As You Turn Away (The Walker Boys) (31 page)

“You were. You
are
.” Jonah watched houses and fields blur by, thinking back to all he’d learned on those Saturday nights in the garage. How to hold a flashlight, how to work a cordless drill. How to change a tire and the oil on a car. How to treat women. How to avoid a fight unless it was truly necessary or his honor was in question. How to laugh until he cried.

“You taught me so much, Pop. You taught me about family, and about love, and how to love without restraint. You taught me to cherish the women in my life. To be willing to help them in any way I can, and encourage them, and make them my equal.”

Their farm was just ahead; Jonah sighed realizing their drive was almost over, and he hadn’t said half of what he wanted to say. This wasn’t the only time he and his father would talk, but Jonah had a need to express himself now, before any more time passed. He was at a loss of where to turn to help Quinn, and he was afraid he was losing the ability to be objective. He didn’t want to push her any further away, but the silence was killing him.

“Dad, can I ask you a question?”

Sam pulled Baby into the yard, but left the car idling. “Sure,” he said slowly. Baby’s engine went on purring—she’d driven without a hitch as far as Jonah could tell.

“I’m real uncertain as to what I should do about Quinn. I’m sure you know we had a fight. I confronted her and told her I feel like she isn’t really in our relationship. She opened up to me about some things, and I was honest with her. I told her she needs to work through some issues and that even though I want to help her, she has to do it on her own, or it won’t really count.”

Jonah stared out the windshield at the house he knew so well. “She got angry at me, accused me of looking for a way out of the relationship. I’m not, I swear. I really want this to work. Now she won’t talk to me, and I don’t know what to do.”

Taking off his hat, Sam set it on the dash of the car. He finally shut off the engine, and then faced Jonah. “It’s hard to say without knowing her story, Jonah. But sometimes when people are truly afraid, Jonah, they become negative, and that turns to anger. You’ve been there—when you were afraid of Quinn leaving the first time. When you get past that fear and to the honesty underneath, that’s when two people’s issues can often be worked out. So son, all I can say is talk to her. I’ve seen the two of you together now, as adults. And I think you’re good for one another.”

Jonah nodded, and got out of the car. His dad followed suit, and they stood there; Jonah took of his sunglasses, tucking them onto his shirt collar. He met his father’s gaze, and did nothing to mask his expression.

“What do I say to her, Pop?”

Sam held his gaze. “Find a way to tell her what’s on your mind, because if you love her as much as I think you do, and if she loves
you
as much as I
know
she does…” Sam smiled. “You’ll both find a way back to one another.”

Jonah leaned in first, and his dad wrapped him up in a hug. Closing his eyes, Jonah stayed where he was, in no rush to end the moment. He’d missed four years worth of hugs like these, and he meant to appreciate every one of them that came his way. “Thanks, Pop,” he murmured. “I appreciate the advice.”

When he pulled back, he nodded to his father, and left. The drive to his apartment was only about ten minutes, but it gave him quiet, and time to think. By the time he was back in his living room with a notebook and pen, he wasn’t sure of everything he wanted to say to Quinn. But he knew how to start.

The pasture disappeared behind him as they reached the trees that bordered his family’s property, and their neighbor’s land. Jonah finally coaxed the animal into a slower pace, bringing him gradually to a walk. Once they were beneath the canopy of the forest, Jonah dismounted, and stroked Finn’s coat.

“Good run, boy,” he whispered. Finn’s ears flickered as his breathing steadied. Jonah tied his lead to a tree branch, and then slumped to the ground.

He had to be somewhere open. Somewhere foreign. Everywhere he looked at home, he saw things that reminded him of Quinn: the porch swing they sat in so many nights, cuddled together. The lake they swam in on hot, summer days. The trails they rode horseback. The barn they danced in, the hayloft they hid in during a rainstorm. She was imprinted here in his home, and in the town. He felt her in the town square, and remembered days spent wandering down Main Street. She haunted their booth at
Louisa’s
. He couldn’t ride his motorcycle without remembering her arms around him.

He couldn’t breathe deep without remembering the scent of her perfume.

He had a box under his bed filled with cards, and letters, and other things. Things he wanted nothing more than to burn, but wouldn’t let himself do it. He wasn’t sure if it was desperate to keep them, or worse to get rid of them.

Jonah inhaled; he could smell a fire somewhere. Fall was coming, but he wanted to be anywhere but here. He hadn’t planned a future without Quinn, and the last thing he wanted was to sit around here waiting for her to come back. He’d made it clear to her he didn’t want her anymore, even though that wasn’t true. And she’d said enough to convince him their relationship hadn’t meant what he thought it had.

He had to escape. Before he suffocated from his family’s silence, and the pitying looks at
Louisa’s
, and how everyone treated him as if he was going to break.

For the first time, he knew why Quinn couldn’t breathe in their town.

Quinn pushed the envelope away and sighed. Her name was written on the front in Jonah’s large handwriting, the curl on the “Q” more of a slash, stretching toward the bottom of the paper. The “l” in “Quinnlan” was smudged slightly; she’d been staring at it for an hour now, trying to find the courage to open the letter.

“Come on,” she muttered, hissing a sigh. “It’s been two days since Jonah brought it by. Just fucking open it and read it.”

Her full name was mocking her. Jonah rarely called her by it, and his usage paralyzed her. She wanted to know what he’d written, and why he’d chosen to write to her. When he came by, she was expecting another argument, or an impassioned speech. Instead, he’d simply handed her the letter, and told her he’d be waiting for her response.

