“Yup,” Max said, obnoxiously cheerful. He started to whistle, and Nick thought about killing him.
“I gather you got your wife back?”
“Oh, yeah,” Max said, and then he got a little less cheerful. “Uh, that reminds me.”
Nick felt suddenly wary. “What?”
“You want to buy a drive-in with me?” Max asked with studied innocence.
“No,” Nick said and headed for the Ford in the last bay.
“Nick,” Max said.
Nick stopped and closed his eyes. “Why would I want to buy a drive-in?”
“Because I told Darla last night I’d already bought it, and I called this morning and the damn thing is a hundred and twenty thousand, and I could use a co-signer.”
Nick turned to him. “You told her you bought the drive-in?”
“Hey,” Max said. “It was the smartest idea I’d had in a long time.” He turned thoughtful. “It worked, too. The sex was great.”
Nick stared at his brother. He wasn’t joking. “You bought an abandoned drive-in so you could have sex with your wife?”
Max shook his head. “This wasn’t just sex. I saw God again. A hundred and twenty thou is a small price to pay.”
Nick snorted. “Yeah, as long as I’m paying half.”
Max scowled at him. “Yes or no?”
“Yes,” Nick said. “But only for Darla.” He shook his head and then had to laugh. “A drive-in.”
“Hey, we might make some money off it,” Max said.
“Only if we show Sorority Sluts in Heat to minors.”
“I’m not proud,” Max said and picked up the next work order.
Fifteen minutes later, from under the hood of a Chevy, Max said, “Thanks.”
“No sweat,” Nick said.
“Was that Max dropping you off?” Debbie said to Darla when she got to the Upper Cut.
“Yep,” Darla said. “I moved back in last night. He bought me a drive-in.”
“That dump out on the old highway?” Debbie blinked at her. “Why?”
“To get me back,” Darla said. “Isn’t that the most romantic thing you’ve heard of?”
“I’d rather have roses,” Debbie said.
Bill sat in the weight room, ignoring Bobby and thinking about Quinn. Now that baseball was over, he could see her more, work on the house.
“You dumb ox,” Bobby said in his face. “You’re not even listening to me. I lie to a cop for you today, and then you do the most piss-poor job of coaching I’ve ever seen in my life. We’re not even going to the regionals.”
“Leave me alone, Bobby.” Bill got up. “I have things to do.”
“We lost that game on coaching,” Bobby spat. “You fucked it up. This is your fault.”
“I don’t care.” Bill flipped off the lights in the weight room and turned for the door. “Hell, it’s just baseball.”
“Just baseball?” The BP almost lost a lung, he screamed so loud, and Bill laughed at him. What a twit. Quinn had been so right.
“Funny, huh?” Bobby got up close, in his face. “I’ll tell you something funny. I was here last night, checking the stage door because that bitch you’re so obsessed with is incompetent.” He stopped, fuming. “She threatened me and she’s incompetent.”
“She’s not incompetent,” Bill said. “She’s careless sometimes”—she let Nick touch her—“but she’s not incompetent.”
“Oh, yeah?” Bobby rounded on him, sneering. “Well, I came back to check the stage door last night, it was unlocked because she’s incompetent, and when I came in, I saw her. And you know what she was doing?”
“Bobby, I don’t care,” Bill said. “Get out of my face.”
“She was fucking that mechanic.” Bill flinched, and Bobby’s voice went low and evil. “Up against the wall, like a whore. Right there on stage. I watched them. While you waited out in the lot like the dumb ox you are, that slut—”
Bill backhanded him. It was easy, like swatting a fly, and when Bobby didn’t get up, Bill nodded and left.
There was one thing he owed Bobby for, he thought as he packed his clothes into his matched suitcases. If what he said about Quinn was true—which it probably wasn’t, Quinn was a good person, she wouldn’t do that, she was probably just kissing Nick, which was bad enough, and then Bobby with his dirty mind came in, he was glad he’d hit Bobby—well, it was time he moved in. It had worked before, just moving his stuff into her apartment a little at a time, and she hadn’t objected, Quinn wasn’t difficult, so he’d just move his clothes in, and then he could move the furniture later.
