Chapter 3

Three days never came. By the evening of the second, my phone rang. It was Queenie, telling me to come pick her up at the airport.

Twenty minutes later I got there and found her sitting in a row of chairs, Greg's head resting on her lap while he slept.

Something in me went flat and cold. I walked straight toward them.

The moment she saw me, Queenie pressed a finger to her lips.

"Shh! Greg just fell asleep. These past two days have worn him out, coming all the way back with me."

My face didn't change. "You know, you two didn't have to come back at all."

She pouted at me, half-scolding. "Don't say things you don't mean, honey."

Things I didn't mean?

No.

Every word was exactly what I meant.

"So you had me drive out here, and now that Greg's asleep, I just stand around and wait?"

She hesitated at that, then bent down and murmured softly against his ear. "Greg, we're here."

The sight of it put a sharp ache behind my eyes.

Five years of marriage, and I could count on one hand the mornings she'd ever leaned close and woken me like that.

Her gentleness had never belonged to me.

I first met Queenie in a bar. She was sitting alone, one empty beer bottle after another lined up in front of her.

She was blackout drunk. When she stood, she swayed straight into me and threw up all over my shirt.

That was how it started.

Only later, once I knew her, did I find out that Greg had left that night without a word, chasing his dream of painting, and that was why she'd gone drinking herself sick.

She told me so many stories about her and Greg.

It was the first time in my life I ached for someone.

She shouldn't have been drowning in the past. She deserved better.

I started showing up in front of her more and more. Her striking looks, the easy way she talked, drew me in a little at a time until I couldn't pull myself back out.

She went to that bar to drink herself numb again and again, never mind the kind of people who filled it. I worried every single time. She waved it off, laughing that I fretted too much.

Then one night I was stuck late at work and got there a little too slow, in time to see two men hauling her toward the hotel next door.

Blood rushed to my head. I threw myself at them like a madman.

She got away. I ended up in the hospital.

When she sobered up, she choked out, "Why? I'm not worth it!"

I smiled. "You are. To me, you're the best thing in the world."

The tears broke loose all at once, and she fell into my arms sobbing.

In that moment I was certain I'd made it into her heart.

But watching the way she'd just looked at Greg, so gentle, I finally understood. Being inside her heart didn't mean I was the only one in it.

Greg weighed more in there. He always had.

"What are you thinking about?"

I came back to myself. Greg was awake now, his head against Queenie's shoulder, watching me through half-lidded eyes.

The corner of his mouth curved up.

It was a mocking smile, one that said: no matter how much you do, how good you are, you'll never mean as much to Queenie as I do.

I forced down the urge to drive my fist into his face, turned, and walked toward the exit.

"Wait, honey."

Queenie called after me, guilt on her face.

"Honey, can we go to your parents' grave tomorrow instead, so I can make it up to them?"

I looked at her for a long moment. "Why," I said flatly.

"Because of Greg. His exhibition was a huge success, and some people in the art world, senior and junior, want to throw a celebration banquet for him. It's tonight."

"He doesn't have a date. I already told him yes before we flew back."

A celebration banquet.

I tried to pull my mouth into a smile and couldn't manage it. All that came out was one hoarse word.

"Fine."

I'd come here with some hope left. Now it was as if I'd been knocked into a pit, cold all the way through.

In her heart, my dead parents still didn't matter as much as a living Greg Henson.

"Job, then would you mind driving us over to the banquet?"

Greg stood, smoothed his clothes, and gave me a perfectly polite smile.

I couldn't believe my ears. My head turned toward Queenie.

She pleaded, "Honey, I know this is asking a lot of you, but everyone at the banquet tonight is a well-known painter. Greg and I can't exactly show up in a cab."

So now I was the driver.

I finally laughed. I nodded. "Fine."

A celebration banquet?

It was a good chance.

"You're the best, honey!"

Queenie rushed over, thrilled, and threw her arms around me.

I felt the warmth of her body, and it only reached me as cold gone all the way to the bone.

She was this happy because I'd agreed to be another man's driver.

"Greg, let's get to the car. It's a long way from the airport to the banquet hall, you can sleep a little more on the way."

Queenie took Greg's hand and swept happily past me.

"Driver. Ha."

Greg shot me a glance and tossed the word out like a jeer.

I watched their backs and took out my phone to call my lawyer.

"The court's acceptance notice comes tonight. I'll send you the address in a bit."

Greg Henson. Queenie James. I hope you'll both like the gift waiting for you tonight.