Chapter Nine #3
She batted her eyelashes at him wickedly. “I was asking about dinner,” she repeated. He obviously hadn’t heard either comment.
He waved his hand across his plate. “No thanks, I just ate.”
“Quinn!” She said his name in a low growl. “You’re doing this purposely to drive me crazy, aren’t you?”
“Doing what?” He looked at her blankly.
Slowly shaking her head, she felt a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Never mind.” She sighed. Somehow she knew
it would always be like this with Quinn. She supposed she should be offended that her stimulating personality didn’t overcome
him completely, that he didn’t hang on her every word. Instead, she was pleased in a silly sort of way. His acceptance of
her into his life was total; he was treating her very much like the wife she would become.
“I thought I’d fix green eggs and ham, how does that sound?”
He lifted the coffee cup to his mouth, downing the contents in one swallow. “Great,” he replied absently.
Now, several hours later, Quinn looked down at the plate of spaghetti. “I thought you said something about ham and a ridiculous
color of eggs,” he questioned, totally serious.
Meggie had just opened the oven door to take out the French bread. She was so surprised that she dropped her potholder and
seared two fingers on the rack.
“Damn,” she cried, sticking the fingers in her mouth.
Feigned shock rounded his eyes as she turned around to glare at him accusingly. “Such language.” He tilted his head with mocking reproval. “If you want to marry a police inspector you must learn to watch your tongue, woman. Want me to kiss it better?” he offered in feigned sympathy.
“Please.” She held out her hand.
“It wasn’t your fingers I had in mind.” His gaze was resting on her softly parted lips.
The intensity of his look was enough to make her knees weak. “Why is it you can tease me and make it sound more beautiful
than poetry?”
“Because I love you,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Oh, Quinn.”
Their eyes met, each holding unspoken promises. “We’re going to have to do something with this lack of vocabulary, Mary-Margaret
O’Halloran.”
The phone rang, and for a second Meggie’s heart stopped, her gaze swinging from the kitchen to the oak end table in her living
room.
“Do you want me to answer it?” Quinn asked, the teasing banter instantly gone from his voice. There was something so cold
and so hard in his tone, it forced her attention from the telephone to him.
“No.” She shook her head. “I doubt that it’s him. It’s not eight yet.” The walk across the room seemed as long and as far
as her nightly treks around the neighborhood. “Hello.” She couldn’t avoid the breathless quality to her voice.
Silence. Meggie’s eyes sought Quinn; she raised her hand, palm up, to show her confusion.
“Meggie,” the small voice came at last. “It’s Jill.”
“Jill,” she repeated the name, both relieved and surprised. “How are you?” She turned around so Quinn couldn’t watch her as she spoke.
“Fine,” came the same small voice.
“You don’t sound right; what’s wrong?”
“I got braces today.”
For a half-second Meggie had been afraid something had gone terribly wrong and now she couldn’t prevent the soft laugh. “Now
I know why your voice sounds so timid. It hurts to talk, doesn’t it?”
“Yes,” Jill murmured, but Meggie could still hear the urgency in her young voice. “Did you have braces when you were my age?”
Meggie groaned at the memory. “Yes, but I was sixteen and I got them on two days before a big school dance. I was afraid to
open my mouth. My date thought I was a real nerd.”
Jill giggled and Meggie felt a sigh of relief come over her. Her prayers these last few days had centered heavily on the girl.
To hear a laugh, however small, boosted Meggie’s spirits. “Are you coming Friday afternoon?”
Jill hesitated, her voice uncertain. “That was what I was calling about. I was wondering if it would be all right if I spent
the night with you. I mean, Dad’s busy so much and I’d . . .” Her thin voice wavered slightly.
“You can spend the night with me any time you like. But I think you’d better get your dad’s approval.”
“He doesn’t care,” she returned automatically.
It wasn’t just spending the night Jill was referring to and they both knew it. “I have something for you when you come,” Meggie
encouraged her enthusiastically. “It’s a T-shirt, from the time I was in braces, I want you to have.”
“Really? What does it say?”
Meggie smiled at the memory; her father had gotten her the shirt and had it specially printed for her. It was unique, one of a kind. “It says: DOING TIME, BUT GOING STRAIGHT.”
Jill giggled again. “I’ve got to go. I’ll see you Friday, okay?”
“Okay,” Meggie said softly and replaced the receiver.
When Meggie turned around she noticed Quinn was standing at the sliding glass door, looking out over the city. When he turned
toward her his face was twisted in a heavy scowl.
“What’s wrong?” Meggie asked.
He rubbed a hand over his face, his eyes dull, defeated. “Jill,” he said, “is up to her tricks again.”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s not getting braces,” he finished.