“That’s Helen. She’s very generous. Not to mention pushy.”
Quinn stared back at the wall.
“I’m also getting my butt kicked by Summer and I haven’t slept more than four hours a night in roughly a gazillion years.”
“Summer?” Kate asked.
“Local Post reporter. Thinks she’s God’s gift to journalism. You’ll meet her soon enough.”
“Well, the sleeping part I can relate to. I have bouts of insomnia myself,” Kate said.
“Oh, I can fall asleep easily enough, but…”
“Dreams?”
“Dreams are nice fluffy things where you get the girl and save the day. What I have is definitely not that. And it feels so real. I mean, I can hear sounds, feel the gravel beneath my feet… it all seems so intense. Then when I wake up, I don’t want to go back to sleep.”
Kate nodded in agreement. She didn’t want to say anything-she really didn’t know Quinn-but she could relate more than she wanted to admit.
“You have the dream a lot?” she asked instead.
“Every October,” he said, looking out at the pond.
“That’s strange. Only one month a year?”
“It started a little earlier this year, but yeah, always around now. And every year, it’s worse. If I had my way, I would prefer not to dream at all. Ever again.”
“Would you?” she asked as he turned back toward her.
“Yeah,” he said with more conviction. “I would. I’d kill to get rid of that dream. It infects everything else around it. I think about it way too often. Does that make any sense?”
“A lot, actually,” she replied. “But I don’t know if I could give up on dreams. I think maybe they are the closest thing to magic we have. They show us worlds that never existed, places we’ve been that are long gone and give us the ability to talk to the dead.”
Kate did not say what she was really thinking. That her dreams were the only place she could still talk to her mother.
“Mine don’t show me any of that,” Quinn replied. “At least not that I can remember.”
“Maybe it’s there, you just choose not to remember it,” she offered. “Besides, nightmares aren’t all bad. Sometimes they can be a warning.”
“Oh, believe me, that’s what I fear the most,” he said, looking back at her. “That’s the worst part.”
Quinn wanted to tell her the whole truth. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t. The truth would sound better than he had made it out to be. But he thought he might sound crazy. He worried he might have already gone too far.
It is one of the ironies of life that two people can have virtually the same thought at the same time and never really know it. Kate, too, was close to telling him the truth. She desperately wanted to talk to someone. About her mother, about her return to Leesburg, about everything. When was the last time she had talked about any of that?
But for Kate, it had been too long since she talked about it. Her experiences had taught her long ago not to let down the wall that kept others out. It might make you feel better for a time, but ultimately, it would only make matters worse.
For his part, Quinn would have been more than willing to tear down his own walls. Since the moment he had laid eyes on her, he had wanted to get to know her, to be her confidante. But it was precisely his desire that kept him from talking. Though he wanted to be close, he was afraid of what she might find out. Afraid that she would see him for what he really was. It seemed better-safer-to stay distant. Best not to let her see how weird his life had become.
And so they sat there in silence, staring across the gravestones toward the ducks on the pond.
“This is a nice place,” Kate said after a time. “I can see why you come here.”
“It’s very peaceful,” he said. “You are going to think I’m crazy, but sometimes Leesburg feels a little crowded. My mind gets cluttered with stuff. I come here to get uncluttered.”
“That makes sense,” she said. She looked suddenly at her watch. “I need to get back to the Chronicle.”
“Well, it was good chatting with you,” Quinn said.
“You too,” she replied, and stood up. “You want to come with me?”
“I’ve got a little time to kill,” he said.
“You sure? Don’t we have that planning meeting to go to in a couple hours?”
Quinn stared at her blankly.
“Phillips Farm?” she asked.
“Oh, yeah,” Quinn said finally. During the conversation, it had totally slipped his mind. Laurence had asked if he could give the Phillips Farm beat to Kate so she would have something to focus on. Considering Quinn was having trouble keeping up with his own responsibilities, he had been happy to let it go.
“I think Laurence was hoping you could show me around and introduce me to a few people at Friday’s meeting, but if you have some other plans…” she said.
Quinn laughed out loud, then stopped abruptly.
“Oh, you were serious,” he said. “No, I’m afraid many of my Fridays involve working. I’d be happy to come, I just forgot about it.”
He jumped up. He was suddenly cheerier at the thought of spending much of the rest of the day with Kate. She smiled at him.
“Great,” she replied.
They started off down the path side-by-side.
Chapter 6
“ The debate over the future of Phillips Farm continued to rage last week, with conservationists threatening to file a lawsuit to block any development of the land. Martha Paletta, director of Protect Loudoun’s Heritage, said on Tuesday the group had received a large anonymous donation to continue its quest to stop development by Heller Brothers of the 100-acre property. ‘It just proves that people everywhere do not want to see this property destroyed,’ she said. Martin Heller, the co-founder of the development firm, said the group’s opposition would not deter the company from moving forward. A public meeting with county officials is scheduled Friday.”
Friday, Oct. 6
Quinn moved through the crush of people to the front of the room. He did not see Kate anywhere. He just hoped she knew where to come. He had gone into Laurence’s office for a quick discussion, but when he came out he found a note on his desk that said she had run out for a bite to eat and would see him at the meeting.
Quinn had been disappointed, hoping that maybe they could have dinner together. And when he arrived at the meeting, he didn’t see her anywhere.
He moved to the front of the room to see a row of chairs reserved for reporters. They didn’t often get front row seats. Reporters as a rule tended to prefer the back where they could slip out if events were boring.
“So are you going to give me credit this time?” a voice asked behind him.
Quinn rolled his eyes. He did not turn around.
“Summer, what a pleasure to talk to you again,” he said.
A petite brunette with curly hair walked in front of him.
“I’m serious, Quinn,” she said.
“Give you credit for what?”
Summer snorted. “For this,” she said, and spread her hand out at the room.
“You called all these people here?” Quinn asked. “That’s funny, I thought the county did that.”
