14
Quentin worked diligently in Morgan’s bedroom, packing her backpack for the following day and feeling the approaching tide. Kate was on her way. Sleepy-eyed, his daughter collapsed upon her bed, wrapping her arms tightly across her chest.
“I don’t want to go to Mom’s,” she murmured once more, rolling her sad little eyes.
“I know, baby,” Quentin murmured, stuffing her Ramones sweatshirt into her backpack, just to irritate Kate. “But your mommy really wants to see you. And we have to play along with that, even though it sucks sometimes.”
“Whatever,” Morgan said tartly. “Hey. I really like Charlotte. She’s so pretty! She looks like a model, like Mom did when she was younger.”
“Ha. You think?” Quentin asked, his stomach stirring. He wanted to dance as far away from this topic as possib
