Crazy for You Read online

  They’d done it other places, too. Like in her bedroom while her mother slept next door; Debbie had been at a slumber party and Darla had whispered, “I want a party, too,” and Max had climbed a tree and almost killed himself getting in her window. And in the backseat of Max’s old clunker, a hundred times it seemed like, although it couldn’t have been more than a couple dozen, really. Even in the front seat of the station truck once. They’d taken it to the drive-in because the seat was higher, they could see better, and then they’d only seen the first half of the first movie. Hours, she thought. We touched each other for hours. It had been the first time she’d come, the first time she thought, I get it, the first time she’d realized why girls were dumb enough to get pregnant because you’d take chances for that kind of glory.

  She could really see her nipples now, poking against the chiffon, and she wanted him so much she was breathless with it.

  Which was when she realized he wasn’t coming in the bathroom.

  She opened the door into a pitch-dark bedroom. “Max?” she said and walked cautiously to the bed in the light from the bathroom, trying not to trip over anything that might be in her path. “Max?”

  She turned on the bedside light. He was stretched out on top of the duvet, his handsome face slack in complete unconsciousness.

  “Max?” She crawled on the bed and shook him a little. “Honey?”

  He took a deep breath in stages, almost sighs, and she realized from seventeen years of sleeping with him that he was out cold. Even if she managed to wake him up, he’d just blink at her; he’d still be asleep, really.

  This was what she got for waiting until bedtime.

  Of course, when she didn’t wait for bedtime, he was horrified. Just like that damn Bill.

  She was so mad, she punched him in the shoulder, and he frowned, but he didn’t wake up.

  She let herself fall back onto the bed beside with a scream of frustration, but that didn’t wake him up, either.

  Nothing was going to wake him up. Not even the trump for the second coming.

  Just thinking about coming made her furious all over again, so she punched him one more time, then crawled under the covers to put herself to sleep.

  Saturday morning, Darla got out of bed, and Max peered at her blearily as she headed for the bathroom.

  “What are you wearing?” he said, still half asleep, sounding vaguely interested.

  “Nothing you’ll ever see again,” she said and slammed the bathroom door.

  Seven

  When Carl Brookner called Quinn from the bank later that Saturday morning, she was sitting at her island counter on one of her new white counter stools eating her breakfast pancakes in her house—her house—while her dog sat at her feet hoping patiently for leftovers, rolling in the whole experience and loving it. This was all hers, all this sunshine and comfort and freedom and polished wood, a place to make new plans and begin new adventures. Like Nick. She was going to have to get a lot more aggressive about Nick—

  Then the phone rang and when she answered, Carl Brookner said, “Ms. McKenzie? There’s a problem with your loan. I’m afraid we’re going to need twenty percent down instead of ten.”

  Quinn stood stunned for a moment. “That’s another seven thousand dollars. Why—”

  “Right,” Brookner said. “We’re holding your check for the first seven thousand until the closing on April fifteenth, of course, so you can bring the rest by then. You know how it is, with you being a single woman and all. We just need a little more up front.”

  But I don’t have it. Quinn hung up, feeling scared and guilty. This was what messing with banks did to you: made you feel inadequate and poor. She looked around her sunny kitchen. And vulnerable. Last week this time she hadn’t known she wanted this house. Now she was terrified she’d lose it.

  She picked up the phone and dialed Darla, ready to dump her troubles, but Darla got to hers first.

  “You can have your nightgown back,” she said as soon as she heard Quinn’s voice.

  “You’re kidding.”

  “He was so tired he passed right out.” Darla sounded defeated. “He never even saw it.”

  “That’s my fault.” Quinn patted her lap and Katie jumped into it, politely not eating off Quinn’s breakfast plate although she stared at it with an intensity that made her quiver. “The move. Maybe—”

  “No,” Darla said. “It wasn’t the move, it’s our marriage. Nothing is going to work. I’m doomed.”

  “No, you’re not.” Quinn broke off a piece of pancake and fed it to Katie, who sighed with gratitude and relief before she took it. “We just have to time this better. Send the kids to sleep someplace else so you can start earlier in the evening when he’s not so tired.”

  “And to think I used to fight this guy off me,” Darla said. “Now I have to fit his biorhythms.”

  “Yeah, well, his brother isn’t exactly a ball of fire, either,” Quinn said.

  “Maybe it’s genetic.”

  “No, it’s the routine,” Quinn said. “They’re both used to the way things have always been, and they’re holding on to that. We just have to shake them up a little so they notice things are different. Blast them out of their routines.”

  “Blast,” Darla said.

  “Yeah.” Quinn nodded. “I’ve been thinking about this, and I think we’re both going to have to get a lot more aggressive.” Katie nudged her arm with her nose, and she fed her more pancake.

  “Aggressive.” Darla took a deep breath.

  “The other times were just practice runs,” Quinn said. “This next one will work.”

  “Maybe.” Darla’s voice was doubtful. “Enough of this. Tell me something cheerful. How’s life as a homeowner?”

  “My loan just went bad,” Quinn said.

  “What?” Darla sounded outraged, which felt good.

  Quinn explained, ending with, “I have some money left in my savings, but I’m still about five thousand short.”

  “I’ll give it to you,” Darla said. “We’ve got money in the college funds—”

  “No. But I could use another kind of help.”

  “Anything.”

  Quinn swallowed. “I can probably get three thousand on the cash advance on my Visa.”

  “Oh, God, the interest,” Darla said.

  “I’m not in a position to be picky. But I’m still two thousand short. And tech director for the play pays a thousand.”

  “Go for it.”

  “Yeah, except it’s sets and costumes and I don’t know a damn thing about sewing and hair.”

  “I’ll do it,” Darla said.

  “I’ll pay you back later,” Quinn said. “When I’m solvent again, I’ll give you half the pay.”

  “No, you won’t,” Darla said. “Think of it as a housewarming present. In fact, think of it as a down payment on my rent because if Max doesn’t respond pretty soon, I’m moving in with you. At least you pay attention to me.”

  When Darla had hung up, Quinn tipped Katie off her lap and called Edie. “Is that tech offer still open?”

  “Yes,” Edie said immediately. “We start Monday, six o’clock. It’s yours, and I’m so relieved. I thought a parent was going to have to do it again this year.”

  “If you can think of anything else,” Quinn said, “I need two thousand dollars by April fifteenth.”

  “You won’t have this money by then,” Edie said. “You’ll get half by the fifteenth, minus withholding, and the rest at the end of May. How about the lights contract? That’s another seven fifty.”

  “I don’t know anything about stage lighting,” Quinn said.

  “Neither do I, and I’ve been doing it,” Edie said. “Take the contract.”

  “Right,” Quinn said. “I’ll take it.” She hung up and did some fast figuring. If both contracts paid half on the fifteenth, and she used her Visa, and she didn’t eat for the next month…

  She’d still be short.

  “I should never have blown t