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“How about Jeff?” Tina asked. “How’s he doing?”
“You probably talk to him more than I do,” Quincy said.
“Maybe. The next time I do, I’ll tell him you said hi.”
Quincy knew it would do little to change things. Jeff had made his opinion of her very clear that long, torturous night when she confessed all her misdeeds. It destroyed her to see him veer between love and anger, sympathy and disgust. At one point, he simply latched on to her, begging for a logical reason why she had slept with Him.
She couldn’t give one.
That’s why she decided it was best for them to go their separate ways, even if Jeff could possibly find some way to forgive her. They weren’t right for each other. They both should have seen that from the start.
“That would be nice,” Quincy said. “Tell him I wish him well.”
Quincy meant it. Jeff needed someone normal. And she needed to focus on other things. Like getting the website back in working condition, for starters. And laying off the wine. And quitting the Xanax.
The day after Jeff moved out, Quincy’s mother arrived for an extended visit. They did all the things they should have done years earlier. Talking. Crying. Forgiving. Together, they flushed all those little blue pills down the toilet. Now whenever Quincy got the urge for one, she sipped a bit of grape soda in an attempt to fool her Xanax-deprived brain. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it didn’t.
“I read your big interview,” Tina told her.
“I haven’t,” Quincy said. “How was it?”
“Jonah did a good job.”
After Pine Cottage Part II, Quincy gave exactly one interview—an exclusive to Jonah Thompson. It had felt like the right thing to do, considering that he helped her, in his own smarmy way. All the major news outlets from Trenton to Tokyo picked it up. Everyone wanted a piece of her. But since she was no longer talking, they settled for Jonah instead. He was able to parlay all that attention into a bigger, better gig. He started at theNew York Timeson Monday. Quincy hoped they were ready for him.
“I’m glad it turned out well,” she said.
The room began to empty around them. Visitation was almost over. Quincy knew she should leave too, but one more question lingered in her head, begging to be asked.
“Did you suspect that He was the one responsible for Pine Cottage?”
“No,” Tina said, understanding exactly whom she was referring to. “All I knew was that it couldn’t have been Joe.”
“I’m sorry that I blamed him all these years,” Quincy said. “I’m sorry it caused you such pain.”
“Don’t be sorry. You saved my life.”
“And you saved mine.”
They stared at each other, not speaking, until the guard stationed at the door announced it was time to leave. When Quincy stood, Tina said, “Do you think you’ll come back sometime? Just to say hi?”
“I don’t know. Do you want me to?”
Tina shrugged. “I don’t know.”
At least they were honest with each other. In a way, they always had been, even when they were lying.
“Then I guess we’ll have to wait and see,” Quincy said.
Tina’s lips curled upward, on the edge of a smile. “I’ll be waiting, babe.”
•••
Quincy drove her rental car back to the city, squinting against the sunset reflecting off the snow that had been pushed onto the highway’s shoulder. The scenery passing the window was underwhelming at best. A dull line of strip malls, churches, and used-car lots full of vehicles stippled white by road salt. Yet one business caught her attention—a sliver of storefront squeezed between a pizza place and a travel agency closed for the weekend. A neon sign glowed pink in the window.
TATTOOS
Without thinking, Quincy veered into the lot, shut off the car, and walked inside. A tinny bell over the door chimed her arrival. The woman behind the register had ruby bow-tie lips and a constellation of pink stars inked onto her neck. Her hair was the same color Tina’s used to be.