did you meet?”
Wyatt studied her suspiciously. “Why?”
“Curiosity,” she said, with a shrug. “What are her hobbies? What are her likes, dislikes?”
He hesitated, then said, “She likes church.”
Quinn paused. “Church? All you know about the love of your life is that she likes church?”
“That’s important. My faith is important to me and I want it to be important to the mother of my children.”
“Hmm…Katherine also is very pious. It’s probably her biggest downfall.”
“Katherine?”
Quinn pursed her lips in irritation. “My character in On Livermore Road.”
He glanced at her uncertainly, then asked, “What type of character are you playing exactly?”
“You say that as if you expect me to be playing a hooker or something.”
“There’s nothing wrong with hookers.”
She laughed at his suddenly careful expression. “Wyatt Granger, what exactly do you know about hookers? You’re pleading the Fifth on that one,” she noted with a grin. When he still stared straight ahead, she answered, “If you must know, I am playing a housewife.”
“A housewife?” he repeated, in disbelief.
“I know that you think I could never be anything as wholesome as a housewife, but that’s why it’s called acting,” she muttered. She squared her shoulders and continued in a calmer tone, “The night of her honeymoon, where Katherine is set to lose her virginity—don’t laugh—with her husband, a man bursts into their hotel room, beats Katherine’s husband unconscious and rapes her. She becomes pregnant. They live in a small town and no one suspects that the child is not the husband’s, but Katherine and Clint know and it is slowly driving a wedge in their marriage. Five years later, Clint is driving the child home from school and there is a car accident. Their son dies. The movie follows Clint’s spiral into relief, guilt, an affair with a kindly, older waitress and ultimately salvation in his love for Katherine.”
“So it’s a comedy?”
Quinn smiled at his attempt at humor, then said, “Comedies don’t win Oscars.”
“That’s what you want? An Oscar?”
“Of course. It’s what every actor wants. It’s why you become an actor.”
“I thought you became an actor to…I don’t know, act.”
“I’m a serious actor, Wyatt,” she snapped.
“I never said you weren’t.”
“Just because I want an Oscar doesn’t mean that I’m not serious about my craft. It’s just when you’ve been…when you’ve been through what I’ve been through…it’s not enough to work again. I have to prove to everyone that they were wrong about me.” Embarrassed by her admission, she glared at him and said, “It’s a great script and it’s going to be a great movie.”
“I don’t doubt it,” he said, not sounding the least bit sarcastic. When she had no response, he reached for the key in the ignition, which was her not-so-subtle clue to get out of the car. “At any rate, I’ll stop staring at you. In fact, you won’t have to worry about me at all. I don’t have any more trips planned to L.A. for another year, and I’m assuming you’ll be leaving Sibleyville as soon as you get an answer about the house, which I’ll let you know by tomorrow when I talk to my mother. And, if things go according to plan with Dorrie, the next time you see me, I’ll be too busy changing diapers to stare at you.”
Quinn racked her brain for something to say, besides a protest that Wyatt didn’t need to marry an accountant who’s name sounded like a comic book character.
She settled on an awkward, “Good luck.”
She quickly moved from the car and slammed the door, uncertain why she had to force herself to walk to the house. Wyatt didn’t drive away until she had closed the door to the house. She leaned against the door and closed her eyes. She couldn’t wait to leave Sibleyville. This town always made her forget the important things in life. Like being on the cover of People again.
Chapter 3
Quinn was having a pleasant dream about eating a tub of rocky road ice cream without worrying about gaining weight, when an annoying shrill ring intruded. She groaned as she recognized the sound of her cell phone in her dream. She opened her eyes and squinted at the bright sunlight streaming through the windows of her designated bedroom in the Sibley house.
Graham and Charlie had barely touched her room in their home improvement stage. Everything was exactly where Quinn remembered it from her last visit during their wedding. There was a queen-sized lumpy mattress on an old-fashioned wood bedframe that squeaked and creaked when she breathed, that had been in the room on the first day she and her sisters had walked into the house, along with the matching antique dresser and chest of drawers that squeaked in dramatic protest every time Quinn tried to grab a pair of clothes. At least the windows had been replaced and the hardwood floor had been buffed and polished until it sparkled. No one had gotten around to putting curtains or blinds over the new windows, which meant Quinn was now squinting against the sunlight and her lack of sleep.
Quinn blindly reached for the cell phone on the mattress next to her and groaned again when she saw Charlie’s name flashing on the small screen. Charlie was the only person Quinn knew who would call her at seven o’clock in the morning. Actually, Charlie was the only person Quinn knew who was awake at seven o’clock in the morning.
“What?” Quinn groaned into the telephone.
“Good morning, beautiful,” Charlie sang.
Quinn rolled her eyes at Charlie’s cheerful greeting. But then again, Quinn would be that cheerful too if she went to sleep every night next to a millionaire who adored her and gave her carte blanche to his seven-figure bank account. Of course, Charlie being Charlie, the bank account meant nothing to her.
Not that Quinn begrudged Charlie’s happiness, or her obvious love with Graham. In fact, Quinn thought of all three Sibley sisters, Charlie deserved happiness the most. While Quinn and Kendra had moved away as soon as possible from under their grandfather’s authoritarian rule, Charlie had remained by Max Sibley’s side until his death two years ago. And Charlie had been the one to bring the three sisters together and to keep them together. But all the same, if Quinn didn’t love Charlie so much, she would have hated her.
“I haven’t had caffeine in twenty-four hours. Be very careful,” she muttered in greeting.
“How did it go with Wyatt? Did he say yes?”
Quinn came wide awake at the mention of Wyatt. When she hadn’t been dreaming about guilt-free, calorie-free ice cream, she had been dreaming about Wyatt and that smile. The snug-fitting jean-encased body. Even now, her stomach did a little flip. Although it could have been hunger, since Sibleyville’s local cuisine—beef, beef and more beef—was not exactly in her diet.
“You never told me he was a momma’s boy on top of being a creepy mortician. He has to talk to Mommy Dearest before he’ll let me know the final answer.”
“How did Helmut like Sibleyville?”
Quinn thought about Helmut placing a handkerchief over his mouth the moment he got out the minivan in Sibleyville. “He loved it,” she lied brightly.
“And how do you feel about Sibleyville?”
“Is that a trick question?”
“You know, Quinn, I think you’d actually like Sibleyville. I’ve spent a lot of time there with Graham over the last year, and there’s something about the place. It grows on you-”
“Like a bad rash.”
Charlie