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“I haven’t found one,” Quinn said, “not exactly. Or not … not completely. Or I’m not sure.”
Terrell said, “Now youhaveto tell.”
“What are we,” Quinn said, “in ninth grade?”
“Oh, honey,” Terrell said, “we’re allalwaysin ninth grade. So you slept with him? How was it?”
“Uh … well … great,” Quinn said. “Really great. He’s, um … pretty exciting. Of course, I’m not sureI’mexciting, but—”
“More details, please,” Martin said.
“Did you get the hot underwear?” Roxanne asked. “Did it help? More confidence, or did you just feel ridiculous?”
“OK,” Quinn said. “Here’s what I actually want to tell you. And what I actually want to ask. Which includes the underwear.”
* * *
Beckett heardQuinn leave around seven-ten. He didn’tseeher leave, because it seemed better to wait to have their … talk, or whatever it was, until they had some time to do it.
When had life got so complicated?
He was in the attic again when Janey found him. Blinking in her PJs, her hair in a sort of fuzzy corona around its plait, looking at the walls.
“You did it all without me,” she said.
“No,” Beckett said, “only some. Still got the final coat of mud to go, once I finish smoothing the surface. Want to help?”
“Sure,” she said. “Will you teach me how?”
“Course I will. Go change and put your shoes on.”
“There are no nails or anything, though,” she said. “Because you swept up.”
“Shoes on for construction,” he said.
She sighed. “You’re such aboss.”
He had to smile. “Yeah. I am. Troy still asleep?”
“He was waking up. But he probably wants cereal.”
“He can get cereal,” Beckett said. “Get some yourself, if you like. Waffles later, Quinn said.” He tossed her name out there, yeah. Janey had to get used to this.
“No,” Janey said. “I want to help you.”
“Then let’s go,” he said. “Clothes and shoes. Not your new stuff. Things you don’t mind ruining.”
When she came back up, he handed her the damp sponge and said, “Wipe it down behind me after I sand. Keep it clean and well wrung out. We’re getting the surface as smooth as possible before that final light coat. Safety glasses in the toolbox.”
She didn’t argue this time, just put them on and set to work. The noise of the belt sander made conversation impossible, but that was all right. Nothing like working together to get you in harmony. Finally, though, he unplugged the sander, wound the cord, set it in the corner, and said, “We’ll mix the mud now, and I’ll show you how to put it on.”
“It’s heaps of steps to do this,” she said fifteen minutes later, after he’d lugged the heavy bucket from the laundry room up to the attic again and they were working on the third coat. “You already did two coats.”
“Yeah,” he said. “You can do it quick and dirty, but it’s better to do it right once, since you’ll be looking at it for thirty years. That’s the idea.”
“Well, no,” she said, “wewon’t be. Quinn will be.”
Ah. Here they went. He said, “You were right about that. About Quinn. Reckon you saw it when I wasn’t sure myself.”