Really, he didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it before.
But when he was on her front porch and he’d unlocked the front door, it still wouldn’t open. The key turned in the lock, but the door wouldn’t budge. And when he went into the side yard, the broken window was fixed, with a piece of wood nailed across it so even if he broke it again, he’d still have to get through the wood.
It was like she was trying to keep him out. He felt his temper rise and calmed himself. It was just a mistake. She wanted him in there. She’d realize that when he moved in.
If he could get in.
He left his suitcases on the front porch and went to the back door, a little worried about trying it with that damn dog around, the dog would bark and bring the neighbor, the dog would scare Quinn, but while he was standing in the backyard, he heard her shower start—her bathroom window was open, if it wasn’t on the second floor he could climb through—and he realized that Quinn at least wouldn’t hear him or the dog as long as she was in the shower. And she took long showers. Sometimes he’d stand in the bathroom just to see her come out of the shower, toweling her hair, so beautiful, so round—
He picked up a piece of broken concrete from near the step—the first thing he was going to do once he was moved in was clean up this yard, it was a disgrace—and smashed the window in the back door. Then he reached through and turned the key in the lock—so careless of her to leave the key in the lock with the window right there—and then when the door still wouldn’t open, reached in and felt around until he found the deadbolt. She was trying to keep him out. Silly thing. He threw the deadbolt and opened the door.
The dog was there, of course. He walked to the front door with the damn thing yapping behind him, and opened it, turning the key, throwing the deadbolt she’d thought would keep him out, and then he turned and grabbed the mutt before it could scoot away, holding it away from him while it shrieked and peed, and then he took it out on the front porch and threw it as hard as he could into the front yard.
It rolled once and lay still.
Good riddance. He picked up his suitcases from the porch and took them upstairs to his bedroom to unpack.
Quinn’s afternoon with the police had been less than productive. She’d filed her complaint, explaining what happened to Frank Atchity, who looked at her without much sympathy but without any antagonism, either. Just the facts, ma’am.
“What I’d like to do is talk to Bill again,” Frank had said. “He’ll be back from the game this afternoon. I’ll give you a call then.”
“Can I get a restraining order or something until then?” Quinn said. “I really don’t want him near me. He scares the hell out of me.” She thought of Bill looming over her the night before and shivered in spite of herself. “It’s like he’s living in a different world. He really thinks we’ll get back together, even though I keep telling him no. I mean, I moved out and bought a house. How much more can I do?”
Frank’s voice had a little more sympathy this time. “I’ll get a judge on the restraining order. You go on home, and if he comes over, don’t let him in.”
“He has a way in,” Quinn said. “We don’t know how, we think maybe the basement, but he got in to do all that sabotage. We put on new deadbolts, but—”
“You just relax,” Frank said. “We’ll get this handled one way or another this afternoon. We’re talking about the coach here.
”
“I know who we’re talking about,” Quinn said. “He’s dangerous.”
When she got home, the house was empty. “Daddy?” she’d called, but only Katie came running, anxious as ever, and for once Quinn knew how she felt. She locked all the doors, throwing the deadbolts before she sat down in the living room and told herself not to be ridiculous. She had things to do, Frank Atchity would stop Bill, her dad would come home, everything would be fine.
She’d wandered through the house, double-checking windows, while Katie followed behind her, and she finally realized that as long as the dog was quiet, there wasn’t anyone around. She had the perfect Bill alarm in Katie since Katie hated Bill with all the passion in her little dog body. If Katie was quiet, she was safe.
She’d gone upstairs and made the bed and thought about seeing Nick again. Tonight, she’d thought. He’d be back tonight. And other nights until he got used to being with her, and then maybe he’d want to move in. Even if he didn’t, they were together, and that was pretty damn good. She could even wear Saran Wrap, or that merry widow thing Darla never wanted to see again. She tried to picture herself in black lace. Nah, she was more red and purple satin. She went to the bathroom to search through her nightgowns for something truly outrageous for Nick to rip off her, and then looked at the clock. Four. He got off at five.
