Cough, Cough...I'm Sick

Jenny always has fresh muffins or cookies on her desk in the morning. She is the first with a gift or condolences to recognize any changes in a teacher’s life. From promotion to pregnancy, Jenny knows everything. Unlike the principal, that Quinn is sure she will get a call from later today, Jenny cares about the staff.

Quinn thanks Jenny and disconnects the call. She checks the kitchen door to make sure if it is locked and then settles into one of the dining chairs. The men on the porch will eventually get bored and go away. She just has to wait them out. If they are still there at noon, she’ll call the bar and ask for the night off as well.

Another knock on the door echoes to the kitchen. Quinn flinches. The other man, in a calming voice calls out to her. “Quinn. Why don’t you come out and talk to us? Maybe we can reach a compromise.” His voice is honey sweet and insincere.

Quinn does not move. She does not blink. She does not answer. The man knocks again and this time the sweetness in his voice is sour. “Quinn, come out now. It’s either you or Iain. We are not leaving without one of you damn McClearys.”

With that, Quinn stands and places her chair against the back door, wedging it under the doorknob. She drags another chair through the living room and wedges it under the front doorknob. Then she checks all the windows on the first floor and quickly makes it to the second. When she is sure all the windows are locked and curtains or blinds drawn, she crawls under the covers of her bed and cries. She has not cried since her parents died and even then, it was a brief sniffle, and she pulled herself together and took care of things. She always takes care of things.

Iain was barely eighteen and still in high school when their parents died. Quinn was a year away from graduating college and was student teaching at Iain’s high school. She was one of the few future female math teachers in her class. The other students would tease her and suggest she teach Home Economics or English. Girls did not belong in the Math and Science departments. Her best friend was getting her secondary education degree in Biology, and they commiserated together. By the time she was student teaching, the male students were fighting each other to be in her study group and she was the only student teacher to teach an Advanced Placement Calculus class. She got rave evaluations from the teacher even after she buried her parents. If Iain had not attended the same school, no one would have known they had died.

Iain, however, was not as composed. He drank, crashed a car a few times, and became a delinquent. She spent a fair amount of time talking with the principal trying to keep Iain in school, until Iain decided he just did not want to go. That is when the gambling started. Quinn blamed herself for his destruction. She was working so hard to finish college and support them that she was not there to help him through his grief. She did not even have time to process her own.

As Quinn lays under the covers, she thinks about how she has failed Iain and cries. The men had never come to the house before. The only reason she had an address to send the money to was Iain came home one night battered with a note in his pocket containing the address and amount. There was an or else undertone to the note. Quinn sent the first installment the next day. That was five years ago. She kept paying and thought that everything was okay. No one knocked on the door. She sent the packages regularly and there always was a return phone call. What has changed?

At 11:30 AM, Quinn is awoken from her nap by the trill of her phone. She did not realize she had fallen asleep. The screen shows five missed calls, all from the same number. Looks like the school principal is checking up on her. She clears her throat and groggily answers when the phone rings again. She must sound horrendous because Principal Wallace apologizes for disturbing her. Quinn acknowledges her then says she is not feeling much better but has been trying to rest. The principal asks if she needs anything, and Quinn graciously declines. The call is cordial and over quickly.

Quinn wipes her eyes and heads back downstairs. She peers out the window and sees the two men still seated on the porch. She closes the curtain quickly, so they do not see her. Quinn makes her way back to her bedroom, settles onto the side of her bed, and calls the bar. Ciaran should be opening up by now. He answers on the third ring.

“Quinn, to what do I owe the pleasure?” His voice is cheerful but all business.

“I am not feeling well. Just letting you know I will not be in tonight.” She coughs and gives a brief sniffle.

“You dying?” There is no humor in his question.

“No.”

“You contagious?”

“Probably not.”

“Then why are you not coming to work.” The cheerfulness is gone.

“I don’t feel well.” She tries to stifle the snideness.

“And I do not have anyone to cover for you. Either show up or consider yourself without a job. I am not losing revenue because you don’t feel well.” He definitely is a surly son of a bitch.

Quinn reluctantly agrees to come in and hangs up the phone. She has worked there for almost eight years. One would think she had earned a little slack. But Ciaran is not known for giving anyone a break. She rocks back and forth on the edge of the bed considering her options.

Her car is parked in front of the house and even in darkness, the two thugs were sure to see her. If she goes out the back, she may be able to make it to the bus without being seen. That seems like the most viable option. Quinn sets her phone alarm for 5:00 PM and crawls back under her covers. She sleeps instead of ruminating on her situation.