Chapter 6
MILLER
Quinn disappeared down the road, and I grimaced at my words.
What had meant to be a joke came out sounding rude.
You see, Hamish was a good judge of character, very astute when it came to people.
He’d bark and growl when Mrs. Devereaux stood at our gate, yet he’d been attracted to Quinn like a bear to a honey pot. Which was weird.
But I probably shouldn’t have opened my big mouth. I had this habit of opening it and saying the most crazy things around her. Stupid things. When I shouldn’t be wasting any space in my brain for her.
“C’mon,” I urged Hamish, now only a few blocks from our lane. Hamish whimpered, looking the way Quinn had gone. “She’s fine, she’s going for a walk,” I mumbled, pulling him by his collar.
My evening run with Hamish was a routine I’d started when I stopped playing football. I didn’t want to end up fat and lazy. We’d run a couple of miles but I’d often have to stop and wait while he sniffed out something on the side of the road.
The thing is, I’d never ever met Quinn out while running before. And I wasn’t sure if her watery eyes had been from the sting of the cool air or an allergy, maybe even to dog fur.
Hamish barked in Quinn’s direction. “She’s fine,” I grumbled. “Let’s go.”
I set off with him running alongside, but lots of insane thoughts whirled through my mind. What if Hamish’s bark was intuition and Quinn was in some kind of danger? What if I woke up tomorrow with the police knocking on the door telling us Quinn Devereaux was missing?
The light was getting dim and the road we’d been on was narrow and not well lit.
I ran it most days so knew every bump and curve, but I doubt Quinn did.
She could fall and twist an ankle, or a car might not see her and run her down.
Worst case scenarios popped up—a serial killer on the rampage or an attack by a bobcat or grizzly bear. Ludicrous, but not impossible.
I arrived home, grabbed a glass of water and sat out on the porch, pretending Hamish wanted to chase tennis balls around the yard. But really, I had an irrational concern about Quinn’s safety. I threw balls with the launcher, Hamish happily returning them to me.
“Whatcha doing out here?” Dad opened the door and peered out.
“He’s still full of energy.”
“Done your homework?”
“Yep.”
“You got some study to do?” Dad had some delusional idea that I should go to college.
He was proud of my B average and said I had the potential to do more than him.
He’d been welding for nearly twenty years and wanted more for me.
Though to me a physical job seemed better than studying for a further four years.
“Yeah, be in soon,” I said, keeping my eye on the time and the Deveraux’s driveway.
I’d give Quinn fifteen minutes to get back.
It’d be almost dark by then and wouldn’t be safe out there, though I didn’t know what my intentions were.
Would I run back along the road to find her, escort her home safely?
She’d then think I was the weird one.
Ten minutes later, Hamish declared he’d had enough of fetch, sitting on the step of the porch. I joined him, but bizarrely my stomach churned at the looming deadline, a sense of dread in my belly, kind of like waiting to see if Mason got through a day at school in one piece.
Hamish’s ears perked up and I sighed in relief as I heard steady footsteps coming down the lane. Quinn was jogging. I melted back into the walls, not wanting to be seen. Hamish barked but I didn’t wait around to see if she looked over, slipping back inside, a weight off of my shoulders.
“You all right?” Dad asked, standing at the kitchen sink rinsing out his coffee mug.
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” I tried to sound nonchalant but my heart was racing.
“Just saw the Devereaux girl running up her driveway,” he said with a puzzled frown. “What’s she doing running around at this time of the night?”
“How would I know?” I snapped back.
I regretted my surly reply when Dad’s eyebrows rose and he looked at me with curiosity, “What’s eating you?”
It was too complicated to say how I’d been worried about her out walking alone because it was impossible to explain my feelings. I had to remember Quinn and her mother were the enemy. They didn’t think we were good enough to belong in their neighborhood and I shouldn’t forget that.
“Did I tell you her crazy mother drove into our trash can?” Dad said.
“Huh?”
“Yeah, just after you took Hamish out. I was in the garage and heard her car. She was all over the road like she was drunk. Knocked the dang bin over.”
“What?” I asked in disbelief. “Did she break it?”
“No, but she gave it a decent knock. Thought I told you to bring it in before your run?”
“I forgot.”
“Hmmm, I gathered that,” Dad said on a weary sigh.
I worried about Dad. He worked 50 hour weeks and did overtime on a Saturday when it was available.
