It would be nice. But life isn’t dreams and rainbows, it’s long days on a ranch you can’t afford, just to fight the in-laws you always hated in order to keep the kid that’s rightfully yours. “It’s not real, and she has to know that.”
Quinn takes another pull of whiskey. “Hear me out. Whatif we pretend it’s real, and then a few months after the Montgomerys are off your back, we start explaining to her that we work better as friends, and I’ll promise to come visit—and I will, Landry. I promise,” she says, clutching her heart, “I will come back and see her as much as I can.”
“You can’t make that promise, Quinn. You can’t tell me that after you go back to Melvin and make up that you’re gonna fly out to Texas and visit a little girl you don’t even know anymore,” I say, reaching for the bottle of whiskey now, too, because I hate this. I hate this damn situation I’m in, but I cannot for the life of me throw in the towel. Not yet.
I still have to make sure Sadie is mine.
Sadie stomps down the stairs, dragging a white fluffy dress behind her. I don’t know why on God’s green earth Tate and Love bought that thing, but it’s been passed down to us and Sadie’s hell-bent on wearin’ it.
“Taffeta.” Quinn smiles, “and lace. Wow, that’s fancy, Sadie, I love it.” And as much as I know she can’t love that eighties-prom-dress-for-a-child-lookin’ monstrosity, I honestly can’t tell by the way she’s acting. Sweet, polite, and excited for my girl.
An ache runs through me so deep I have to bring my hand to my chest and knead it out. “Sadie, honey, you can wear the dress, but I got to talk to you.” Sadie plunks down, and Quinn starts eating large spoonfuls of potatoes.
“Miss Quinn and I are getting married because she’s helping me. I like Miss Quinn a lot, and she likes me, but we aren’t in love, like a mama and daddy are in love. We’re friends, friends that are getting married,” I repeat, spreading my hand over my chest, “as a favor to me.”
“Why do you need Miss Quinn to marry you as a favor?” she asks, glancing at Quinn who is still emotionally filling herself with buttery potatoes.
I scratch at the back of my head. As tough as this is, this is the only way. I can’t really lie to her, not about this. Even if she’s just a child. It’d be wrong. “Your grandparents,” I start, and Sadie knows exactly who I’m referring to, because the Montgomerys have been sending her cards and letters about the beauty of Dallas and their extravagant travels since she was six months old.
As if I read my widow’s parents’ brag letters to an infant.
“They think you’d be better off livin’ with them because they have money and their house is all fancy. And you’ve probably noticed, I’ve had some trouble around here the last year or so, you know, fixin’ things when they break, stuff like that.” Shame weighs on my shoulders and heats my cheeks.
She pats my hand so tenderly that the backs of my eyes burn with a sudden onslaught of tears. I don’t let them surface, and instead, I pat her hand back. “You’re trying your best, Daddy.”
Quinn takes an aggressive bite of pot roast.
Sadie takes a few bites of her food, quiet as she eats. I follow her lead and start eating too, suppressing a groan when I taste the savory flavor combination flooding my tongue.
After a few minutes where I’m convinced I ruined my daughter, she finally breaks the quiet. “So Miss Quinn is marrying you like… playin’ house?”
I nod. “Just like playin’ house. Only… we gotta keep it a secret for a few months.”
“What happens after a few months?”
It’s a good question, and one I thought I was prepared for. “I’ll win the rodeo and with Miss Quinn by my side, I’ll prove to Grandpa and Grandma that I’m stable. They’ll be happy and drop the suit.” I fucking hope.
Sadie shakes her head. “Not that. Miss Quinn,” she says,looking directly at Quinn who is midway through a huge bite, potatoes in her cheek like a hamster. I nudge a glass of water her way and she sips slowly. “What happens to you and Miss Quinn?”
“We’ll be friends,” Quinn answers, “just like we are now. I’ll move back to California, but I’ll send you guys post cards and gifts, and I’ll even come visit,” she says, glancing at me then adding, “if I can. Maybe.”
Sadie’s face is a sickening mix of dejected and sad, but she manages the tiniest of smiles, completely meant to appease us. “I’ll be real sad when you go,” she says to Quinn, who is fully crying now, tears streaking her face completely unacknowledged. She reaches for Sadie, and they weave their fingers together over the tablecloth. “I’ll be sad to leave you, too, Sadie Ruth. But we can have something beautiful together while I’m here.”
Sadie nods, and then the three of us eat in silence, but for the scrape of a fork on the plate or the occasional audible swallow. When we’re all done, Sadie asks Quinn to take her upstairs, to help her try on the dress and get bathed, and to read her a story.
Quinn agrees, and I clean up the kitchen alone. Neither one of them comes back downstairs and near Sadie’s bedtime, I bite the bullet and head up.
Nudging into Sadie’s room, I find her asleep, with Quinn sitting on the edge of the bed, her head in her hands.
“Psst,” I hiss, and when her head snaps up to meet my eyes, there’s a plummet of something weighty, from my chest to my stomach, seeing tears in her eyes.
I waste no time going to her, and extending my hand, palm up. “C’mon,” I say quietly, and am pleased when she nods, slipping her hand against mine, curling her fingers into my palm like she trusts me. I twist the lamp near Sadie’s bed,leaving her with just the glow of her horseshoe night-light on the wall. Slowly, I guide Quinn to my room, because it’s far from Sadie’s and affords us the privacy we need. To talk.
I close the door with my boot and rake my hand through my hair, flicking on the light. Quinn’s hand comes to her eyes, adjusting to the sudden brightness, and I guide her to my bed, where we both take a seat on the edge.
We’re still holding hands.
“She’ll be okay, Quinn. One day, when she’s old enough to wrap her mind around everything that happened, she’ll understand.”
