Quinn laggardly played with the window switch of the black limo her father sent to retrieve her, cold air creeping into the limo from her excursions. Her mom refused to drive her to her dad’s, something about opening old wounds or something. Quinn was very biter towards both her parents right now, but she couldn’t deny she was curious about her father, haven’t seeing him since he left in 7th grade.
“Are you alright, Miss?” the black limo driver called behind his shoulder, noticing Quinn’s troubled face.
“Yes…Joe,” Quinn responded, his name almost slipping from her memory, giving him a weak smile.
“Do you need to use the restroom?” Joe asked politely, catching her glimpse in the rearview mirror, always thinking about his passengers’ comfort, “Are you hungry?”
“No and No, Joe,” Quinn replied blandly, tapping her fingers against the leather seat, “But thank you.” Joe nodded with a semblance of a slanted smile as he continued on Route 110 towards the vast skyline of Washington, D.C.
Joe pulled off the highway and onto what it seemed to be a country road, the spacing between houses increasing with Quinn’s interest as she absentmindedly stuck her head out of the window to breath in the sweet, chilly country air. Quinn imagined her father as a hard-faced, strict, boring hunk of muscles who felt no emotion for anyone or anything. What other reason wouldn’t he come visit his children?
Weeping willows bowed down to her as the limo whizzed by, Quinn captivated by the lush, green rolling hills, gleeful chirps of cardinals, sparrows, and blue jays dancing from tree to tree, and the tranquility that floated in the air like feathers. Quinn wasn’t aware that they arrived if the limo didn’t jerk her back to Earth. Joe was at her side with a snap, opening the door for her and offering her his hand in a gentlemanly fashion. Quinn shyly smiled as she linked her hand in his and slid from the limo, gazing up at a 3 story Colonial-style home, colored a deep crimson with white window frames, a mountain bike and a basketball hugging the white wraparound porch, a dark blue Blazer sitting in the pebbled driveway.
“Go on in, Miss,” Joe urged her, noticing she was grinding her fingers into the cuffs of her denim jacket, Quinn turning back to Joe suddenly, lost in thought. “He wants you to see him right away. I’ll get your things.”
“Oh…” Quinn’s voice drifted off with the cool wind, her white Steve Maddens suddenly frozen like icebergs to the frigid ground. Swallowing the lump of fear crystallizing in her throat, she took baby steps up the pebbled sidewalk and up the white stairs to the large white door, the doorbell taunting her. Quinn squeezed her eyes shut and made a blind dash for the doorbell, the bell ringing throughout the household. Quinn’s heart began pacing at 100 miles per hours as she heard heavy footsteps approach the door. Icy air coated her lungs as the door open, revealing her same large hazel eyes, her thin lips, his short salt and pepper crew cut, his jutted jaw, the nervousness in his creased face. “Quinn,” Frank sighed, his large fingers holding back a sob, blinking back tears. Quinn peered up at him strangely, bewildered with his sudden emotion for his abandoned child. Frank reached down for a hug, but Quinn shrugged away, feeling awkward, like Frank just wanted to kiss and make-up. Good thing he’s perceptive. “Come on in.”
Quinn cautiously stepped inside, the front door closing with a slam, Quinn taking note of the narrow stairs streaming upstairs, the quaint living room area to the right decored in dark purples, greens, blues, and browns that came straight out of Bloomingdale’s showroom or something, the white-tiled, white-cabineted, kitchen area through a narrow doorway, the array of pictures mounted above the fireplace in the living room, none of them of her or Chris.
“You married?” Quinn asked begrudgingly, thumbing a black picture frame that was dead center, like she didn’t know from the dried wreaths and potted plants around the living room or the framed picture perfect portrait of Frank, some lady, and who was obviously his son, Quinn’s half/step brother.
“Yes,” Frank responded wearily, wishing that ancient history didn’t have to be dug up 5 minutes after their reunion. His heavy footsteps lead him to the mantle, his big arm leaning against it as Quinn perused the photographs.
“He’s your kid?” Quinn questioned casually, wrapping her arm self-consciously around the bottom of her read sweater, pointing to a blonde boy hugging a baseball bat with a goofy grin. He had Quinn’s eyes, too.
“That’s Branden,” Frank informed her, “Your half-brother.”
“How old?” Quinn asked, glancing up at Frank’s big eyes briefly, and then staring straight ahead as Frank tried to catch her glimpse like in a net.
“He’s 6 now,” Frank told Quinn, his smile hiding his eyes behind his cheeks.
“You left us 5 years ago,” Quinn stated, anger starting to clench her teeth, staring to blaze her eyes, insinuations beginning to form in her brain. Her eyes darted up to her towering father, her father, the big-tough-security-guard avoiding his own daughter’s eyes like a scolded puppy. “Did you leave us for him?”
