what Eugene was happy about, but she sensed it wasn’t career related. No, this had to do with his personal life—with their personal life. Quinn tilted her head, wondering if she should dive in to find out. Just then the ladies’ room door opened and an old woman entered. Quinn withdrew her hands and stood there, trembling, as she realized what she had very nearly done.
Now, in the car, Quinn tried to envision life a day, week, or year beyond the birth of this baby, but it was impossible. She looked out the window. It was a lot to take in.
6
THAT NIGHT, WHEN LEWIS GOT HOME FROM WORK, HE STILL wasn’t ready to talk. He’d had a rough day. One of his drivers was in the hospital after a bad accident, and it left Lewis shaken. After dinner, he went straight upstairs to check the data on his weather station, a digital box that connected to a barometer, an altimeter, a rain gauge, and other equipment on the roof of the house. He sometimes told Quinn that accurate weather forecasts were important for his business, as it helped to know the road conditions his drivers would face in the coming hours. But she had always sensed it calmed him to know exactly what the heavens were about to deliver.
The next morning was more of the same. Lewis simply wasn’t ready or willing to talk. It wasn’t the first time he had shut down, heaven knows, but Quinn was usually able to accept his reticence with patience. It was his way of gaining some control when life got stormy. He couldn’t will the rain clouds from the horizon, but he could control how he would react to them.
Quinn watched from the window in Isaac’s bedroom as her husband walked toward his car. Georgette must have been watching from her own window as she trotted over to chat with him. Quinn turned her attention back to her son.
“You have to pick up your pajamas, Isaac.”
“But the hamper is full,” he said.
The hamper. Of course. Quinn had been ignoring the laundry altogether, as she couldn’t face going down into that basement. But the clothes were piling up, and they were getting harder and harder to avoid.
Later, after Isaac left for school, Quinn dumped the dirty clothes into a laundry basket and carried it down to the first floor, where she paused. The thought of what had happened in the hospital bathroom after the sonogram made facing that ironing board harder than ever.
If she entered the basement today, would she go into a similar trance? Would the lure of escape be too much to bear? She looked back at the pile of dirty clothes in the basket. Maybe she should just take them to a Laundromat and be done with it.
Ridiculous, she told herself. I’ll run downstairs, throw the clothes in the washer, and run back up. It’s not like I have no control.
Quinn picked up the cordless phone and dialed her mother-in-law, whom she owed a call. She kept it tucked under her chin as she lifted the basket and went into the basement. If she stayed on the phone while doing the laundry, she reasoned, it would keep her from being tempted to open the ironing board.
“Sweetheart!” her mother-in-law said. “How are you? I just spoke to Lewis.”
“You did?”
“Poor thing. He’s beside himself.”
“He told you about the sonograms?”
“Of course.” Her tone implied that she was offended Quinn even asked, but that was her way. Lewis’s mother had a huge heart, but was so insecure she perceived nearly every statement as a challenge she had to defend against. Tiptoeing around her insecurities sometimes left Quinn exhausted.
“I’m glad he told you. I’m sure you were a great comfort to him.”
“All I did was listen, really. That’s what you have to do with Lewis.”
Arlene loved giving Quinn the Lecture on How to Talk to Lewis. Quinn switched the phone to her other ear. “Does Don know?” After being divorced from Lewis’s father for almost twenty years, Arlene had remarried. Don was an affable guy—a mattress salesman with a painfully corny sense
Now, in the car, Quinn tried to envision life a day, week, or year beyond the birth of this baby, but it was impossible. She looked out the window. It was a lot to take in.
6
THAT NIGHT, WHEN LEWIS GOT HOME FROM WORK, HE STILL wasn’t ready to talk. He’d had a rough day. One of his drivers was in the hospital after a bad accident, and it left Lewis shaken. After dinner, he went straight upstairs to check the data on his weather station, a digital box that connected to a barometer, an altimeter, a rain gauge, and other equipment on the roof of the house. He sometimes told Quinn that accurate weather forecasts were important for his business, as it helped to know the road conditions his drivers would face in the coming hours. But she had always sensed it calmed him to know exactly what the heavens were about to deliver.
The next morning was more of the same. Lewis simply wasn’t ready or willing to talk. It wasn’t the first time he had shut down, heaven knows, but Quinn was usually able to accept his reticence with patience. It was his way of gaining some control when life got stormy. He couldn’t will the rain clouds from the horizon, but he could control how he would react to them.
Quinn watched from the window in Isaac’s bedroom as her husband walked toward his car. Georgette must have been watching from her own window as she trotted over to chat with him. Quinn turned her attention back to her son.
“You have to pick up your pajamas, Isaac.”
“But the hamper is full,” he said.
The hamper. Of course. Quinn had been ignoring the laundry altogether, as she couldn’t face going down into that basement. But the clothes were piling up, and they were getting harder and harder to avoid.
Later, after Isaac left for school, Quinn dumped the dirty clothes into a laundry basket and carried it down to the first floor, where she paused. The thought of what had happened in the hospital bathroom after the sonogram made facing that ironing board harder than ever.
If she entered the basement today, would she go into a similar trance? Would the lure of escape be too much to bear? She looked back at the pile of dirty clothes in the basket. Maybe she should just take them to a Laundromat and be done with it.
Ridiculous, she told herself. I’ll run downstairs, throw the clothes in the washer, and run back up. It’s not like I have no control.
Quinn picked up the cordless phone and dialed her mother-in-law, whom she owed a call. She kept it tucked under her chin as she lifted the basket and went into the basement. If she stayed on the phone while doing the laundry, she reasoned, it would keep her from being tempted to open the ironing board.
“Sweetheart!” her mother-in-law said. “How are you? I just spoke to Lewis.”
“You did?”
“Poor thing. He’s beside himself.”
“He told you about the sonograms?”
“Of course.” Her tone implied that she was offended Quinn even asked, but that was her way. Lewis’s mother had a huge heart, but was so insecure she perceived nearly every statement as a challenge she had to defend against. Tiptoeing around her insecurities sometimes left Quinn exhausted.
“I’m glad he told you. I’m sure you were a great comfort to him.”
“All I did was listen, really. That’s what you have to do with Lewis.”
Arlene loved giving Quinn the Lecture on How to Talk to Lewis. Quinn switched the phone to her other ear. “Does Don know?” After being divorced from Lewis’s father for almost twenty years, Arlene had remarried. Don was an affable guy—a mattress salesman with a painfully corny sense
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