Chapter Twenty-Six
Quinn sips his coffee in the nearly empty cafeteria of the Barton County Courthouse.
It’s his third cup. He probably shouldn’t have more; he doesn’t want to be jittery on the witness stand.
He takes another drink, careful not to drip on his tie.
For the life of him, he can’t imagine wearing one of these stupid things every day.
He examines his lunch, an egg salad sandwich wrapped in cellophane.
The bread is limp and the egg a troubling off-white color.
He’s tired. The recurring nightmare has returned in recent days, the one in Somalia with Giuseppe, the snakes, the centipedes and— He stops himself. Not today.
“Quinn,” a voice says.
He looks behind him and sees a friendly face. It takes him a beat to realize it’s Holly from George’s group home. She’s in a dress, her red hair flowing over her shoulders. At work, she normally wears jeans and no makeup, her hair pulled back.
She sits at the table across from him.
“Hi, what are you—?”
“I had the day off, so I thought I might—I don’t know?—offer you some company. A show of support.”
For the past several months, they’ve spent a lot of time talking during his visits to the group home.
George isn’t much of a conversationalist, after all.
Quinn’s learned that Holly is the oldest of five kids, that one of her siblings had severe intellectual disabilities and died, which is why she chose to work at the home during college.
She’s graduating from UNO next month, heading to Creighton for law school in the fall.
They haven’t broached whether that means she’s leaving her job at the group home, but Quinn expects she’ll have to.
“Did you watch any of the trial?” Quinn asks.
“A little. Just until a short break so I could ask where you were.”
“Going well?”
“Seems so. It’s not like in the movies. It’s kind of boring, really. At least the part I saw—the forensic guy going on and on.”
“You’d better get used to it since you’re going to be a lawyer.”
“No way I’m doing criminal law. Too depressing. Dead bodies and grieving families and—” She stops herself. “Shoot, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“What kind of law do you want to practice?” he says, sparing her unnecessary apologies.
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe being an advocate for children.”
He studies her again. She’s one of those women who becomes more attractive the more you get to know them.
They’re interrupted by a member of the trial team. Becky, he thinks, is her name. “You’re up soon,” she says. “If you need to use the restroom, now’s the time.”
Quinn gives Holly one last look, one last smile, and stands.
Before he leaves, she says, “Hey, Quinn?”
“Yeah?”
“Um, one of the parents, they gave me a gift certificate to Maxine’s for Christmas.” It’s a fancy restaurant at a hotel in downtown Omaha. “I haven’t had a chance to use it.”
She continues: “Um, well, we’re both dressed up and I wondered if I could take you to dinner after?”
For a split second, Holly’s face turns the color of her hair.
“I’d like that,” he says.
“I’ll see you after then. Good luck,” she adds, as if she’s unsure that’s the right thing to say.
Quinn stands up straight, feeling taller again, and heads to the courtroom.