Quinn (16 page)

Will and Quinn heaved their luggage onto the trolley and climbed gratefully out of the piercing cold of Commonwealth Avenue. The car clicked and rocked, slowing as the traffic became more congested near Boston University.

“Place looks more like a factory than a college,” Will said.

“That tower's the law school,” Quinn told him. “So how come you never told me what you thought of Tommy Flanagan?”

“Will you explain to me someday how your synapses transport you from one subject to the next?”

“If you tell me what you thought of Tommy Flanagan.”

“He has nice teeth.”

“I wish you'd try to be a little jealous.”

“Find me a worthy opponent and I will be.”

“I always said you were an arrogant bastard,” Quinn remarked. “You know, it's amazing,” she continued slowly. “I have this sort of mild curiosity about him now. I wish him well, but there's no … passion.”

“Glad to hear it.”

She leaned against his shoulder. “It's kind of scary.”

“Why?”

“I don't want to get too
too
involved with you.”

Will laughed.

“Don't laugh. I think I'm getting clutched.”

He wished she hadn't said it. He depended on Quinn for optimism. From the very beginning she had always insisted that everything would work out, she'd make it work out. Now, as the trolley drove into the tunnel below Kenmore Square, Will's stomach took a plunge as well. When Quinn admitted fear, a chasm opened up under him.

“I'm scared about Ann, too. I keep willing her to go into remission and she's not cooperating.”

“How realistic is that?”

“It's possible. Lupus isn't cancer.” She laced her arm through his and held on tight. “Jesus, it's dark in here.” Will leaned his cheek against the top of her head. Her hair was smooth and warm.

She drew away and stared up at him, her face an ashen moon in the sepulchral light of the underground. “If you ever take off on me, I'll kill you. I swear, I'll come after you with a pickax and stab you through the heart.”

Will put his hand behind her neck and pulled her against him again. They sat in silence until they reached their stop and boarded the bus for Springfield.

Back at school a strain began to develop between them. The jokes about life in New York City versus the wilds of Idaho grew forced and were soon eliminated from their conversations altogether. An accidental mention of the future precipitated long silences. Quinn received a letter from Mr. Ted Manning himself, granting her an interview. She didn't tell Will about it for two days.

They survived by avoidance. Quinn was inundated with work in the garage, and Will was struggling with Harvey, trying to find a way to ease the separation that would come with graduation. February arrived, and with it a thaw that produced record mild temperatures and the inability for anyone to tend to business. Will and Quinn decided to take Harvey fishing.

That Thursday was particularly mild. The ground was covered with a soft mist, and everything smelled fresh and damp. Quinn was nervous. She hadn't seen Harvey since that initial trip to the bowling alley, and did not look forward to his expression when she showed up with Will at school. Will had prepared him, but Quinn suspected that he had prayed all week for her to contract the flu or break her foot.

“H'lo,” Harvey said dutifully, eyes downcast. Will handed Quinn the fishing rods, wrapped an arm around each of them, and headed for the bus stop.

The seats in the front half of the Forestport bus were built to hold two people each. Harvey slipped quickly into a window seat. Will reached for a small brown hand and hauled Harvey to the long row of empty seats at the back of the bus. They waited until Harvey chose a spot so that he and Quinn could sit on either side of him. Harvey kept his face turned rigidly toward Will.

“It's hot back here, man.”

“Yup,” Will agreed.

“Gotta put the niggers in the back of the bus.”

“Oh, shut up, Harve,” Will said.

Quinn was staring at Harvey's sneaker. It had come untied. “Better fix that shoelace or you'll trip,” she commented.

Harvey glanced down at his right foot. “Can't,” he said.

“I'll tie it, then,” Quinn said quickly and reached down.

“No!” Harvey jerked his legs out of her reach. “I like it that way, man.”

Suddenly she understood. Harvey had outgrown his sneakers, and kept the laces undone to allow maximum space for his cramped toes.

“Oh.” Her voice was stricken.

“One of these days we'll have to get you a new pair,” Will said.

“I don't need anything from you,” Harvey murmured.