Katie’s toenails had clipped in the hall outside the bathroom, regular walking, no problem, so she’d stripped off her clothes for a shower. With any luck at all, Nick would get here before Joe, and they could do something loud all by themselves.
The shower felt wonderful, waking up every nerve Nick had played with the night before and the morning after, and she thought hot thoughts as she soaped herself all over. Maybe they’d do it in the shower. That kept her mind occupied until she snapped the water off and shook herself a little. Definitely in the shower. She threw the shower curtain back.
“Hello, Quinn,” Bill said.
When Nick opened his door at three-thirty, Joe was standing there with his portable TV and garbage bag.
“I’m moving in,” Joe said, pushing past him.
“The hell you are,” Nick said.
Joe dropped his bag and surveyed the apartment. “This is it?”
“It’s plenty big enough for one.” Nick opened the door. “Thanks for stopping by.”
Joe shook his head. “I won’t be in your way. I have a date in three hours.” He winked at Nick. “Taking Barbara to the Anchor Inn.”
“Barbara?”
“Had a job at the bank and we got to talking.”
“I bet you did.” Joe wasn’t budging so Nick shut the door. “Why aren’t you at Quinn’s?”
Joe snorted. “Right. Like I’m going to bring Barbara back to my daughter’s house.”
“You’re not bringing her back here, either,” Nick said. “There’s only one bed.”
Joe shoved some books and papers off Nick’s end table and set the TV down. “So, you’ll be at Quinn’s.” He looked pointedly at Nick’s TV. “You got cable?”
“Joe, you’re not staying,” Nick said, but Joe was already wandering toward the kitchen.
“I’ve seen coolers larger than that refrigerator,” he said when he came back with a beer. “Once you’re out of here, I’ll get a bigger one.”
“I’m not leaving,” Nick said.
“I thought you were moving in with Quinn.” Joe twisted the cap off and slugged down some beer while Nick thought about killing him.
“She said no,” Nick said.
Joe stopped in mid-gulp, choking a little. “What did you do?”
“Nothing.” Nick sat down, tired of resisting Joe and thinking about Quinn. “You can stay until seven if you shut up, but you’re not spending the night here. Go to Barbara’s place.”
“You’re going to leave Quinn alone with Bill on the loose?” Joe shook his head. “I thought you were better than that.”
“Joe, I tried.” Nick sat back. “I told her I needed to be there to take care of her, and she said she could take care of herself.”
“Independent. I raised both my girls that way.” Joe raised the bottle in a toast to himself and drank. Then he wiped his mouth and said, “ ’Course, you know that.”
Nick narrowed his eyes. “Don’t start.”
“I raise two women for you to marry, and you won’t even let me stay at your place.” Joe shook his head. “No gratitude. ’Course, I can see why you’d be a little annoyed about Zoë, she’s a handful. But Quinn? Easy as pie to live with. What a sweetie. Can’t think why you didn’t stay and argue your way back in.”
“Joe.”
Joe ignored him to look around the room. “Christ, how long were you planning on living here, anyway?”
“Forever,” Nick said coldly. “I take it back about staying until seven. You can go—”
“Forever, huh,” Joe said. “You got a refrigerator Ford wouldn’t put in a camper, your bookshelves are cement blocks and planks, and your TV doesn’t even have cable.” He met Nick’s eyes. “Your forever looks pretty temporary to me.”
“That’s very deep, Joe,” Nick said. “Finish your beer.”
Joe chuckled and wandered into the bedroom, probably scoping out the place for future use, and Nick looked at his bookcases and thought, Maybe I should build some in.
The thought held no appeal. So he’d still have block-and-plank bookcases at eighty, so what? They’d still hold up his books.
Except he couldn’t imagine himself here at eighty. He never had. Joe was right; somewhere far back in his mind he’d always assumed this was temporary. This was where his mom and dad had lived when they were first married until they could afford a real house, where Max and Darla had lived at first, and he realized now that he’d thought he’d move, too, someday.
