This is one of the things I really like about Quinn: she finds the sunny side of every situation. Whenever I’m with her, well, I’m always just where I want to be, and whatever we’re doing is just what I want to be doing.
“I’ll dig the holes, and you can carefully place the little plants in,” Quinn says to Lily.
“I’ll help you dig,” says the volunteer with the beard.
My role in this endeavor has been building the beds, hauling supplies, and doing all the heavy lifting, but that part’s nearly finished. “I’ll pull the plants out of the flats,” I say. I carefully remove a pepper seedling, being sure to leave the roots intact.
“Can I name them?” Lily asks.
Quinn smiles. “Sure.”
“Okay.” Lily points to the plant I just removed. “This one’s Petunia.”
The bearded man laughs. “You’re going to name a pepper plant Petunia? Aren’t you worried it’ll grow flowers instead of peppers?”
“No.” She gives him a serious look. “It knows what it is. My name is Lily, but I know I’m a little girl.”
He laughs, then shake his head. “I can’t argue with that.”
“Where does she even come up with this stuff?” I ask Quinn later, when the planting is finished, Lily has scampered off to play tag with the residents’ children, and we’re gathering up the tools. ‘The plant knows what it is.’ That’s pretty deep!”
“I think she gets it from you.”
“Get out!”
“Did you see the serious expression on her face when she said it?”
“Like she was giving it a whole lot of thought?”
Quinn nods. “You get that exact same look sometimes.”
I pick up a rake, and we head for the car. “Like when?”
“Well... when you were watching the YouTube video on how to change out the doors for Margaret’s bedroom.” She gives me a playful grin. “And when you were trying to decide if you’d have the pineapple or mango snow cone.”
“Hey, that snow cone decision was momentous.”
“Did you jus’ say somethin’ ’bout snow cones?” Lily asks, appearing at my elbow. “Are we gonna go get some?”
Quinn grins at me. “As Margaret would say, ‘Little pitchers have big ears.’”
“What does that mean?” Lily asks.
“It’s an old-timey saying,” Quinn replies.
“It means Mommy Quinn wants to get a pitcher of snow cones,” I say. “And she wants us to pour them in her ear.”
Quinn gives me a teasing faux slap, and Lily laughs. “You’re silly!”
The sun filters through the leaves of the oak tree in the front yard, dappling their blond hair with light, and I suddenly realize I’m happy—all in, to-the-bone happy. This child and this woman are giving me something my heart has longed for, something I’ve missed, something I’d hoped to find in my marriage, but never did—the sense of being at home whenever I’m with them, wherever that might be.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
Quinn
Saturday, July 6
I’M THE LASTone to arrive at the Java Hut for the July meeting of the single parent group. The place looks the same, with the exception of the artwork on the wall. A large new painting hangs over the table where we always gather. It’s titledLove Is a Leap of Faithand features two valentine-like hearts holding hands, legs bent, ready to jump over a chasm. My gaze locks on the chasm, which looks dangerously wide and deep. If those two hearts had a child and an unborn baby relying on them, would they still choose to jump?
