Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Cat
I went home to spend time at Dad’s house for Thanksgiving, before going to my mother’s, and found him in a good mood. We sat in the kitchen together drinking Penny’s spiced cider.
“Management is happy with the Quintanna decision this week,” Dad said.
“I owe some of that credit to you, Cat. They tell me his ratings are up, skyrocketing in fact, between his play on the field and his good deeds being plastered everywhere. I’m told you’re quite a social media influencer. Whatever that means.”
I laughed, glad to hear my work was paying off.
“Why don’t you invite Jason for dinner after the next game? He seems like a fine young man.”
This was the last thing I expected to talk about with Dad. It was time to let him know the truth. Or most of it.
“I’m not seeing Jason anymore, Dad.”
“Why not? Did he do something—?”
“That’s not it.” Liar, liar. “Things just didn’t work out.” I shrugged and averted my eyes, praying Penny would jump in to my rescue and change the subject or something.
“Coach, what did you think of the cherry pie?” she asked. But he wasn’t deterred.
“Why not? What is it you’re looking for in a young man? Jason seemed smart, polite—”
“Dad, you know very well it takes more than that to make a relationship. There was no… spark.”
He scowled and looked like he had more to say.
“Have another piece of pie, Coach.” Penny pushed a plate in front of him. He ignored it.
“What kind of sparks are you looking for? Not the kind that involve Hunter Quintanna.”
“Coach, you’re out of bounds.”
He looked at Penny then. “How do you figure that? I’m her father.”
“Because you’re her father. You’re not her girlfriend or someone she wants to talk romance with.
She has her reasons for breaking it off with Jason and you’ll just have to accept that.
” Penny stared him down and I watched, holding my breath.
Dear, dear, Penny had shut down the whole Hunter-spark question and I had no idea how she managed to get Dad to back down, but he did.
He grunted and dug into the cherry pie.
But having nothing to do with our sparks, I was worried that there was a piece to the Hunter Quintanna puzzle that I was missing.
I didn’t mention this to Dad. But I knew there was something in Hunter, something troubling him, some reason he was desperate for the money.
For his family? Were they that poor? I’d found some information with all my research, but not much about his father.
A photo showed that Hunter got his magnetic bad boy looks and size from his old man.
I knew his father had passed away in a tragic accident a number of years back, but the family had been private about it.
I mentally shrugged, confident that I’d find out more soon.
I had put out a call to the woman in the sorority directory, Suzie Roberts, who lived and worked in Hunter’s town where he’d gone to high school and had finally heard back from her.
I told her who I was, that I worked for the team, and was putting together a short bio documentary.
I told her I needed more background on him, the kind he might not be willing to share.
We set up an appointment for the Sunday following Thanksgiving.
The Militia were playing in Miami and I knew I wouldn’t be welcome on the trip.
To keep me occupied and give me a legitimate excuse to not travel with the team—in case anyone was watching, which they weren’t unless something went wrong—I made the appointment to drive out to Oneonta, New York.
Not a small town, but not exactly a city.
The trip would keep me distracted from missing the game.
Not much could keep me distracted from missing Hunter.
After the four-hour drive that had started at 9 a.m. on the bright but cold day, I wore an oversize smile for Suzie when she welcomed me into her stately home.
“My husband and boys are watching the game in the family room, so I thought we could talk in the den. I have the game on in the background for us in there if you don’t mind.”
She took my coat and led me inside her picture-book home.
Suzie was tall, about my height, and willowy, with long blond hair and flawlessly maintained skin.
She might as well be the poster child for what every sorority girl hopes to become when they get older.
I sighed, because as much as I loved my sorority friends and the invaluable network, Suzie would not be my idol.
I liked the city and a frenetic life filled with impossible challenges.
As we sat in her sedate den in comfortable matching plaid chairs, I knew how far afield I was from the Suzies of the world. And I didn’t mind one little bit.
“Please have some hot chocolate,” she said. I smiled and accepted. Nothing wrong with hot chocolate. It could cut across many divides among people.
“On the phone you said Hunter was reluctant to share information with you for your documentary on him even though you work for the Militia organization. I wonder why that is?”
Time to finesse the truth. “Did I imply that? I’m sorry.
Although it’s no secret he’s a private person, his reluctance is more about time and convenience.
Besides, we wanted to get a different perspective than his.
He doesn’t like to brag about himself.” I sipped the hot cocoa even though it almost burned my mouth, making my eyes water.
“I see. Well you’re an extremely attractive young lady, Ms. Marini.”
“Call me Cat. Thank you.” I had no idea where she was going with this, but I didn’t like it.
“Cat. I should think you could convince him to tell you anything, anytime. Not that I think you should seduce secrets out of a man, but I’m sure you could if you wanted to.
” She laughed. I laughed. But I felt cold inside.
I did not like this woman and was suddenly unsure if I’d be able to trust a thing she said.
“The one missing piece to his background that could be essential in telling his story is about his father, Michael Quintanna,” I said.
“Oh, yes. The ever-elusive Mr. Quintanna.” She paused and took on a pensive look. “You’re not the only one who finds him to be a missing piece. I think his wife found him missing quite a bit too.”