“Let’s not discuss this now,” Frank suggested, bolting into the kitchen, a clatter of pots and pans following his exit. “I’ll make us some dinner. Why don’t you bring your stuff up to your room? Better yet, relax and watch some TV.”
“Good to see you too, Dad,” Quinn scoffed under her breath as she sank into the dark blue couch.
~*~
“Aren’t you hungry?” Frank asked Quinn genially, pouring both of them some Pepsi in large blue cups, Quinn poking at her Macaroni and Cheese uninterestedly with her fork, her face resting against her palm. “It’s your favorite.”
“Oh yeah,” Quinn droned to him, a yawn jumping into her throat, “I’m plenty hungry. It’s just Mac N Cheese was my favorite in 5th grade.”
Frank sighed as he let his fork drop onto his porcelain plate, lifting his napkin from his lap and running it forcefully across his lips. “You’re not making this any easier, Quinn,” Frank spoke sternly, massaging his temples with his fingers.
“Why should I?” Quinn brusquely replied, slouching down in her seat and crossing her arms in front of her sweater, Frank seeing the pain glistening in her eyes. Frank didn’t know how to respond, how to make things right between them. Frank reached for the salt and began shaking it onto his Mac N Cheese until it looked like it was developing dandruff.
“Your wife and Branden gonna join us?” Quinn asked quietly, a pang of offense tinting her voice, trying to verbally stop her dad from giving himself a heart attack from the salt.
“Oh,” Frank responded, snapping out of his daze, smiling sheepishly at Quinn, Quinn just rolling her eyes as she continued her probing. “They’re skiing in the Appalachians until next week.”
Quinn nodded, and lowered her head to her plate, sculpting her Mac N Cheese into a heart. “Are you hoping I’m gone by then?” Quinn asked Frank, her sincerity making his heart crumble.
“Of course not,” Frank wholeheartedly replied, cautiously slinging his arm around her shoulder, her nonresistance easing him. “Quinn, why do you think I want you gone?”
Quinn couldn’t believe his ignorance, like it wasn’t written all over her face or all over the past. Quinn glared up at him with menacing eyes, trying hard to resist the urge to fully curse him out. “Well, you were never really around, Pops,” Quinn began austerely, tapping her fingernails against the glass table, making a clinking sound, “I figured, like any child in my position, that you didn’t love us anymore.”
Frank winced and lightly pounded his fist into the table, as if he forgot something important, as if he cared. Quinn stole a glance at him, and notice tears forming behind his lashes.
“It was hard, Quinn…” Frank began, turning his white chair around towards her, sliding his arm off her shoulder. He began the story, a story Quinn pretended not to be interested in, but wanted to know more than anything.
From what she understood from Frank’s ramblings and tear-streaked gabber, Frank simply was in love with two women. Frank works as a security guard for government officials, sometimes even working at the White House. He met Valerie (his new wife) on the job, assigned to protect her as her Senator husband was getting threatening telephone messages. Valerie confided in him, telling him all her pains, about the divorce her and her husband was going through, about his constant cheating on her. After weeks of spending time together, Frank began to fall in love, and fought his own tears every night about it as he slid into bed next to Sara. Frank did something very uncustomary and nearly illegal for people in his position to do, he began to date Valerie. Valerie was fully aware of Sara, but needed Frank like she needed air. Valerie felt sinful after one of their late night rendezvous or passionate bedroom visits, but when she was with Frank, everything seemed perfect. Valerie came to him one day at Quinn’s home, soaken with tears, telling him she was pregnant with his child. Frank couldn’t stand being untruthful with Sara any longer. Sara was devastated when she found out, and even though she loved him, she could no longer trust him, and sent him packing. Frank spent 2 weeks in isolation in some dumpy motel to think things over, and divorce seemed inevitable. Frank signed the papers, and left his crying kids and tainted life behind him.
“Every day I reach for the phone and dialed your number, Quinn,” Frank sobbed, her stern father melting into an emotional puddle right before his eyes, Quinn grabbing his hands gently to comfort him. “I just couldn’t do it. I never forgave myself and I thought you never would, too.”
“I’m a little more forgiving now, Dad,” Quinn replied softly, most of her hatred for her father dribbling away in his heartfelt tears, Frank smiling behind the rivers that flowed from his eyes, Quinn rubbing her thumb under his eyes. “I’m glad you told me, but you’re not completely off the hook. I don’t think you’ll ever be…I…I guess all that’s happened to me…might in some twisted way…been good?”
“It sure is, Honey,” Frank replied cheerfully, kissing Quinn’s hand fatherly. Quinn cracked a smile. “Listen, your mom hasn’t told me…in detail…of what’s going on with you and your boyfriend. But, it must be bad if she needed to speak to me after 5 years about it. In time, you can tell me. I want you to relax. I want you to forget all about him…Matt…while you’re here. He can’t find you here.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Quinn smiled, a tear bouncing down her cheek, Quinn never being so thankful before.