“It would give me pleasure to buy you a present, you little creep,” Will said. “You'll just have to put up with it.”

Harvey's eyelashes were spiky with unshed tears. Quinn was nearly overcome with the urge to grab the little body and hold on tight, but she sat on her hands and looked out the window. The bus had carried them past the ghetto streets and out into farm country. Finally it stopped with a hiss and let them off by the Forestport post office. There was a short walk past half a dozen shoebox-style houses, and then they turned down a dirt road that wound through the woods. The ground was squishy beneath their feet from patches of melting snow and ice. They inhaled the clean, sharp smell of wet earth. Quinn began jumping over intermittent puddles in a kind of hopscotch game. Harvey watched her curiously.

“Spring fever,” Will commented to him. He didn't answer, but every now and then his feet would skip over a watery spot in unconscious imitation. Then he would quickly slow up again.

At the end of the road was the pond, fronted by a small clearing. A ramshackle boathouse slouched at the water's edge. In an ancient chair by the doorway sat a very old man. When he saw them, he rose with surprising agility and approached on legs that appeared to have spent half a century wrapped around a horse. His face was withered and brown like a dried-apple doll's.

“Early this year,” he remarked to Will.

“Yeah. Good day for perch.”

“Should be.”

The presence of the auburn-haired girl and the small black boy seemed to cause the old man not a moment's puzzlement. Will reached into his pocket, but the man waved his hand. “Pay me later.” He gave them a coffee can full of dirt and worms and gestured toward a battered blue rowboat.

“Come on, troops,” Will said. He and Quinn held the boat while Harvey hopped in. It bobbed gently under the boy's weight. Quinn got in next, then Will planted one foot in the stern and shoved off from the dock with the other. Harvey looked impressed.

“Took me a few times of landing in the drink before I could pull that off,” Will said. For the first time that day Harvey offered him a quick grin.

“Just out of curiosity,” Quinn said, “are we legal? Don't we need a license or something?”

“The old gentleman isn't much of a stickler when it comes to state regulations. He's very independent.”

Quinn gazed across the water. Birch trees lined the shore, their white bark dazzling against the dense woods behind. As Will pulled on the oars the boat slid rhythmically toward the center of the pond.

Quinn sighed. “All I need is a parasol.” She let her hand trail overboard. “Shit, that's cold!” she yelped when her fingers hit the water.

Harvey looked at her, measuring, and Will said, “What're you trying to do, scare away our fish?”

“I
beg
your pardon,” she said in a stage whisper. “What I meant was,
shit, that's cold
.”

This elicited a wan smile from Harvey. Ah hah, thought Quinn. Perhaps entry to this kid's heart is via profanity.

Will showed them how to thread worms on the hook.

“Don't that hurt 'em?” Harvey asked.

“Supposedly not, and I'd just as soon believe it,” Will answered.

“Yeah,” Harvey echoed fervently. He draped his rod over the edge of the boat and stared into the water. “Come on, you fish.”

“It might take a few minutes, Harve,” Will cautioned.

“I got the whole entire afternoon. Fish, I'm gonna get you.”

Quinn tossed her line in and Will settled back against the stern and closed his eyes.

“Hey, don't go to sleep, guide. What do we do if we get a bite?” Quinn asked.

“You just let me know,” Will murmured. Quinn glanced at Harvey, and they exchanged their first look of mutual exasperation. Encouraged, Quinn averted her eyes before the moment could cool.

Then they sat. They sat for twenty minutes without moving, lines trailing in the water. Harvey and Quinn stared into the shiny depths. Nothing happened.

“Hey, man,” Harvey said. “How long we gotta wait here?”

“Peaceful, isn't it?” Will said sleepily.

“You gettin' a suntan and we just sittin' here like a cork in a bathtub. Maybe all the fish went south.”

“Mm,” Will said.

“Let's do something, Harvey,” Quinn suggested. “Uh … maybe a word game?”

“Ah, shee-yit,” Harvey said.

“You got a better idea?”

He thought this over. “What kind of word game?” he asked.

“Botticelli.”

“Never heard of it.”

Quinn explained the rules. She was pleased at Harvey's interest, however grudging.

