The kid’s lips twitched in a younger version of her father’s almost-but-not-quite-there smile. The Quinns probably rationed their amusement to make sure it would last into the next century.
“Is Missy as stuck-up as her mom?” Tess asked.
“Worse.”
“Gag.” Tess turned down a side street. “Is she in your class?”
“No. She’s in the fifth grade.”
“What grade are you in?”
“Why do you care?”
“I don’t, believe me,” Tess said. “Just making conversation. It’s something people do every once in a while. Your dad should give it a try.”
“Where are we going?” Rosie asked as Tess made another turn.
“To get some drive-through coffee.”
“You just had some coffee. At the school.”
“What-are you my mother?”
“Caffeine is addictive.”
“No kidding. Must be why I drink so much of it.”
Rosie slumped in her seat and resumed glaring through the glass, and Tess remembered, too late, how much this girl must resent adults with addictions. “I should probably quit,” she said. “Or switch to decaf.”
A skinny-shouldered shrug was the only response.
“Your dad was worried about you. That’s why he called while I was in the principal’s office. Omigod.” Tess groaned. “While I was in the principal’s office. It sounds like I’m twelve.”
The kid muttered something uncomplimentary under her breath.
“Look,” Tess said, “I don’t care about what happened to me. Or to you, for that matter. I was looking forward to a fight, ’cause I’m in that kind of a mood today. Okay, I’m in that kind of a mood most of the time,” she admitted, “but your dad is having a rough day, and we made it a little rougher.”
“He’ll get over it,” Rosie said with another shrug.
“So kind of you to care.”
“Whatever.”
“I can kick your skinny ass, too,” Tess warned.
“You’re not supposed to talk to me like that.”
“Really?” Tess maneuvered into the short line at Java Jive. “According to whose rules?”
“My dad’s.”
“You treat him like dirt and then expect him to fight your battles for you-is that how it works?”
“You don’t know anything about it.”
“I know more than you think.” Tess pulled even with the menu board. “Chocolate or vanilla shake?”
Rosie gave her a confused stare.
“What’ll it be, kid?”
“Vanilla.”
“Excellent choice.”
Tess gave her order and then inched ahead, next in line. “My mom is an alcoholic,” she said matter-of-factly. “She’s been in and out of rehab so many times I’ve lost count. On the good days, when I was still at home, she’d stay sober long enough to pick me up from school. On the bad days, she’d forget about me, and one of my teachers would call a cab and the maid would come out and take care of the fare when I got home. Most of the time, she’d pass out right before dinner, so I’d ask my brother to help me with my homework.”
Tess paid for their beverages and handed Rosie’s shake to her. “My dad drank, too,” she continued, “but not as much. I only found him passed out a couple of times, and then he made me feel worse when he tried to apologize. He died when I was ten years old. Drove off the side of the road and ran into a tree. For years, I thought he’d done it on purpose because of something I’d said.”
She glanced toward her passenger. “Ready to break out the violin yet?”
Rosie flicked a bland glance in her direction and then focused on sucking mush up her straw.
“Your dad made you miserable for a time,” Tess said, “and you probably felt guilty for hating him. You still feel that way sometimes, so you punish him for it. But punishing him just hurts you, too.”
“You don’t know-”
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Tess said. “I don’t know anything about it.”
What she did know was that she should have kept her mouth shut. The last thing a kid like Rosie Quinn needed was one more adult giving her grief. Or pity. A delicate balance, one requiring more finesse than Tess cared to bother with.
Memere had always struck that balance with Tess, during those long summers she’d taken her in and given her a place to find some peace. Geneva may have been unable to prevent her husband’s and daughter’s mistakes, but she’d never wavered in her love and support for her family. And if that love sometimes seemed overly stern and the support diamond-hard, well, maybe that was what it took to keep the Chandlers’ foundation from cracking.
Rosie Quinn could probably handle the tough stuff, too. Tess had a sneaking suspicion that beneath the hands-off attitude and slightly grungy exterior the kid was okay. Rosie’d probably clean up well at some point down the road, just like her dad.
