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“Where’s Sam?”
“She went to lie down, I think,” Coop says. “Are you okay?”
I offer a smile stretched as tight as a rubber band on the cusp of snapping apart. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
“Really, I am.”
“I’m sorry we don’t know more about who killed Lisa yet. I know this is hard to deal with.”
“It is,” I say. “But I’ll be fine.”
The mounds of Coop’s shoulders droop, deflating, as if I’ve also punched the extra air out of him. I grab a handful of flour and sprinkleit across the countertop. Then I slap the dough onto it, sending up tiny puffs of white. Rolling pin in hand, I flatten the dough in long, hard strokes. The muscles in my arms tighten with each push.
“Will you put that down and talk to me, Quincy?”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” I say. “Hopefully, they’ll somehow catch whoever did this to Lisa and everything will go back to normal. Until then, I trust you’ll do your best to keep me safe.”
“That’s my plan.”
Coop chucks my chin, just like my father used to do. It was a common gesture when we baked together and I invariably messed something up. Spilling a tide of flour over the rim of a bowl or cracking an egg so poorly that fine bits of shell swam in the yolk. I’d get upset and he’d squeeze my chin between his thumb and forefinger, lifting it and thereby steadying me. Even though it’s now Coop doing the steadying, the effect is the same.
“Thank you,” I tell him. “Truly. I know I can be a handful. Especially on a day like today.”
Coop starts to say something. I hear the pop of tongue on teeth as he opens his mouth, the word just starting to form. But then the front door opens and Jeff’s voice fills the apartment.
“Quinn? You here?”
“In the kitchen.”
Although Jeff is surprised by Coop’s presence, he does a good job of hiding it. I notice only a slight double-take. It lasts barely a second before he comprehends the situation and realizes Coop is here for the same reason he’s come home in the middle of the afternoon with a box of wine and two bags of takeout from my favorite Thai place.
“I left work as soon as I heard the news,” he says as he deposits them in the fridge. “I tried to call but your phone went straight to voicemail.”
That’s because my phone has been turned off the whole time I’ve been home. By now the texts, emails, and missed calls are probably stacked so high I’ll never be able to sort through them.
His hands now free, Jeff pulls me into a hug. “How are you doing?”
“She’s fine,” Coop says dryly.
Jeff nods at him—the first overt acknowledgment that he’s even in the room. He turns to me. “Are you?”
“Of course not,” I say. “I’m shocked and sad and angry.”
“Poor Lisa. They know who did it, right?”
I shake my head. “They don’t know who or why. All they know is how.”
Jeff, refusing to let me go, turns to Coop again. My head remains against his chest, turning involuntarily with him. “I’m glad you were here with them, Franklin. I’m sure it was a big comfort to Quinn and Sam.”
“I only wish I could do more,” Coop says.
“You’ve already done so much,” Jeff says. “Quinn is lucky to have you in her life.”
“And you,” I tell Jeff. “I’m so lucky to have you.”
I press myself deeper into Jeff’s chest, his tie slick on my cheek. He mistakes it for distress, which I suppose it is, and holds me tighter. I let myself be held, turning inward, Jeff’s body edging across my field of vision, eclipsing the image of Coop staring at me from across the kitchen.