“His wife? Hunter’s mother?” I was confused. I’d known he was away from the family a lot working, but this sounded like something more. I prodded her with a look and tried to be patient. The last thing I wanted her to do was clam up.
Suzie nodded and said, “Do you know I think I only saw him at one of Hunter’s football games in four years?
” She sipped her cocoa. “All the rest of the family was there—or at least the local branch—and Margaret. She and her brood were always the focal point among the stands, right up front at the fifty-yard line. Hunter saw to it. I always had good seats too. I’d been a cheerleader at Oneonta High, did you know that? ”
“No, that must have been fun.” I could definitely picture Suzie as a cheerleader and imagined her dressed in a skimpy skirt, shaking pompoms and jumping up and down. I supposed I would have been a cheerleader too if playing basketball hadn’t taken precedence, which it did.
“It was.” She beamed and then blushed. “But I digress. We were talking about Mike Quintanna. He wasn’t around much, but when he was, he was larger than life, the kind of man who took over a space.
I remember one football team booster event where he made it his goal to dance with every woman in the room.
” She paused, turned pink, and said, “Including me.”
I nodded, getting the picture. Hunter’s dad was a ladies’ man.
“His premature death was tragic,” I said, prodding.
“Yes. Tragic in more than one way it turns out.”
“How so?” My heart sped up, sensing we were getting somewhere, to the root cause behind that quiet desperation I sensed in Hunter.
“You have to understand, there’d always been gossip about Mike Quintanna and his relationship with his wife. A lot of people felt sorry for her, including my mother. I didn’t know her well, but she seemed very sweet and was once a real beauty. She’d also once been wealthy.”
“His mother? Wealthy?”
“Well, let me clarify. She was from a wealthy family down on Long Island. As far as I know—mostly hearsay, but common knowledge—her family didn’t have anything to do with her once she married Mike.
They didn’t like him because he was blue collar and they had bigger aspirations for Margaret.
I hear they eloped and she’s been estranged from her family ever since.
It’s obvious she doesn’t take money from them.
I don’t know if it’s because she refuses to or because they refuse to give it to her. ”
“That’s sad.” It also explained a lot. But not everything. “You said it was obvious . . .”
“Yes, they lived—still live in a ramshackle house to this day although this one is bigger than the last one—Hunter’s doing, I hear.”
“You mean he bought it for his family?” More puzzle pieces falling into place.
“Yes. As soon as the season started.” She made a face. “But I guess he ran out of money with his fines and lawyer fees and all—it’s what the papers said anyway. So the house never got fixed up, but at least it’s big enough for the family now. I mean after Margaret took in those children—”
“Wait a minute, back up. What children?”
“I’m sorry. You don’t know. But then, how could you? It was real hush-hush officially.” She took another sip of her cocoa and I would have too, but the last thing I needed was to spill hot chocolate all over my winter white fake-Chanel suit. Because I knew a bomb was about to drop soon.
“When Mike Quintanna died, Margaret found out—excuse me, it’s just so shocking to think about it still. That poor family. Poor Hunter.”
I held my tongue, but I wanted to scream at Suzie to spill the beans already. Not even realizing it, I had moved to the edge of my seat.
“You see, Mike died after a motorcycle accident. In Alaska where he was working. But he wasn’t alone. He had a woman passenger on the back and she died instantly.”
“A woman?” I had a bad feeling about this and my need to know was almost eclipsed by my fear of knowing.
She nodded, looked genuinely sad and said, “Mike’s other wife, the one he’d lived with in Alaska while he worked there. They’d been illegally married six years and had two small children.”
My hand wavered, but I caught the cup before any hot cocoa spilled.
“That’s not the most shocking part. Margaret went out to Alaska as soon as she heard about the accident. Hunter went with her. She saw Mike before he died and he asked her to take care of his two small children. Can you imagine? The selfish SOB.”
“I’m guessing she did. She took them in.” I knew it. I had no idea how Hunter felt at the time, how he felt now about his father, but I knew that he would never abandon his half siblings.
“Yes. She and Hunter fought about it, I heard. I don’t know who was on which side of the battle, but she took them in and he’s been helping financially ever since.”
“She, Margaret Quintanna, doesn’t work?” I wondered how all the burden seemed to fall on Hunter.
“She did at one time. She was a schoolteacher, but she . . . fell apart after the tragedy. Hasn’t done much since then I hear.
But now she has two more children to take care of and I know from being on the PTA that she’s a very responsible and good parent.
” Suzie thought this sentiment deserved a half smile.
I was too bereft on behalf of the young Hunter, imagining how he felt about a father who had a secret family somewhere else who he took care of, spent time with, spent money on, instead of devoting that time and attention to Hunter and his mother and her children.
Damn. I wanted to cry. I wanted to flog myself for ever complaining about my own father—to Hunter of all people.
And in spite of his own dismal experience, he’d still had enough compassion to understand and console me.
What a spoiled little idiot I was.
I wrapped up our meeting and assured her I’d give her credit when we finally produced our documentary bio of Hunter—making sure to tell Suzie it might be a while because there was still a lot of Hunter’s story left to unfold.
I took my leave.