They drove in silence for the remainder of the short trip and made the final turn around the corner of Quinn’s block. At a third-floor window, framed by the drab brown curtains of his apartment, stood a familiar silhouette.
“Shit,” Tess said. “Drink up fast, kid.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Your dad’s home early. And I just realized I’ve probably broken some parental rule about right-before-dinner snacks.”
“He’s not going to care about a bunch of milk. It’s got calcium.” Rosie slurped loudly. “He’ll probably be more upset about me ending up in the school office.”
“You don’t have anything to worry about-you were a mere bystander.” Tess maneuvered into a parking space. “I’m the one who blew it.”
“Jared Medvedev said you kicked Mrs. Stanton’s butt.”
“Yeah, I did-and it needed to be kicked-but it was still a waste of time.” She switched off the ignition, picked up her toffee-and-vanilla latte and sipped. “You’ve got to pick your battles. That’s what Memere always says.”
“What’s a
“A scary old lady. I’d tell you more about her, but you’re too young. I don’t want to give you nightmares. Come on, drink up,” Tess said as she leaned toward her window and peered at the third floor. “I think we’ve been spotted.”
“Is that what you do with my dad?” Rosie asked. “Pick your battles?”
“Your dad’s an exception to that rule.” Actually, Quinn was turning out to be an exception to every rule Tess had in her playbook. “I’ve decided dealing with him requires a different strategy.”
She shifted to face Quinn’s daughter. “With your dad, everything’s a battle. Everything we discuss-no matter how small, no matter how big-is something to hit him over the head with. Wear him down, that’s what I’m going to do. Grind him down to a little nub of no resistance.” She rubbed her thumb and fingers together. “That’s my strategy. This is an all-out war to get that building done the way I want it done, and I’m going to win.”
Rosie shook her head. “I’m not so sure about that.”
“Why? Don’t you think I’ve got what it takes?”
“Probably.” Rosie finished her shake and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “But you don’t know my dad. He’s stubborn.”
“I’m stubborner.”
Rosie dragged her pack into her lap. “My mom says my dad is like one of those big rocks off shore. Storms and surf beating at him all the time, and he just sits there and takes it.”
“Sounds boring. And annoying.”
“Tell me about it,” Rosie said. She grabbed the door handle and then paused to look back at Tess. “Have you won an argument with him yet?”
“Sure.”
The kid gave her a skeptical frown. “Really?”
“Of course.”
Tess set down her cup. There was an important point to be made here, and now that the kid was talking again, she wanted to keep the conversation on track. “But that’s not the point. He’s the exception to the rule, remember? Memere’s philosophy is that looking for a fight all the time makes a person mean and petty. And in spite of what Jared Medvedev said, the fight I picked today ended up making me feel mean and petty and stupid. It made me lose my cool, which I really hate. Shrewish isn’t one of my better looks.”
Tess checked her reflection in the rearview mirror and fluffed her hair, waiting to see if the kid had anything to say.
Rosie toyed with the handle. “Do you ever wish you could stop fighting with him?”
“With your dad? If I quit, I wouldn’t know what to do with him. Confrontation is the basis of our relationship.”
Rosie slowly sank back against her seat and stared through the windshield. “Do you like him?”
“I do. In a narrowly defined version of the term ‘like,’ that is.”
“Even when you’re fighting with him?”
“Especially when I’m fighting with him.” Tess took a fortifying sip of her cooling latte. “Let me tell you something about your dad. Even when he’s just plain wrong and I want to bash in his pigheaded face, he’s still a pretty awesome guy. I’ll share this secret-and you have to swear you won’t tell him I said this, or I swear, I’ll kick your butt-I actually admire him.”
“Yeah, but, do you…” Rosie fingered the strap on her pack. “You know, do you like, like him?”
“You mean, the girl-guy kind of like?”
“Yeah.”
“Now there’s a loaded question,” Tess said. “With all sorts of answers, depending on the context. Don’t worry, kid,” she added when Rosie gave her the stink eye. “I’m not going to duck out on this, although I wish I hadn’t started it.”
She took a deep breath. “Yes, I find your dad extremely sexy.”
