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Overwhelmed.
She was panting, and then she was calling out. No time to prepare for this. It was the wolf on the flock. It was the flood bursting the banks. It was … it was …
She was trying to say words. They weren’t coming out. Her legs were shaking. Herarmswere shaking, and she was collapsing down, her forehead against the bed. Beckett swearing behind her. Beckett saying, “Come on. Come on. Do it for me. Take it.”
The flood was here. It was taking her over. She lost her footing. She lost her breath.
She lost her mind.
* * *
Beckett said,when they were under the duvet at last, Quinn’s head on his chest, his arm tight around her, “What is it that bloke said? The doctor? That you weren’t the kind of woman who was put on earth to drive men mad? You should give me his name. I’ll stop by his office and tell him thanks for leaving you available.”
Quinn said, sounding sleepy, “You shouldn’t. You’re going to need a gynecologist for Janey eventually, and he’s the best one in town.”
His hand stopped the slow circling it had been doing on her hip. Well, to be honest, on her bottom again. “First, I didn’t need that image right now, and second, I’ll take her to another town. But so we’re clear? Yeah, you were created for a man to love, and I love doing it.”
“Mm,” she said, and yawned. “Easy for you to say, when I just let you have your way with me.”
He grinned, there in the dark. “Yeah. But who knew you were born to sin? Also, I just said the scary word, the one your dad probably thinks you’ll never hear from me.”
“Maybe tell me again when I’m awake,” she said.
“Oi.” He gave her hip a little slap. Felt good, so he did it again. “I’m serious.”
She turned her head so her hair brushed over his ribs, propped her chin on his chest, and blinked at him. “What?”
“It feels important to say,” he told her. “Not sure why. Maybe because I like the way you do Halloween.”
“And, see,” she said, “I didn’t even know youlikedthe butterfly costume.”
He frowned at her. “I’m serious. I don’t mean the costume—though, yeah, that was choice. I mean the way you are. I’m feeling a bit stupid here. You could help a fella out.”
“OK. I like the wayyouare, too. Butwhatway I am?”
“Flat to the boards. All in. With the cobwebs and the lollies and all. I like it. And I plan to keep on liking it. That OK with you?”
She smiled. Slow and sweet and a little silly. Not Quinn at all, and the real Quinn, down here at heart level. “Yes,” she said. “That’s OK with me.”
40
THE SECRET TECHNIQUE
November came, and November passed. The snow at Halloween didn’t stick on the ground, but the next one did. The kids exclaimed and Janey complained that it was too hard to walk in, but Quinn showed them how to make a snowman, and how to lie flat on their backs and sweep their arms and legs into snow angels. Beckettdidget up early on the mornings after a snowfall to try to get to the shoveling before Quinn could, and her response was to come out, grab a shovel, and join him. Their frosty breath puffing out in clouds, Quinn’s nose turning pink, and both of them warming up fast from the exercise, then needing a shower and …
Well, yeah. What he’d told Janey was true. Doing it every day was good. Doing it twice a day was better, especially with a woman who was more than happy to wrap her legs around your waist in the bathroom when she was pink and warm and wet and you shoved her up against the wall. Those mornings, he went to work with a smile on his face.
Another day, she showed the kids how to break off icicles and suck them like ice blocks—which, yes, made Beckett’s mind wander—and on one Sunday morning, when the snow was heavy, she showed them how to scoop it into a bowl, pour maple syrup over it in a thin stream so it hardened into maple straws, and eat the whole bowl. “Like the original ice cream,” she told them. She took them sledding at the golf course and took the biggest jumps on offer, then helped Troy pull his sled up the hill again. They had Thanksgiving dinner at her parents’ house, and Beckett learned how to make stuffing and sweet potato casserole and apple pie, and later, watched gridiron football with Cash, who seemed to have decided either to accept him or to wait him out, Beckett wasn’t sure. And Beckett wondered and didn’t ask Cash how anybody had the patience to watch all those adverts and all that standing around.
When he told Quinn that back home that night, she asked, “Cricket?” and looked extremely knowing.
He said, “Cricket’s exciting, though.”
She snorted. “A sport that lasts days isn’t exciting. A sport that has tea breaks isn’t exciting. At least football eventually ends, whereas cricket’s like some sort of fever dream, one of those nightmares where you wake up, then fall asleep again only to find you’re right back in the nightmare.”
“Except that you’re back there having fun,” he said, “which makes it agooddream,” and she snorted again and he laughed.
And on the last Saturday in November, they took Troy to his final swim lesson before Quinn’s winter break.