Quinn didn’t know what to make of him. Jonah was the same in so many ways as the boy she fell in love with, but also so very changed. He wasn’t the boy who spun gravel and fled their breakup. Instead, he was the sort of man she’d always known he could be, and
she
was
stuck
. Somewhere between the girl who left and the woman she wanted to be. Jonah had grown up, and come home, and made amends—and made her fall for him all over again, without even trying.

What were Quinn’s accomplishments since the accident?

She chewed on her lip and stood. Pacing to the window, she surveyed the view. The trees in the front yard were losing the lustrous green of the summer, preparing for fall. In the four months since her mother’s death, an entire season’s worth of days had gone, and Quinn felt as if she had nothing to show for them. She had her relationship with her father, which meant the world to her. But she knew she was letting fear hold her back there, and she wasn’t any closer to knowing what she wanted to do for the foreseeable future. And this fight with Jonah, stretching into a week now, haunted her dreams.

Just like his letter haunted her waking thoughts. She thought of him when she was stretching, and when she was eating. When she was trying to fall asleep, and immediately when she woke.

Quinn stalked across the room to the table and sat, then tore open the envelope. She fanned the pages across the table, and fresh tears welled in her eyes at the knowledge that, whether they held good or bad words, Jonah had taken the time to do this. She hadn’t rejected his attempts to talk since their argument, but she hadn’t exactly welcomed them, either. She wasn’t sure where they stood, but she knew she wasn’t the same without him.

She missed him as she imagined waves missed the shore when they weren’t together.

Picking up Jonah’s letter, Quinn touched a finger to his scrawl. She traced her name, and the first sentence, but touching his words wasn’t the same as being able to touch him.

Quinn,

I think I fell in love with you again the first time I saw you; sometimes, I’m not sure I ever stopped loving you. I’ve loved you as two very different people—as a kid, and as an adult. Both times our relationship was a mixture of good and bad. The first time, I wasn’t ready to love you selflessly, but now I am.

I know right now you’re thinking we’re over. You think you don’t know what to say or where to start after our fight. Maybe you even think I’m mad at you. But sweetheart, the truth is I’m not. I’m worried for you, and I’m disappointed you waited so long to confide in me. But I’m not angry, and I’m not walking away, and I don’t want us to be over—now or ever. This letter isn’t goodbye. I’ll never say that to you, Quinn. I’ve been miserable since our fight, and I want you to know that I still want us, in the right time. I haven’t known where to start, this last week, but I talked to my Pop, and he told me it was better to say something than nothing. So, here goes.

What we have is special. What we have is something most folks wait a lifetime for, and only touch for a heartbeat. They let go too quickly, or they’re too scared to hold on, or they never see what’s right in front of them. But we’re going to hold on as tight as we can. We could easily have fit into any of those categories as kids, because we both held back, and didn’t communicate, and neither of us was ready for forever. Oh sure, I pretended I was. I wanted you to stay, or to go with you, but it was all on my terms. All about what I wanted. I didn’t think to factor in your wants, and I could kick myself for not seeing there was more to you leaving than just ballet.

Thing is, though, we’re not those teenagers anymore, Quinn. We’re adults, and I’m ready. I’m ready to be your confidante and your rock, if you’ll be mine. I’m ready to talk about our dreams and our differences, and to fix any issues we have. But you have to be able to be and do all of that, too. We can be healthy and good for each other, if we meet on even ground.

I hope more than anything, you can find a way to work through your anger and your grief, and realize that your past doesn’t define you. It doesn’t hold any more power over you than you give it, sweetheart. I had to learn that the hard way, by coming home and working hard at mending things with my family. Happiness isn’t in being strong or alone or angry. Happiness isn’t in the past. Happiness is found as you turn away from the past and toward the future you make.

I want to make mine with you, when you’re ready.

Love,

Jonah

The signature blurred as Quinn’s eyes filled. She put her sleeve to her eyes, dabbing at the tears, but it was no use. She felt like the entire world had shifted underneath her feet as she stood, Jonah’s letter still clutched in her hand. She was only halfway aware of her surroundings as she walked upstairs, and into the suite she’d taken over when she officially moved back into the house. Quinn pocketed her cell, and walked into the hallway, then to the door she hadn’t opened in years.

Her old room was exactly the same as she’d left it, and Quinn sank onto the bed. Her stomach hurt with the force of her tears, but she had to expel every last one of them so she could breathe again.

Jonah was right; she knew it in her heart. Jonah was right about everything, and she didn’t know what to do or where to start.

All she could do was breathe.

~~~~~

Quinn’s eyes felt dry and sore from crying; errant tears still found their way past the prison of her eyelashes, but she didn’t try to stop them. She felt as though she could have formed a small lake with the tears she’d cried since she read Jonah’s letter, but she knew they were a good thing. They hurt, each one a paper-cut-pain, but they were necessary. They helped soften the barriers around her, and helped her admit to herself the truth Jonah knew before she did.

She wasn’t okay.

And that was…
okay
, because even though she wasn’t whole now, or healed, or perfect—that wasn’t the point.
Happiness isn’t in being strong or alone or angry
, Jonah’s letter said, and in the two days since she’d read those words, they had become a sort of mantra for her.
Happiness isn’t in the past. Happiness is found as you turn away from the past and toward the future you make.

Quinn had been living with one foot in the present and one in the past for so long. Waiting for old wounds to flare to life again. Dancing and losing herself in the roles she took on so she didn’t have to come back down to herself. Keeping everyone at arm’s length because it was safer. She’d let Lanie in because Lanie had saved her: from living on the streets, from drowning. But Jonah’s words still thundered in Quinn’s head, reminding her “strong” wasn’t always “better.”