him.

  “Disgusting. Can we talk about something else?” Jen asked. “Quinn, I talked to one of my friends who’s a makeup artist, and she said that she wouldn’t mind seeing if she could do anything about your…thing.”

  Quinn stiffened. “My thing? You mean my birthmark?” she asked quietly.

  “Yeah. I told her all about it, and she’s willing to give you a deal. She works out of her home. She said that she could see you next Saturday. I’ll give you her number.”

  Driftwood felt Quinn looking at him, and he turned toward her. She had a weird look on her face. He lifted his eyebrows, silently asking what was wrong.

  She shook her head and turned to look at Jen.

  “Thanks, but I’m okay.”

  “But she could make you look pretty. No one would be able to see it. She could even teach you how to apply the makeup so you could do it yourself. Don’t you want to look like everyone else?”

  It was Driftwood’s turn to stiffen. He didn’t like what Jen was implying. But if Quinn wanted to do it, he wouldn’t stop her.

  “Here, look. I have her card for you.” Jen leaned forward and fished a business card out of her pocket and handed it to Taco, who was sitting closer to Quinn.

  “I don’t think she has to look like everyone else. Quinn’s pretty exactly the way she is already,” Taco said, his brows furrowed as he looked at Jen before leaning forward and handing the card to Quinn.

  “Thanks,” she said softly.

  “So you’ll call and set it up?” Jen asked, ignoring her boyfriend’s words.

  “I’ll think about it,” Quinn said.

  “Great. Maybe I could come over at the same time. I mean, that kind of thing is always more fun with friends, right?”

  “Sure.” It was the right thing to say, but Driftwood didn’t hear much emotion in Quinn’s tone. He dipped his head to look at her, but she looked at Beth. “How’s your brother?”

  “David? He’s great. He got a new job, and he’s now in charge of the online marketing for Campbell’s Soup. They’re based out of Philly, and over the years they’ve seen their revenue fall. In nineteen ninety-six, they were ranked one hundred and seventeen on the Fortune 500 list, but this year they were three hundred and forty-second. So he’s got an uphill climb ahead of him, but he’s super smart and I know he’ll be able to work wonders for them.”

  “Wait…Campbell’s Soup? Didn’t someone post on their Facebook page that their commercial made her sick? The one with two dads enjoying a bowl of soup with their son? I think that post went viral because the company had that great comeback about making sure she enjoyed their soup hot, because it would warm up her cold, dead heart. It was awesome!” Quinn exclaimed.

  Beth nodded. “Yeah, that happened, but it wasn’t Campbell’s that responded. It was an Internet troll pretending to be from the company. It was funny, but of course Campbell’s got blamed.”

  “Oh. People do that?”

  “Do what?” Beth asked.

  “Make up fake customer service accounts to reply to bigoted comments like that?” Quinn asked.

  “Yup. So much of what’s posted on social media is a lie. Not everything, of course. And a lot of crazy people will always post their opinions, even if it’s misogynistic, bigoted, or discriminatory. It’s amazing how many of those comments aren’t lies. Most people who aren’t insane don’t share that kind of thing in public, they keep their crazy to themselves,” Beth said.

  “So are you saying they aren’t allowed to have opinions?” Jen asked.

  “No, not at all. But if you look at Twitter, Facebook, or even Amazon, you’ll see all sorts of off-the-wall posts and reviews. Everyone’s allowed to have an opinion, but when it’s hurtful against any particular population, it’s not cool. I guess having a brother who’s gay has made me super sensitive and less tolerant of people’s bigotry.”

  Driftwood agreed. He’d come across quite a few people in his line of work who had extreme beliefs of one type or another. Typically in regard to medical treatment. They were very hard to deal with because they refused to compromise or hear anyone’s opinion that differed from their own.

  “Well, anyway, congrats to your brother. That’s great that he got the job with Campbell’s.” Quinn smiled at her.

  “I’ll tell him you said that next time I talk to him,” Beth said. Then she yawned. A huge yawn that made Driftwood chuckle.

  “On that note, I think we’d better get going. Beth was up late last night doing something I’m sure I don’t want to know about,” Sledge quipped.

  Driftwood turned to Quinn. “You ready?”

  “Yes,” she said immediately.

  “Then I guess we’ll be going too,” Driftwood told the group.

  Everyone stood and Jen disappeared int
o the kitchen. They were all giving hugs and saying their goodbyes when she returned. “I got you all some water to go,” she said with a smile, handing out bottles of water to everyone.

