Cruel World(42)

Inside his father’s office, he found a full box of shells for the XDM and an extra magazine. He tucked them both into a small cloth bag that he slung over his shoulder and paused at the doorway before coming back to the desk. Inside the top drawer was his father’s leather day planner. At the very back was a list of phone numbers. Most were marked only with a first name or initials, all of which were unfamiliar to him. At the bottom of the page were two addresses. One was a strange jumble of Spanish with a city he had never heard of while the other was in English, a town listed that Foster had told him about several times.

“Newton, Pennsylvania,” he said to the empty room. With a tug, he pulled the piece of paper free and was about to stand when his gaze landed on a framed picture at the corner of the desk. It was of he and his father sitting side by side on the cliff facing the ocean. His father’s arm was slung around his small shoulders. The sea was white-capped and angry looking, but their posture was relaxed, at ease with nature and each other. He couldn’t have been more than ten in the picture. The memory of he and Teresa sitting in almost the exact same place only days ago washed over him, and he reached out to grasp the frame. He stopped, his fingers sliding against the smooth glass, tracing the memory for a long moment before he stood.

He rounded the desk and was about to leave the room but turned back and grasped the picture, placing it gently in the bag beside the shells. He hovered on the threshold for a long time, his eyes running over the surfaces and objects, each one spurring a memory that played out and bled into the next. When his vision began to cloud, he reached out and closed the door without a sound.

“It’s hard, isn’t it?”

Alice’s voice startled him, and he turned to find her watching him from down the hall.

“What?”

“Leaving. I got the same way on the last trip out of our shitty, little apartment. Can you believe that?”

He nodded and looked around the house. “I’m coming back though.”

“That’s what I told myself too.”

He made a last circuit through his home, stopping, remembering, if for only a moment. He avoided the solarium completely. The days spent with Teresa there were cherished memories, and he didn’t want to taint them with how the room looked now.

At last he followed Alice and Ty out to the garage, giving the hall one last look before closing the door.

“Want me to drive?” Alice asked, leading Ty to the rear driver’s side.

“Sure. I just need a minute,” Quinn said, stowing his bag in the open hatch before crossing the sunlit yard.

He stopped beneath the tree at the foot of the three graves, one so much longer than the other two. He closed his eyes for a time and wavered there, an urge to return to the house and stay almost overpowering. But the invisible ties slowly broke as he knelt and put his hands in turn on the exposed dirt.

“I’ll be okay,” he whispered.

The sound of Alice backing the Tahoe from the garage pulled him to his feet. The three crosses stood silent in the shade of the tree. He slowly turned from his family, eyes not wanting to look away, and walked to the garage, shutting the door before rounding the house and turning off the generator. When he climbed inside the SUV, Alice gazed at him for a time before putting the vehicle into drive. Quinn watched the yard coast away and the house slide from view in his mirror.

They paused at Graham’s drive and picked up the gas cans before stopping at the broken gates. Quinn climbed out and opened one side, a strange sensation running through him as he walked on ground he never had before. The road was quiet beyond in either direction, and the air was cool, full of the scent of growing things. Alice pulled through the gate and waited for him to close it behind the Tahoe. When he climbed inside, she watched him again.

“Ready?” she asked.

“Ready!” Ty called from the back seat.

Quinn let out an unsteady breath. “Ready.”

Alice guided the SUV onto the open road, and he inhaled deeply as his home fell away behind them.





Chapter 11



Portland



The sun beat against the blacktop as they cruised between the blanketing forest on either side of the turnpike.

Quinn watched out the window, taking in each tree, each shadow, every animal that flitted between branches or rushed into dry grass. Ahead, the turnpike ran on in an unending line broken only by hills and the occasional curve. A few cars dotted its broad back, pulled neatly to one side or simply stalled in the center of one lane. After the first three they passed, Quinn quit trying to make out the occupants, the interiors of the cars blurred by the reflecting sun and the speed by which Alice drove. He was about to suggest stopping at the next stilled vehicle when Alice spoke.