I’d dropped out of college at Montana State after Colin was born. I’d managed to stay in school for a month as a single dad, but sleepless nights and erratic schedules didn’t lend well to study and when my first round of Fs had come in, I’d called it quits.
With the housing boom in the Gallatin Valley and a labor shortage, construction had been the obvious choice for income. Along the way, it had become a passion too, crafting and building from the ground up with my own hands.
For two years I’d worked for a local builder, learning and soaking up everything he’d teach me. When Walker had graduated from MSU with a business degree, he’d planned to find a job with a bank, but entry-level positions paid shit and desk jobs weren’t his style. So he’d hired on beside me to work construction.
Four years ago, we’d decided to start our business. Hayes-Montgomery Construction was smaller than the outfit where we’d been working. Our vision was for a family company, the two of us along with one or two trusted employees who we never had actually hired. We built custom homes, focusing on quality not quantity.
Jobs had been hard to come by that first year, but we’d stuck it out. Mindy worked to help keep Walker’s household afloat, and my parents had loaned me money when things had been tight.
Then we’d caught our break. Walker and I had been out drinking a beer with one of his friends from college. The guy had become a real estate agent and found some success in town. He’d wanted us to build his own house plus a real-estate office on his property, so we had. When one of his wealthy clients couldn’t find the right home but had landed on the right property, Walker’s real estate buddy had recommended us as the builder.
One house for one satisfied customer had led to another, then another, then another. Neither of us could believe it when we’d received a call from a well-known architecture firm last winter to do this Bridger project that would be valued at over five million dollars when it was complete.
Walker and I were looking at one hell of a payday, clearing six figures each for our labor.
This would be more money than I’d ever had, and every dime was going toward paying off my mortgage, then my truck, then stockpiling Colin’s college fund.
Our families knew how important this job was for our business, so they were helping. Colin was enrolled in a few summer camps and he’d be participating in the Vacation Bible School at church, but during the weeks when he was free, Ruby had agreed to babysit. Nan had watched him the week after school got out.
Colin had loved Nan with a wild passion, so much so that it reminded me of how Quinn had been with her grandmother. Their relationship had always been easy and full of laughter. They’d both loved music and rocking out to the stereo cranked too loud. It had been exactly the same with my son.
It was Nan who’d insisted I buy Colin a drum set last Christmas, threatening to do it herself if Santa dropped the ball.
“When I pick up Evan and Maya, want me to grab Colin too?” Walker asked before taking a drink of water.
“If you don’t mind. I’ll come over and grab him when I’m done at the church.”
“Sounds good.” He shoved up from the floor, ready to get back to work.
I wiped my mouth of the crumbs from my peanut butter and jelly sandwich and chased the bite down with the cold dregs of my morning coffee. Even after a break, sweat dripped down my back. By the afternoon, I’d reek and would have to swing home for a shower before meeting Quinn.
Though maybe if I arrived dripping like a pig and smelling like one too, Quinn would stop staring at me with those stormy eyes like she was expecting to find the boy she’d left behind.
That boy had vanished the moment he’d become a father.
Walker and I put in a hard afternoon before calling it quits. I went home to take a cold shower and change into clean clothes. He went to do the same, then pick up the kids.
Colin would be more than happy to spend a few added hours with Evan. Those two were as close as their fathers had been at that age. The only difference was they didn’t live next door.
Clean and cool, I climbed into my truck and drove the couple of miles to church, where Quinn and I had agreed to practice before Nan’s funeral on Saturday. With the window rolled down, I let the hot breeze dry my hair, something I’d been meaning to cut for weeks.
The lot beside the church was nearly empty when I parked, and I let myself into the building through the side door, breathing in the smell of wood, must and weak coffee. Like the scent, the church building hadn’t changed in decades, though we were getting new faces all the time. The stuffy, traditional views on right versus wrong were beginning to bend and break.
It was about damn time.
The labyrinth of hallways leading to the sanctuary were empty, and when I reached the vast, open room, it was dark except for the light shining through the stained-glass windows. The pews were empty of all but a few Bibles strewn on the wooden seats. The wall tapestry above the pulpit was a green felt appliqued with pastel summer blooms of irises, lilacs and pansies.
Someone had swapped out the spring banner for summer since I’d been two Sundays ago. I’d missed service last week because I’d been at home, staring at a wall, trying to figure out how the fuck I was going to face Quinn at the airport.
And there she was, sitting at the piano on stage. Her long hair trailed down her back in a smooth, shining sheet of gold. Her hands were poised above the keys, but she didn’t play. She stared down at her hovering fingers and sat motionless.
Would she play? I lingered by the doors to the sanctuary, leaning against the wooden frame. She looked so intently at the piano it was like she wanted to play but couldn’t break past an invisible barrier keeping her fingers from touching the keys.
Play. Just one note.
“Hi, Graham.” Bradley appeared by my side; his voice low enough that Quinn didn’t hear.
He probably could have shouted and been unable to break her concentration. Her hands remained frozen and her spine rigid as she fought her internal war.
“It’s nice to see her there again,” Bradley said.
I hummed, though not in agreement. Quinn had never fit in that space. She’d played countless times on that piano, beautifully and effortlessly. And she’d been bored out of her mind. The music here wasn’t her style, or at least, it hadn’t been. Maybe she’d feel differently if she knew how things had progressed lately.
Not that she’d stick around to find out.
“Did you think about what you’ll play?” Bradley asked. “I can get you a list of Nan’s favorite hymns.”
“I don’t think that was what Nan had in mind.”
“No, you’re probably right. Though that music doesn’t seem quite right for a funeral.”
That music. Meaning, Quinn’s music. It was loud and most of the lyrics dripping with innuendo, but it was hers. It was Quinn’s.
“There’s millions of people around the world who would love that music at their funeral. Nan included.” I shoved off the door frame, not sparing him another glance.
Bradley had come a long way from the pastor he’d once been, but despite his sermons on tolerance and keeping an open mind, he had a blind spot when it came to his daughter. And damn, the man was stubborn.
My footsteps were muffled on the carpet and I was twenty feet away from Quinn when she dropped her hands to the piano. Her shoulders curled in on themselves.