  “Uh, thanks,” Driftwood said. He wasn’t really thirsty, but he didn’t want to offend Jen. He had no idea why she kept pushing water on him and Quinn. Maybe it was something to do with her nursing studies or staying healthy.

  Taco slapped him on the back and thanked him for coming.

  Within minutes, he and Quinn were back in his truck. He watched as she took a sip of the water, wrinkled her nose, put the cap back on, and placed it in the drink holder between their seats.

  “Not good?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “I’m sure it’s just me.”

  Driftwood wasn’t sure that bottled water actually went bad, but since Quinn was obviously in a weird mood, he didn’t say anything. He started the truck and backed out of the space.

  “Will you take me home?” Quinn asked.

  “What? Why?” Driftwood asked in surprise.

  “I don’t have what I want to wear tomorrow at your place. It’s just easier for me to stay there tonight.”

  “We can stop by and get what you need, then go home,” Driftwood offered.

  “No. That’s okay.”

  Now he was getting a little pissed. “What’s up with you tonight?” he asked, a little harsher than he’d intended.

  “Nothing. It’s just been a long day.”

  “It’s not nothing. You’ve been short all night. Jen went out of her way to make a nice meal, and you and Beth hardly said two words to her at dinner.”

  He saw Quinn clench her hands together in her lap and turn her head to look out the window on her side, effectively cutting him out.

  “Please don’t turn away from me when I’m talking to you,” he bit out in frustration.

  She whipped her head toward him—and Driftwood was shocked to see tears shining in her eyes. He had to alternate paying attention to the road and looking at her. It wasn’t ideal. He didn’t want to fight with her at all, but definitely not while he was driving.

  “Why didn’t you say something back there?” Quinn asked.

  Driftwood was confused. “About what?”

  She sighed. “You always say you’ll never let anyone talk shit to me. But you sat there tonight and let Jen do just that. She basically told me I was ugly, and that the only way I’d ever feel normal was if I let her friend cover my birthmark with layers and layers of makeup. And you sat there and didn’t say a word as she insulted me.”

  Driftwood cringed. He hated that he hadn’t spoken up. “I’m sorry. I should’ve said something.”

  Quinn looked at him for another second before turning her head once again. “You’re right. You should’ve. Instead, Taco had to.”

  Driftwood was frustrated, and slightly exasperated. “What did you want me to say?”

  Quinn shook her head. “If you don’t know, then I can’t explain it.”

  “Taco said Jen doesn’t have a lot of girlfriends. That she works really hard for her brother’s business and doesn’t get out much. I’m sure she didn’t mean to make you feel that way. She was trying to do something nice.”

  “Please. Just take me home,” Quinn said softly.

  Tired of trying to convince her, Driftwood did as she asked.

  When he pulled into her apartment complex, he didn’t say a word as Quinn got out of the truck, but then again, she didn’t speak either. She walked into the lobby of the apartment complex and didn’t look back.

  Smacking his hand on the steering wheel, Driftwood swore.

  He wanted to keep talking this out. Hated to end their night this way. But he had a feeling that anything he’d say right now would be taken the wrong way. That he’d say something he’d regret.

  Feeling as if he had no other choice, he pulled out and headed home.

  Chapter Twelve

  For the first time in a very long time, Quinn called in sick to work the next morning. She wasn’t really sick, even though her stomach was a bit queasy. She felt bad that Sophie was so worried about her, but she told her friend she just had a headache and would be fine by the next day.

  She felt guilty because she knew she had a lot of work to do on the samples she’d had to start over, but she just couldn’t bring herself to get out of bed.

  Remembering the way Jen had so carelessly shredded her to pieces, and how John had sat there, clueless, hurt.

  And Quinn had no doubt that Jen knew exactly what she was saying. She wasn’t as clueless as John and Taco believed. Quinn saw the way Jen stared at her when she thought she wasn’t looking. Saw the curl of her lip when John kissed her on her blemished cheek.

  Hell, she couldn’t even bear to touch her. Quinn hadn’t missed how she’d gone out of her way to avoid it.

  But to have John sit there and not say anything when Jen had declared her friend could make Quinn look “pretty” had been the last straw in her epically bad day.

  She just needed some time alone. She didn’t want to tell John about all the stares yesterday. Didn’t want to explain that when Jen said her friend could make her look “normal,” it made her feel even more like a freak.

