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out.” He watched her stick her chin out and thought, Bill, you just became a dog lover. He’d known Quinn since she was fifteen, and when she dug her heels in like that, there was no moving her.
    “I’m not working it out,” Quinn said. “I’m keeping Katie.”
    “Who?”
    “Katie. That’s her name.”
    Quinn pulled the dog onto her lap and stroked its head, and Nick studied it, trying to see what Quinn saw in it. Slick and bony, it looked like a rat on stilts, and its huge dark eyes made him nervous. Save me, it seemed to be saying. Take care of me. Be responsible for me forever. He shook his head. “Couldn’t you have named it something about a thousand times less cute than Katie?”
    “You want to get a dog of your own and call her Killer, be my guest,” Quinn said. “This is my dog, and her name’s Katie.” She looked at him, suddenly thoughtful. “You know, a dog would be good for you.”
    “No.” Nick settled deeper in his chair. “An apartment is a lousy place for a dog. Also, I do not need another responsibility.”
    Quinn looked at him with affectionate contempt. “A dog wouldn’t be another responsibility since you don’t have a first responsibility. It would be your first responsibility. It’d be a sign you’re maturing.”
    “I have enough signs I’m maturing,” Nick growled. “I’m going gray.”
    “I know.” Quinn sounded smug. “Just at the temples. It’s very attractive, but it’s probably going to cut down on those teenyboppers you’ve been dating.”
    “I do not date teenagers.” Nick glared at her. He did not date teenagers. He had some morals, for Christ’s sake.
    “Oh, please, how old is Lisa? Twelve?”
    “Twenty-two,” Nick said. “I think.”
    “An immature twenty-two,” Quinn said. “And you’re pushing forty.”
    “Thirty-eight.” Nick thought about telling her he hadn’t seen Lisa since Christmas and decided not to. It would open up a whole different conversation he didn’t want to have, one they’d already had several times, the one about how he dated women who were too young for him so he wouldn’t have to get involved. That was true, but it also worked, so why discuss it? Time to change the subject. “So what’s new? I haven’t seen anybody all day. I worked right up to six. Bucky Manchester’s Chevy has a dead muffler.”
    “He can afford it,” Quinn said. “Mama said Bucky’s making money hand over fist at the real estate office.” She took her first drink of Chivas, knocking back half of it at once.
    “Well, that’s good because Max and I are siphoning some of it off.” Nick pointed his finger at her. “Don’t chug that. You’re driving.”
    “Just home to Bill.” Quinn sipped her drink, tense all over again. “You know, if he doesn’t give in on this dog, I’m moving out.”
    “Well, think about it first,” Nick said, definitely not interested in discussing Bill. “How’s school?”
    “School?” Quinn blinked at him, readjusting subjects. “The same. Edie’s got the school play again, and Bobby’s giving her fits over it. If it isn’t athletics, he doesn’t care about it. She wants me to do the sets and costumes, but I said no. More headaches I don’t need. And Bobby’s driving Greta nuts, too, but all our money is on her since she’s been school secretary forever, and he’s just brand-new. He can’t run the school without her.”
    “You call him Bobby to his face?”
    “No. We don’t even call him Bobby in the teachers’ lounge. Edie started calling him the Boy Principal when he took over in November, and now everybody calls him the BP. I think that’s one of the reasons he’s so mad at her.”
    “That would do it,” Nick said, mostly to keep her talking. Quinn talked with her entire body: arms, eyes, shoulders, mouth. She was performance art, so alive that sometimes he argued with her just so he could watch her flush and gesture.
    Her smile was rich in her voice as she said, “Well, that, and