“I’ve seen bigger bathrooms on airplanes,” Joe said as he came out of the bedroom.
“Joe—”
“Still, with a little fixing up, this could be a real good bachelor pad.”
“You’re making me sick,” Nick said. “This is not a pad and you are not a bachelor.”
“Neither are you,” Joe said. “You’re just too damn dumb to go back and demand to live with your wife. You’re going to marry her sooner or later.” Joe went back to the kitchen as he spoke and began to open cupboard doors.
“Speaking of living with your wife,” Nick said pointedly, “how’s Meggy?”
“She’s doing real good.” Joe pulled out a bag of pretzels and tasted one. “Stale. You should have those airtight cannister things that Quinn has. Even keeps Cheetos crisp.” He brought the bag into the living room and sat down.
“Get out, Joe,” Nick said without heat.
“You’re just going to sit here then.” Joe chewed his pretzel. “Best thing that ever happened to you’s out on Apple Street, but you’re going to sit on your ass here in this dump.”
Nick stood up. “Door’s over there.”
“What did she want that you didn’t have?” Joe said. “Why’d she throw you out?”
“She didn’t throw me out.” Nick walked to the door and opened it. “She said I couldn’t move in until I wanted to live there more than I wanted to live here.”
Joe looked around. “Doesn’t seem like a lot to ask.”
“Out,” Nick said, and Joe put the pretzels down.
“You’re under some stress,” he said. “I’ll leave.” He picked up the TV and then bent to pick up the bag. “Ouch. Hell.” He straightened and then looked relieved. “Thought I threw out my back. That’d be a hell of a thing with a big date tonight.”
“A tragedy,” Nick said. “Be careful on the stairs.”
Joe nodded and headed for the door.
“So you going back to Quinn’s?” Nick said, trying not to feel guilty.
“Nah, I think I’ll go home.”
“To Meggy?”
“I figure Edie’s about ready to move out,” Joe said. “A little Meggy goes a long way if yo
u’re not used to her. I’m used to her.”
“I don’t think it’s going to be that easy,” Nick said, and Joe shook his head as he stood in the doorway.
“You don’t think at all, son,” he said. “That’s your problem. You just follow your hormones around instead of thinking about what you’re doing.” Joe leaned against the door frame as he began to wax philosophical, his TV still tucked under his arm. “Now, when you think about it, relationships are like cars.”
“They are not,” Nick said.
“The good ones are built to take the bumps, they got good shocks, if you know what I mean. Meggy and me”—Joe grinned—“we got good shocks.”
“I’ve got another one for you,” Nick said. “Meggy and Edie are sleeping together.”
“I know.” Joe’s grin widened.
“You know?”
“Hell, yes. Been going on for years.” Joe shook his head in admiration. “She’s an exciting woman, Meggy is. Likes variety.”
“I don’t want to know this,” Nick said.
“Like I said,” Joe told him as he started down the stairs. “You don’t think enough.”
Nick closed the door and looked around. Frayed carpet, fourth-hand furniture, block-and-plank shelves—the place looked like he didn’t care. Probably because he didn’t. It wasn’t permanent.
“Fuck,” he said. “I like living alone.” He sat down in his armchair and spilled Joe’s beer. He got a towel from the kitchen—Christ, it was small after Quinn’s—and mopped up the beer from the floor—damn nice floor, too, every bit as good as Quinn’s—and then sat down to read.
Quinn would be home by now. She’d be napping, or crocheting, or goofing around in the kitchen, playing with Katie, maybe calling Darla. If he’d gone home to her, she’d be talking to him now.
Well, there, see? Talking. How could he read if she was talking?
He looked down at the book he wasn’t reading now because he was thinking about Quinn. If he wanted to read, there were six rooms there to find privacy in. And also six rooms to find Quinn in.
Still, how could he give up all of this? He looked around the apartment again and it looked awful, cold and ugly, no light and no couch and no Quinn.