The Mighty Quinns: Tristan

LILY SAT ON the front steps of her cottage, her arms wrapped around her knees and her gaze fixed on the drive leading out to the main road. It was 3 p.m. and she had been waiting for Quinn’s arrival since nine that morning.

“Get a grip,” she muttered to herself. Why not just go about her business as if this were just any other day? Today, she’d already walked down to the bathhouse and taken a shower. Then she’d sat on the end of the dock and combed through her hair before heading to the dining hall for breakfast. Lunch was followed by a short trip to her studio before she decided to give up entirely and focus her attention on the road.

What if he decided not to return? If her suspicions were correct and he was a lawyer pretending to be a writer, then he’d have every reason not to come back. His lies could easily be exposed, especially if he couldn’t produce a manuscript.

“Hey, Lily. That’s a pretty dress. Are you going into town?”

She forced a smile as Bernie Wilson shuffled up. Bernie was the only working author that lived at the colony, and at forty-five, he was also the only man even remotely close to her own age. He’d somehow taken this simple fact and twisted it into a belief that they were destined to be together.

Bernie wrote science fiction and made a decent living with his craft. He certainly didn’t need to live at the colony, but he’d been spending his summers on Fence Lake for the past eight years and in that time, had become their most successful resident.

“I heard someone new is moving in,” he mumbled, pushing his glasses up on his nose.

Lily nodded. “Yes. He’ll be arriving later today, I think.”

“Where’s he going to stay?”

“There’s an extra bedroom in Finch’s cabin. He’ll stay there until we can get one of the cabins on the peninsula cleaned up for him.”

“I spotted a yellow-bellied sapsucker today,” Bernie said. “Right over there, on the point.”

“Yeah, they’ve been around,” Lily said. She stood up and brushed the dust from the front of her dress. “I’ll see you later, Bernie.”

“Are you coming to critique group tonight?”

“No, I don’t have anything to read. And Violet is doing some scenes from Othello with Billy tonight. She’s probably going to want my help setting up the stage.”

“Sure. No problem. Maybe next week.” He turned to walk away, then stopped. “You write really nice poetry,” Bernie said.

Lily smiled. “Thanks, Bernie. I should probably get to work on my painting. Bye.”

She hurried off in the direction of the tree house studios, the sound of harp music drifting on the humid morning air. Evaleen Deschanter, a folksinger, sat on the porch of her cabin, plucking on the harp strings as she sang a tragic ballad of ill-fated lovers.

“Hi, Lily,” Evaleen said, smiling slyly as she came closer. “I hear we’re getting a new member of the colony today. Violet says he’s quite a handsome young man. I can hardly wait to meet him.”

Gossip raced around the colony like wildfire in a dry field. Lily usually barely paid attention to it, but now some of the attention seemed to have turned toward her. This man could possibly be the enemy and everyone was delighted to let him in the gate.

Lily shook her head. “He’s very charming. I expect he’ll be very popular with the ladies.”

There were twenty-one artists who spent part or all of the summer at the colony. Fourteen of them were women and Lily was the only one who hadn’t yet celebrated her sixty-seventh birthday. The seven men were all over seventy, with the exception of Bernie, who was in his mid-forties. Lily had accepted the fact that she was spending her days and nights in a veritable retirement community. But now that was all about to change.

She passed three more artists and they offered her the same pleasant greeting and hopeful wishes. By the time she climbed the narrow steps up to her studio and dropped the trapdoor on the tree house, she could barely hold her temper in check.

The studios had all been built on stilts overlooking the lake. Of all the spots in the colony, her studio was where she felt most herself. Screened on four sides, it caught the summer breeze and it was just cozy enough to hold everything she needed for her painting. The trees blocked views of the other studios, so privacy was never an issue. She could cry, she could sing, she could tear off all her clothes and dance around and no one could see.

Lily raised the shutters to let in the light. Afternoon sun filtered in through the leaves on the trees, and she found a spot of light perfect for her work. She grabbed an abstract painting she’d recently begun and set it on an easel. Then she pulled up a stool and sat down, studying the painting for a long moment.

She’d never been a very good judge of her own work, but this painting seemed to be something special, a step ahead for her.

