Quinn

Chapter 1

Quinn lovingly stared at her husband in the dim light of the pub. People were chatting all around them and she could smell the Irish cuisine being made in the back, her stomach growled. This was the only place she had found that made a beef stew comparable to her mother's. She stared across their small, mahogany table and took him in; his tanned skin, strong and chiseled features, and his slight five o' clock shadow. He was everything she ever needed, she thought. She then noticed the little grey hairs poking through his already light blonde sideburns and giggled to herself. He was only thirty and already getting them. She wondered if it was her and the kids who were giving them to him, or possibly it was his work. Her thoughts trailed off into the noise of the place, and she sat gazing at his grey eyes while he watched the waiter in order to grab his attention as soon as it was available. Quinn was still as in love with him as day they had met.

College had seemed like so long ago, even though it had only been a few years. Seven years since they had met. And six since Poppy, their daughter, was born. It all happened so quickly; it really was all 'love, marriage, and a baby carriage,' she thought. Quinn was studying history at University and happened to have the most handsome teacher's aide in her senior year English class. He had been gaining extra credits in order to graduate early. His family was upper crust and able to afford the best schooling possible, and had most of his degree completed by the time he was twenty-three. Jack was a dream, she remembered with a smile.

Quinn was quickly brought back to reality when the sound of a bartender dropping a glass across the room startled her to attention. Everyone in the room clapped and the bartender bowed. She laughed a little and glanced back up at her husband. He was now staring at her. And it was odd. A chill swept over her and she wasn't sure what had just happened. The look on his face was unsettling and she couldn't help but notice the bags under his eyes. Was he sick? Was he not sleeping? She wasn't really sure, honestly. He had been getting home fairly late these past few months. The firm he was working for was representing a large bank here in New York that had recently ran into some problems with patrons questioning their morals. 'Banks, having morals?' she laughed to herself.

"What can I get you two?" the waiter asked, finally arriving at their small table.

"Water for me, thank you." Quinn answered. "And a whiskey neat for my husband." The waiter left and they looked over the menu in comfortable silence.

"Happy Anniversary, Jack." Quinn whispered as she leaned in to place her small, porcelain hand on top of her husband's. His skin had never been rough, always well taken care of in a 'business man' sort of way. Having grown up in East New York, she didn't hold it against him. They were definitely opposites, and that is what attracted her to him. He was nothing like the way she was brought up, and she had always embraced his affluent mannerisms.

"You too, honey." Jack muttered shortly, and then stared back off into the distance. He was acting so odd, she shrugged. Though really, he had been distant for a few months now and this behavior was not exactly new. With it being their anniversary, however, she had expected him to be a little more attentive. She decided to go and call the sitter and get a breath of fresh air.

"I'll be right back." She said as she raised her hand off of his and got up to leave. He nodded in acknowledgement. Quinn sighed to herself as she swung her Burberry coat over her shoulders and thumbed her pocket for her small cell phone.

She had apparently been more interested in locating her phone than paying much attention to where she was going. Just as she looked up to walk out the door, Quinn collided with a woman who was in a fit of a hurry. The woman shook her head of thick, ebony hair and grimaced at Quinn with dark chocolate brown eyes. Drinking Quinn in from top to bottom, the woman's scowling eyes had quickly widened and she stood there, still.

"Excuse me! Sorry." Said Quinn, and she hurried out the door, not wanting to cause any more trouble. She shook her head and remembered that it was perfectly normal that she was a small-town girl, and was not yet fully adjusted to life in New York. Finally locating her cell phone as she stepped outside, she dialed the sitter and checked in on her children.

The January wind whipped and swirled, having made a knot of her long, strawberry blonde hair. She tried to tame it with one hand as she held her phone and listened for a voice on the line with the other. She was relieved when Miss. Grayson picked up. Quinn was always one of those mothers; the ones who never felt like anyone was good enough to watch her children. Poppy and Finley were her whole world, and she loved them and her husband more than she had ever known possible.

Because she was facing the street, Quinn could hardly make out what the sitter was saying. "Finley has a fever? Is that what you're saying? I'm sorry... I can hardly hear you." She turned to face the pub, hoping the street noise at her back would help her to understand what was going on with their four year old.

"Okay Miss. Grayson, thank you. Yes, some tea and to bed with him, please. And Poppy? ... Okay, great. Thank you, we will be home just after dinner. Mmm hmm. Thank you again. Bye." She hung up. Of all nights for Finley to run a fever, it of course would have to be this one. Her mother used to say, "No one would ever believe we were Irish - for if it weren't for bad luck, we wouldn't have any at all!" Quinn rolled her eyes at the truth in it all and gave a small grin at the thought of her mother as she placed her phone back into the pocket of her wool coat.

Looking up to go back inside, she glanced in the window of the pub and saw her husband still sitting at their table; however, he was no longer alone. The whirlwind of a beautiful Italian woman that Quinn had ran into was leaning over him and they were in a heated discussion. She could tell that the people around them were overhearing the conversation and saw them staring at her husband. He looked like a ghost. No, she thought; he looked like he had seen a ghost.

Quinn was confused but hesitant to go in. Her mother really was right about the bad luck, she winced to herself; this did not look good. Walking in slowly she pondered over what could have happened. Did she run into him, too? Maybe he accidentally tripped her. Jack did have a bad habit of sticking his long legs out from under the table on account of his knees hitting underneath. Of all the things she could think of, none explained this deep and gut-wrenching pain bubbling up in her stomach. And then it hit her...

She had seen this woman before.