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“People always say that, though,” Janey said. “That it’s not that bad, and you’ll feel better soon. They always say it, and it’s never true.” Her voice suddenly desolate, not Christmas at all.
Quinn saw Beckett now, in his plaid flannel shirt and jeans, looking like every impossible daydream she’d ever had. He’d stopped, though, and was waiting, because Beckett was a patient man.
She put a hand on Janey’s neat hair, the angelic, curly blonde that was so different from her own, looked into her blue eyes that were just like her mother’s, and said, “People do say that. They tell you that when you’ve lost your dreams, or worse. When you’ve lost your mum. They say that to try to make you feel better, and don’t realize that it makes you feel so much worse, because you feel like nobody will ever understand how bad it is. Bam doesn’t say that, though, and neither do I. Sometimes things hurt so much, you can barely stand them. All you can do is try to get through them, and if you have people you love, people who love you, too, maybe that makes it a little easier. And if you have people who do tell you the truth. That it’s so hard, and it feels so bad, and that you have to let it be hard and feel bad until it finally starts feeling a little better. And that’s me. I believe in the truth. So when I tell you that I’m going to be all right, I mean it. And when I tell you that I love you and Troy and I’m so glad to be here with you, I mean that, too.”
“But I haven’t always been … nice to you.” That was Janey, who was crying for real now. “I was mad at you sometimes. You can’t love people who are mad at you. And then you got hurt, and—”
“Sure you can,” Quinn said. “Because sometimes, peoplearemad, even people you care about. Sometimes, feelings are too strong, and they fight each other inside you until you can’t even tellhowyou feel anymore. But anybody who cares about you, anybody who loves you, is going to know about that, because they’ve felt the same thing. Feelings are truth, too, and you can’t hide the truth. Not forever.”
“So you don’t … hate me?” Janey’s sobs were easing now, and Troy had stopped crying long ago and was, Quinn hoped, listening.
“I could never hate you,” Quinn said. “I get it. My mom didn’t die, but my dreams did. That isn’t as bad as losing somebody as special as your mum, but I know how it feels to have your world ripped away until you don’t even recognize your life anymore, and you have no control at all. I know how helpless that feels, and how scary. And how hard it is to trust that your new life can ever be good again. How hard it is toletit be good, because it’s almost like you’re … betraying your old life. Betraying that dream you loved, if you let it go. Betraying your mum, if you can love somebody else. I’ll bet your dad knows something about that.”
“I do.” That was Beckett, an expression on his face she’d never seen. He crouched down and scooped Troy up in one arm, and put the other one around Janey. “It was hard for me, too, to let myself love Quinn. I knew it didn’t make my love for your mum any less. I knew I’d always love her, and still, I felt guilty, like loving Quinn was forgetting your mum. I don’t think Mum would have thought so, though. Mum would say that love is too important to close your heart off to it. I know that if I was the one who’d died, all I’d want was for your mum to be happy again. For you and Troy to be happy again. Or not always happy, because tears happen, too. It’s what Quinn said. Tears are truth, and truth matters.”
“I never knew life was so complicated,” Janey said.
Beckett laughed, just a little. “Yeah. It can be. Sometimes, the truth is simple, and it’s obvious. Other times, you have to dig for it. And now I think we’d better let Quinn go get ready for Christmas, and I’d better go help her. She won’t tell you, but she still hurts. She can even need help getting dressed.”
“I don’t—” Quinn began.
“You’re ruining my moment,” he told her.
She laughed. “Well, OK, Sir Galahad. I’ll allow you to help.”
Janey stood stock-still. “That’s what Mum used to say. Did you tell her, Dad? Did you tell her Mum’s name for you? That’s not—”
“No,” Beckett said. “She came up with that all by herself. If both of them said it, I reckon it must be true.”
* * *
Two hours later,Quinn was on the couch in front of the wood stove in the Stanford sweats and fuzzy socks. Beckett had gone home early this morning to pick them up for her, like he somehow knew how much she needed to feel some comfort. He was sitting beside her, her parents were on the other couch, and Janey and Troy were on the rug in front of the Christmas tree, homemade ornaments dangling and colored lights blinking on and off—her parents did not believe in classy trees—taking inventory of their presents.
Troy said, “I like my car set best, because it’s all the construction equipmentandall the emergency vehicles. And I can use them on the track at Quinn’s house.”
“You wouldn’t have construction equipment on a racetrack,” Janey said.
“I know,” Troy said. “They can fix the track when it’s broken.” And Beckett smiled.
Janey said, “Dad.” Actually, she sort of whispered it.
“Yeah?” he asked.
She came closer and whispered the next part, too, but Quinn heard it. “You didn’t get Quinn a present! She’s your girlfriend! Youhaveto get her a present!”
He smiled again. “I did, though. I was waiting until we’re alone. You think I should give it to her now?”
“Yes,”Janey said. “Or she’ll think you forgot.”
“OK. Hang on.” He got up and headed out of the room.
“Honestly,” Janey said. “It’s like he’s clueless.”
Quinn said, “That’s OK. I’m pretty clueless, too.”
“You gavehima present,” Janey pointed out.
“Yes. A multi-tool. I couldn’t believe he didn’t have one.”