When he wasn’t working, he was with Mase and me, working on the car or fixing things around the house.
He didn’t socialize or go out with friends.
He said he was content taking care of us and Hamish, but Mom had left us ten years ago and he’d never had a relationship.
Mason didn’t remember Mom, and my memories were pretty hazy now.
Physically, I remembered her long wavy brown hair and her brown-framed glasses and that she always wore dangly earrings and loads of necklaces and bracelets, but the sound of her voice had faded.
I wondered if I would recognize it if she called me.
Not that I expected her to. She was long gone from our lives, a small town, family life and motherhood apparently not for her.
Dad would get emails from her but I never wanted to hear about her and would leave the room if he started to read it out loud.
In my mind, she abandoned us and more specifically Mason, who was just a baby.
For that, I doubted I could ever forgive her.
The next morning, Mason was on a mission to get to school, foregoing his reading to eat breakfast quickly, packing his schoolbag and declaring he was ready to go well before time.
“What’s the rush?” I asked, lingering at the kitchen sink with my eye on the window. “Getting to the bus stop early won’t make us get to school any faster.”
“Yeah, I’m just ready,” he said, jittery with impatience.
Noticing he’d brushed his hair, I assumed it was something to do with seeing Katie, and for his sake, I grabbed my backpack and followed him.
Lining up with Mason, my heart thumped as Quinn came hurtling down the street at a quick pace.
On entering the bus, a girl from the back spoke, “Hey, look who’s running late.” Someone giggled in response and I thought nothing of it until we were seated. I sat a row behind Mason, leaving room for Katie, while the twins sat behind me.
Quinn was the last one on, her cheeks reddened by her hurried arrival. She stumbled as the bus lurched forward before she had time to sit. Passing along the aisle, I deliberately kept my eyes downcast, staring at my phone.
It was several stops later that a loud voice boomed from behind me. “Hey, wonder what happened to her car?”
“Probably doesn’t want to park in the school parking lot,” someone answered.
“Yeah, no valet parking.” Snarky laughter rang out.
My ears strained as I waited for Quinn to respond but it was a boy further back in the bus who joined in. “Must be such a let down, taking the school busssss,” he said.
“Guess the chauffeur isn’t working this week...what a shame.” More giggles.
Strangely, my chest tightened, hit by a sense of obligation that I should stand up and say something, defend her. But this wasn’t my issue. Heck, Quinn was a big girl, and I was sure she could take care of herself.
Another girl chimed in. “Did you know she wore her Brizendine Prep soccer jersey to trials yesterday.”
“Yeah, how embarrassing is that?”
“Must’ve forgotten what school she’s at.”
The mocking laughter reeked of mean girl vibes and my stomach clenched, waging an inner battle with myself on whether to step in and shut them down or to mind my own freaking business.
I chose the latter.
After all, Quinn Devereaux wasn’t my problem.
As kids filled the bus, I reassured myself I’d done the right thing by not interfering, instead turning my attention to Mason. His face lit up when Katie entered and sat next to him. At least he was living his best life.
A niggle persisted for the rest of the day, the devil on my shoulder whispering that I should’ve said something on the bus, that those mean comments equated to bullying.
I countered that little voice by telling myself she probably deserved it—a prep school snob and yeah, if she did wear her Brizendine Prep shirt to soccer practice, well, likely she deserved it.
I mean, who did that? Someone who thought they were too good for Snow Ridge High, that’s who.
Impatient to get my motorbike back on the road, I jumped at the chance to get a ride to the auto parts store with Elise, who was going to the mall after school. I texted Mason that he could take the bus home on his own, confident that he’d be okay with Katie.
Before we’d even left the parking lot, Elise had discussed Year Book photos (I dreaded them), a gluten free selection of food for the cafeteria (didn’t affect me) and Mr. Lennox’s boring rant on states of matter.
She tooted her horn and waved to a girl in a red station wagon and said, “I wonder if Quinn made the soccer team, why didn’t you say she was your neighbor? ”
I pretended I hadn’t heard. “What?”
“When she was looking for her locker, you didn’t say you knew her. And she lives next door to you?” There was a hint of accusation in her voice.
“Not next door. Across the street,” I mumbled. “And I never see her. Their house is down a long driveway.”
“But you know her?”
“No. I only knew she went to Brizendine Prep. Her mother—”