“Let me go first,” he said when she was finished. “
C
.”

“Is this somebody who wears a bright red suit in December?”

“It's not Santa Claus,” Harvey answered instantly.

“Okay. Is this another December big wheel? A long time ago.”

Harvey thought for a moment. “Jesus Christ!” he answered triumphantly. Quinn shook her head, hunting for a person she was sure he would know. Harvey tried not to look pleased.

“All right, I've got you now,” she said. “Is this an American scientist who figured out what to do with peanuts?”

“Not George Washington Carver!”

They both laughed.

“You're a true pain in the ass, you know that?” Quinn said. “I'm
never
gonna get a free question.” The only names she could think of were Czerny and Clementi, from her early piano-lesson days. Harvey would never know them. “There's not a single
C
left in my head. Sure you don't want to switch to
M
?”

Harvey shook his head, grinning, and Quinn turned to Will for assistance. She prodded his foot where it dangled over the gunwale. “Help me, Will. This kid's too smart.”

Will replied with an incoherent grunt.

“I don't think I'm very impressed with fishing,” Quinn said.

“Hey!” Harvey exclaimed suddenly. His line had dipped, tugging the end of the fishing rod down into the water. “I've got somethin'!”

Will opened his eyes. “Reel him in, Harvey.”

“Come on, you mother,” Harvey said.

“Look at that, look at that! It's a big one!” Quinn yelled.

The fish slapped its tail along the surface, splashing wildly. In his excitement Harvey stood up too abruptly, setting the boat rocking. He arched his body in a sudden violent motion, trying to right himself without giving up his death grip on the rod.

“Sit down!” Will commanded. He leaned toward Harvey, but the boy teetered out of reach. Just as he was about to plunge over the edge, Quinn stood up and hooked him by the belt. She yanked him back onto his seat, but the force of the movement sent her off-balance and the boat began to tip even more wildly. At this point Will stood up too. Quinn grabbed his arm, and both of them plunged tailfirst into the pond.

When they surfaced, gasping with the cold, Harvey was beaming down at them from the boat. He held tightly to the gunwale with one hand, and with the other he displayed a fourteen-inch rainbow trout.

Quinn shouted, “Look at it! He got it!”

“Terrific,” Will sputtered. “If you're so damn smart, Harve, how about fishing us out of this ice water?”

Will maneuvered their reentry into the rowboat. It was difficult with their soaked clothes weighing them down, and Quinn was rendered helpless by laughter. Finally, firmly ensconced, they examined Harvey's catch respectfully.

“Some fish,” Quinn said.

“How's it gonna die?” Harvey wanted to know. “We don't kill it, do we?”

“Not unless you're so inclined,” Will said, starting to row.

“I didn't get your
C
,” Quinn said.

“Want me to tell you?”

“Oh, damn it. No. Yes. Tell me.”

“Cassius Clay,” Harvey said with a grin.

“Beautiful,” Quinn said. “You wait. I'll get you.”

Back at the boathouse the old man observed them expressionlessly as Quinn and Will dripped puddles all over the dock. “Good-looking fish,” he remarked. Quinn decided his comment referred to the soaked, half-frozen bipeds rather than Harvey's trout.

“Coulda caught more, prob'ly, if they didn't fall in,” Harvey said.

The old man disappeared into his shack and emerged a few moments later with two wool jackets that smelled of mildew. Quinn was reluctant to borrow the jeans that were offered, suspecting that they were the boatman's only extras. But the old man took her by the hand, nudged her inside the boathouse, and waited outside until she had finished changing. The one large room was surprisingly neat. There was a faded poster of the Eiffel Tower above the fireplace. Quinn wished she knew everything about the old geezer. She hauled on her soggy pantlegs until they finally unpeeled with a cold, sucking sound. Truth to tell, she wished she knew everything about everybody.

When they boarded the bus, Quinn and Harvey broke into giggles at the loud squishing noises from Quinn's and Will's shoes as they walked to the back. But the seats were warm, and by the time they reached the North End, Will's backside at least was dry. They delivered Harvey to his building and stood in the doorway downstairs.