  Quinn knew John was upset with her, but she was mad at him right back. Yes, she should’ve said something before she’d gotten out of his truck last night, but she couldn’t. Now she was stuck at her apartment without her car and John was probably pissed way the hell off. She could take an Uber to his house to get her car, but at the moment, she just wanted to stay curled up into a ball and not talk to anyone—and she definitely didn’t want to see anyone. With her luck, she’d call for a ride and the driver would take one look at her and drive off.

  She fell back asleep and woke up when her phone chimed with a text. Then it chimed again. And again.

  Sighing, Quinn reached out from under her cocoon of covers, which didn’t smell nearly as good as John’s sheets did, and grabbed it.

  * * *

  John: Are you all right? Chief told me that Sophie said you called in sick.

  John: I’m worried about you.

  John: You were right. I should’ve spoken up. What Jen said definitely wasn’t cool.

  John: I was thinking too much about trying to be a peacemaker and making Taco feel better about Jen not seeming to fit in that well. I should’ve been thinking about what she said, and how it was making you feel.

  John: I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

  John: Can I come over? I can bring you some soup. :)

  * * *

  How could she stay mad at him when he didn’t hesitate to apologize? He’d taken what she’d said to heart and he was sorry. Quinn wasn’t sure he really understood how Jen had made her feel though. And he wouldn’t…unless she talked to him. Told him.

  * * *

  Quinn: Don’t bring soup. I need doughnuts. Maple and vanilla iced. The cake kind. With sprinkles.

  John: Done. I’ll be there soon.

  * * *

  Quinn threw her phone back on the table next to her bed and snuggled down. She knew she should get up. Put on some real clothes. Brush her teeth. But she felt blah. She didn’t want to move.

  Apparently, she fell back asleep, because the next thing she knew, she heard knocking on her door. Swearing, she stumbled out of bed and hurried down the hall. She checked the peephole before answering…the last thing she wanted to do was open it to find the same religious people she and John had seen the last time she’d stopped by her apartment. They’d started on the first floor, and when they’d knocked on her door, she and John had tried to control their giggles and keep quiet so they wouldn’t know anyone was home.

  Seeing it was indeed John, Quinn opened the door and turned away, knowing he’d shut and lock the door before following her. She went to her room and climbed right back into bed.

  Seconds later, John stood in the doorway. She watched his eyes take in the bedroom. The clothes from the night before strewn in the midd
le of the room, the used tissues on the nightstand and those that had fallen on the floor.

  With only a slight hesitation, he walked toward her and sat on the bed at her hip. Quinn didn’t say anything, but that didn’t seem to hold him back.

  “I’m sorry,” he said immediately. “You were right. I told you that I wouldn’t let anyone get away with bad-mouthing you, and when we were in a place where you should’ve felt safe and content, I let you down. I don’t have an excuse. I was thinking about the DB the guys on the other shift had found and wondering what the fuck was up with that, and before I knew it, Jen was talking about someone teaching you how to do your makeup and handing you a business card.”

  “She said her friend could teach me how to make myself pretty. So I would look normal,” Quinn said in a level voice. “Do you know how many nights I used to lay awake praying I would wake up looking normal? Too many to count. And makeup doesn’t work. My stain is dark enough that by the time enough foundation and cover up is used, it doesn’t look natural. And I’m not like some women, I can’t just put that stuff on my face. I have to put it on my neck too. And both sides. I can’t just use it on my birthmark, because then one side of my face and neck is darker than the other. It takes forever to put on and it always comes off on my clothes. I’ve tried it, John. All of it. You name it, I’ve done it. I even used bleach on my skin when I was a teenager in the hopes of making it fade. All that did was irritate my skin and make it redder.”

  “I’m sorry,” John said again.

  “And Jen should know better than to offer something like that. How old is she, anyway? It doesn’t matter…she’s old enough. She was staring at me all night, like she was either disgusted or fascinated. It was uncomfortable. But you didn’t notice.”

  “I should’ve been paying more attention to you. I’m sorry.”

  “I’ve told you I’m an introvert, and would rather sit at home than socialize with people.”

  “You’re right, you did.”

  “Most days I can ignore the looks I get and the way some people react to me, but yesterday wasn’t one of those days. There were no less than six people who either physically recoiled when they saw me or had some obnoxious comment. Even an old lady at the store felt the need to make sure I knew how disgusted she was by my birthmark. Then my research at work was contaminated and I had to start two weeks of work over again. On top of all that, you called and informed me that we would be eating at Taco’s apartment. You didn’t ask.”