There had been moments in the past few years when she’d felt this way, as if she’d opened a door or discovered a new window and found something wonderful inside. But it hadn’t been often, and she usually found herself in front of a blank or disappointing canvas wondering what she was doing with her life.

Lily was lucky that she had money from her family to support her. Still, she wanted to believe that her work was headed somewhere. Maybe when this piece was done she’d finally feel she was a true artist.

It was easy to lose herself in her work, and before she knew it, an hour had passed. Her hands were covered with paint and there were rags that she’d used to wipe her brushes tossed about the floor. The painting now looked more focused, a new layer of color adding a deeper meaning. But she couldn’t help noticing that the color was very similar to that of Quinn James’s hair...

The sound of a bell ringing caught her attention and she stood up. Without telephones or a public address system, the camp relied on a single brass bell, mounted next to the door of the dining hall, to call the residents for a meal or to assemble for a meeting. There was only one reason to ring it at this time of the day. Their new guest had arrived!

Her heart skipped a beat and Lily felt a wild sense of anticipation. She hadn’t been able to put Quinn out of her head since the moment he had left the day before. Now that he was here, she had a better chance of figuring him out. Was he a wolf dressed in writer’s clothing? Or was he just a charming guy who enjoyed flirting with a single woman?

Until she knew exactly who he was and what he wanted, she reminded herself to maintain her distance. But she would at least greet him along with the others. She climbed down the stairs and ran along the soft dirt path that led back to the main lodge.

When she reached the clearing, she noticed a large crowd had already gathered. Lily made a quick count and smiled to herself when the number matched the total number at camp. “I guess we’re all excited,” she murmured.

Lily slowly approached the group, her gaze on the man removing his bags from the trunk of his sports car. He was dressed differently today. His dress shirt and tie had been discarded in favor of relaxed shorts and a faded T-shirt. Sunglasses still hid his eyes and his thick, dark hair was covered by a baseball cap.

She moved to stand beside Aunt Violet, knowing that the eldest sister would be the one to make the official welcome. And as she had so many times over the years, Violet made a lovely little speech celebrating the event and introducing Quinn James to the entire group. After a quick round of applause and individual introductions, the group wandered off and Quinn was left with just three others—Violet, Lily and Finch.

Lily held out her hand. “It’s good to have you here, Quinn. I hope you enjoy your stay.”

“Thanks, Lily.”

A long silence descended between them and Lily continued to smile, waiting for Violet to chime in.

When she didn’t, Lily said, “I need to get back to my work.” She held up her paint-stained fingers. “I’m having a—a breakthrough. Very exciting. Perhaps I’ll see you this evening?”

“I was hoping that you would show Mr. James around the colony,” Violet said.

“I thought Finch did that yesterday,” Lily said.

“I only gave him a very brief tour,” Finch explained.

“And I’ve asked Mr. Finch to drive me into town to pick up a few things for tonight’s performance, haven’t I, Mr. Finch?”

The elderly man looked back and forth between the two women, then finally nodded. “Yes, you have, Miss Violet, you certainly have. And yesterday I just gave Mr. James a quick tour. My cabin, the dining hall. There’s much more for you to show him, Lily. I’ll just carry Mr. Quinn’s bags up to the cabin and then fetch the car.”

“Don’t worry,” Quinn said. “I can take care of that.”

Lily’s heart was beating so hard she was certain everyone around her could hear it. She swallowed hard. “Fine, let’s go, then.” Lily turned to Quinn. “Ready?”

“Lead on,” he said.

She picked up a pair of his smaller bags, then pointed in the direction of Finch’s cabin. “This way.”

As they walked, Lily tried to come up with something to say to him, but her mind was racing with thoughts of their first encounter and the attraction that had pulsed between them. “I hope you’re ready to live in rather primitive conditions,” she said. “There’s a sink in each cabin, but no en suite plumbing. For that, you have to go to the shower house just down the hill. Or pee in the woods, which most of the men do.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“There are screens on all the windows, but you’ll need to lower the shutters to keep the rain out. Some of the evenings can be chilly, so I hope you brought some heavy blankets.”