“What about you?” He turned the tables on her, as they each helped themselves to watermelon and fresh cherries for dessert.
“I've already done that,” she said, giving little credence to the question. She had just turned forty-two, and was convinced her romantic life was behind her. She had been married for eighteen years before the divorce, and said she had no interest in another husband. Her son's death, and her husband's abandonment had cured her, or so she said. She claimed that she was content to live alone forever.
“You're only six years older than I am,” Jack pointed out, and Quinn laughed.
“You two should get together,” he suggested. Jack had already thought of it, but he hadn't wanted to spoil their friendship, and now fate had lured him in a different direction with the girl he'd met at church.
“I don't think so,” Maggie said, laughing at Quinn's suggestion that she and Jack pair up. They were a loving and supportive, but definitely odd, threesome. And all three of them were sad that in a few months, their Friday night evenings would be disbanded. Quinn would be off on his boat by then, and now Jack was well on his way to having a woman in his life, if not this one, then undoubtedly another. The only plans Maggie had were to go back to teaching in September. She had spoken of it several times recently. She had nothing else to do, nowhere she wanted to go, and no one she wanted to be with. Her solitude had become a safe, comfortable cocoon to hide in, just as Quinn's was. But Maggie felt that she ought to go back to work.
The following Friday, Quinn surprised them. The weather was still warm, though not as warm as it had been the week before. But the days were long and sunny, and summer seemed to be on the way.
“What are you two doing tomorrow?” he asked innocently, but he already knew. He had planned it, although the idea had come to him on the spur of the moment, when he went to watch a sailboat race on Wednesday night, from the yacht club.
“Working for you,” Jack said comfortably. He had a date planned for that night. He had already told the woman he was seeing that he was not available on Friday evenings. He called it a poker night, so he didn't have to explain Quinn or Maggie, or his reading lessons. She knew nothing about that, and he still would have been embarrassed to tell her. Maggie had told him weeks before that he didn't need to say anything. It was no one's business, although she saw his learning to read as a great accomplishment on his part, and told him he should be proud of himself.
“I thought I'd see if I can clean up my garden tomorrow,” Maggie said easily. They were dining in Quinn's kitchen, as they did most of the time. He was the best cook of the group, and had the most equipment. Maggie hardly ever cooked, and lived on fruit and salads. She admitted once to both of them that she hadn't cooked since her son died, and didn't want to. The thought of cooking for anyone brought back too many memories of all she'd lost, and what her life had been. They all preferred Quinn's cooking, and he said he enjoyed it anyway.
“I have a better idea,” Quinn said with a mysterious look. “I want you both here and dressed at nine o'clock tomorrow morning. Wear sneakers,” he said cryptically, and Maggie laughed at him, and raised an eyebrow. She was a lovely-looking woman, although Quinn seemed not to notice. She had become like a little sister to him, and an older one to Jack. The three of them had become family to each other. It was what they needed, more than anything else.
“If I didn't know better, Mr. Thompson, I'd think you were taking us sailing.” She tried to guess what they were doing, and he laughed at her.
“My boat is in Holland. That's a long way to go for a sail. Just bring sneakers and don't ask too many questions.”
“Are you sure you don't want me to do the finish work on the upstairs railings?” Jack asked, looking worried.
“It can wait,” Quinn assured him. He looked immensely pleased with himself, and Maggie looked concerned.
“I hope we're not going hiking. I'm too lazy and too out of shape, and I threw my hiking boots away last winter. I swore I'd never do that again.”
“Just trust me,” Quinn said gently. She beat him at liar's dice that night, and went home victoriously with three dollars, to work on the hotline until three in the morning.
The next morning she rang his doorbell promptly at nine o'clock, wearing jeans, an old sweater, and a parka. The morning was cool and breezy, but brilliantly sunny. There wasn't a hint of fog on the bay, and he and Jack were already drinking coffee. She noticed when he answered the door that Quinn was wearing jeans, a heavy sweater, a thin shell, and deck shoes.
“You said sneakers,” she said accusingly, as she pointed. She had worn bright red canvas sneakers, as he had said to, and a red sweater to match them, and her eyes were dancing with anticipation. “I want to know where we're going.”
“All in good time, my dear. Don't be so nosy,” Quinn admonished. They had come to treat each other as sister and brother.
“I feel like I'm being kidnapped,” she said as she joined the two men in the kitchen and helped herself to a cup of coffee.
Their Friday nights together had made them supremely comfortable in each other's company. Maggie never bothered to dress up or wear makeup when she was with them. Her long dark hair was clean and shone in the braid she had worn. Quinn liked it when she wore it loose, but he had never said that to her. And now as he looked at her, he found himself wondering what she would look like with lipstick. She never bothered to wear that either. She wasn't trying to lure either of them. Seduction was not even remotely on her agenda.
They piled into Quinn's station wagon shortly afterward, and Maggie commented that it was the first time they had ever gone anywhere together. The physical boundaries of their relationship in the past several months had been limited to Quinn's kitchen. And she thought it was fun going out together, particularly under the mysterious circumstances Quinn had created. He was in a good mood, and seemed happy and playful, as he headed down Vallejo, and turned left on Divisadero. They were driving toward the water, and took a left along the shoreline on Marina Boulevard. Maggie wondered if they were going to cross the Golden Gate Bridge and go somewhere in Sausalito. But instead he took a right onto the grounds of the St. Francis Yacht Club. She wondered if they were going to have lunch on the deck at the club, and watch a regatta, which was the next best thing to sailing.
“This is fun,” she said happily, and Jack grinned at her. She was in the front seat next to Quinn, and Jack was just behind her.
“I have a date at seven o'clock,” he reminded Quinn. “I'd better be home by then, or she'll kill me.”
“You'll be back before that, I promise,” Quinn assured him. He parked the car and shepherded them toward the dock where the boats were, and then Maggie saw her, and instinctively she knew she'd been right. There was a splendid yacht tied up, much bigger than those that usually were tied up at the yacht club. She was smaller than the one he was building, but she was a hundred and twenty feet of sheer beauty.