Warm Nights in Magnolia Bay, Babette Jongh [book club books txt] 📗

the evening at the pool house killing zombies on the Xbox while Quinn watched the lights go out next door.

“I kind of miss seeing Abby,” Sean said, keeping his eyes on the screen and his thumbs working the controller. “Maybe we should go over there and say hi or something.”

Quinn cleared his throat. “I think she’s gone to bed already. The lights are out.” Since Sean was sleeping over, the plan had been for him and Quinn to spend the night at the pool house. But they’d both gotten used to sharing meals with Abby. “She was pretty tired after that town hall meeting.” That was the excuse he’d given, and Sean had accepted it, saying, “Just us guys, then,” with an easygoing grin.

Quinn wondered whether Abby had made the big pot of spaghetti they’d shopped for.

A small shadow scratched at the glass door. Sean dropped the controller and hopped up. “Griff! Can he come in, Dad? Can he sleep in my bed? I’ll fix him a litter box full of sand—I can use the pan you mix grout in and some of the mortar sand you have out back. He won’t be a problem, I promise.”

Without Sean’s help, the zombies won, and Quinn turned off the Xbox. “I don’t guess Abby would mind.”

Sean opened the door and scooped up the heavy cat, who immediately started purring. “Text her and let her know,” Sean said as he stroked Griff’s broad head. “I don’t want her to worry.”

After that first text was met with silence, Quinn had hoped to give Abby some space before communicating with her again. He figured he’d stay busy with Sean through the weekend and try again on Monday. But Sean was right; if they were going to keep Griff inside, he should let Abby know. Anyhow, the lights were out, so she wouldn’t see the text till morning, unless for some reason she woke in the night and wondered where the cat was.

Hey, Abby, he typed. Griff wanted to come inside, and Sean wants him to spend the night. Hope that’s okay. He hesitated a second, then typed another line. Hope you’re okay.

Sean made up the promised litter pan, then took a bowl of water and another bowl of chopped-up lunch meat to his room. He picked up the hefty, loud-purring feline and hovered in the living room doorway. “G’night, Dad.”

“Good night, Sean. Close your door, please. Griff has a bad history of peeing on my stuff, and I don’t want him to repeat it. If he pees, it better be in that litter box.”

“Yup,” Sean answered. “I’ll keep my door closed. But he’ll be good.” He rubbed Griff’s head and walked away, talking in a low, baby-talk tone. “Won’t you be good, Griff? Yes, you will. You’ll be a very good boy.”

Quinn got ready for bed and filled a big glass with ice and water. But no matter how much water he drank, he couldn’t get rid of a bad taste like old dust in his mouth. He probably should’ve told Sean that he and Abby had argued. Because Sean would expect to help out at the farm tomorrow; he had always enjoyed doing the barn chores and hanging out with the animals, especially since Quinn paid him a small wage for the time he spent helping out.

Saturday morning, Quinn heard the donkeys braying at daylight, and wished he still had the ability to go over there and feed them. He and Elijah had developed a relationship; he’d started giving the donkey a bite of his granola bar every morning, and that gesture of goodwill had won over the strong-willed, spirited equine who would now follow him anywhere.

As Sean slept in and Quinn sipped substandard coffee by the pool, he didn’t know whether to be pissed at Abby for not listening to his explanation, or pissed at himself for creating this situation to begin with. He decided to go with a little of both. He had definitely screwed up, but she should have heard him out and let him explain. Melissa had perfected the art of walling herself off and refusing to listen to reason. He hadn’t thought that of Abby, but maybe he was wrong. Maybe every woman alive had a tipping point past which no man could crawl with an apology for bad behavior.

Maybe he had a knack for finding that tipping point.

* * *

Abby stepped outside and reached for the morning’s paper delivery, then squeaked in surprise when Wolf leaped down from one of the pool chaises, where he’d apparently slept last night. They stood staring at each other, until Georgia charged past Abby and leaped up to lick Wolf’s mouth.

Abby picked up the paper and held it to her chest. “Thanks for this,” she said quietly. “You’re a good dog, Wolf.” And remembering what Reva had said about Wolf’s suspicion of Abby’s ulterior motives, she turned and went back into the house to pour a cup of coffee.

She sat at the kitchen table and opened the paper, laying aside the rubber band that had held it in place. A double-page spread in the middle of the paper made her take a breath—and choke on her coffee. Eyes watering, she coughed helplessly while the headline that took up half a page swam before her:

Citizens Clash with Developers over Plan to Build a Hotel and Marina Complex with Golf Course on Bay

Abby scanned the article—at least, she started to scan the article—but in no time, she was reading, absorbing every word, every nuance. The article read like an in-depth investigative journalism piece that dug deep and presented an unbiased account of both sides. It listed pros and cons. The author—Abby skipped down to find the byline…Sara Prather, of course—delved into facts, figures, and projections. She wrote about the potential of financial gains for the community, but also about the potentially negative impacts on the environment. She called on city officials to conduct environmental impact studies and background checks before relying on the word