"Hey, you. Aloha." Sue said, meeting Rachel as she walked up to the diner.
"Aloha." Rachel said back happily.
"Not aloha, 'hello;' aloha, 'goodbye.'" Sue said and shoed Rachel away, "We're closed today. Go away."
"What are you talking about?" Rachel said sadly.
"Order up!" Tattoo-faced Nick called from inside, proving Sue wrong.
"Don't move." Sue said as she ran to pick up the orders, "I have to talk to you."
"Okay." Rachel said, confused. She took a seat at the bar and smiled.
"Hey! Tattoo-Face!" She yelled to nick over the counter.
"Hey, Peanut Butter Cups!" He yelled back and smiled at the girl. Out of the corner of her eye, Rachel saw Quinn sitting alone, reading at the same booth she sat in when they first met. Rachel snuck away from her barstool for a moment to greet the girl.
"Hi." She said sweetly and smiled down at Quinn before taking a seat across from her.
"Hi." Quinn said skeptically and looked at Rachel crossly.
"My fingers are extra fishy today, if you care to take a whiff." Rachel said and giggled.
"What was that?" Quinn said and looked up at Rachel in disgust.
"I was petting my walrus all morning and thinking of you the whole time." Rachel said and chuckled.
"Okay, pervert." Quinn said and slammed her book on the table. I think that you should leave.
"What?" Rachel said, her heart sinking, "I was joking because of what we talked about yesterday."
"Yesterday?" Quinn said, "I've never even met you!"
Rachel stared down at the table in disbelief, eyes beginning to water. She stuttered looking for some way to make Quinn remember as she looked into those deep green eyes.
"Nick! I need help!" She called to the man in the kitchen.
"Coming, Quinn." He said as he grabbed a butcher's knife off the counter, as if he weren't menacing looking enough before.
"Nick, put that down." Sue objected as she walked over to the table. "I'll handle it. You, follow me."
Rachel stood up and followed the woman out onto the porch of the restaurant.
"Wait a- What's going on?" Rachel stuttered as the door closed behind her. "I was kidding around with you! What's happening here? Is she crazy or something?"
"Quinn is a very special person." Sue explained, "Very different from other people."
"Okay." Rachel said and nodded.
"About a year ago, Quinn was in a terrible car accident." Sue explained, "She and her father went up North Shore to get a pineapple. Her father broke some ribs, but Quinn suffered a serious head injury. She lost her short-term memory."
Rachel stood frozen in shock. "So she can't remember anything?" She asked quietly.
"No, no, no," Sue said, "she has all of her long-term memory. That's a different part of the brain. Her whole life, up to the night before the accident, she remembers. She just can't retain any new information. It's like her slate gets wiped clean every night while she sleeps."
"Hold on." Rachel said, still not believing what she was hearing, "This sounds like something I would tell a psycho girl so she'd stop calling me. Am l the psycho girl?"
"I wish l was making this up!" Sue said and shook her head, "She has no memory that she ever met you.
"What about the pineapple-picking thing?" Rachel asked.
"She says that every day, because each morning she wakes up thinking it's October 13th of last year. She comes for breakfast because that's what she did on Sundays and October 13th was a Sunday. She has no idea it's more than a year later."
"She reads the newspaper." Rachel said, hanging onto any last hopes and doubts.
"It's a special paper her father puts on their porch. It's from the day of her accident. He got hundreds of them printed. Quinn does the same thing every day."
"Hello!" Quinn called as she walked through her beach home.
"Back here." She heard her father call from the kitchen.
"Hi, Dad!" She said happily and kissed him on the cheek.
"Oh, hi, sweetie." He said and smiled.
Quinn looked sadly at the pineapple already sitting on the kitchen counter. "You got one without me." She whined.
"The lady at the farmers' market gave it to me as a birthday present." He said, "I didn't wanna hurt her feelings."
"I think she likes you." Quinn said, and her father groaned.
"Yeah," He said and patted his gut, "what's not to like?"
"What about our tradition?" Quinn continued to pester him.
"Well, l have another idea." He said, "I painted my workshop yesterday. White. Now it's too white. Gives me a headache."
"Oh, yeah, you definitely need some color in here." Quinn said as she examined the blank walls.
"Well, you know, that's what l was thinking." He said and pointed at the various paints and brushes in the corner of the room.
"Really?" Quinn asked ecstatically.
"Yeah. Go nuts." He said and smiled at his daughter, "Paint me something for my birthday!"
"I will." Quinn said, "And promise that we can pick a pineapple for Thanksgiving, okay?"
"Sounds great." He agreed.
"Okay, good." She said and picked up a paint brush. "Hey, you should watch the Vikings game while I'm painting."
The man gritted his teeth. "Good idea."
"Yeah, baby. Isolate." The blonde, ripped boy said to himself as he lifted weights over the boiling pots on the stove.
"What are we eating tonight, Sam?" His father asked as he walked into the kitchen.
"Spaghetti, Pop." Sam said as he continued his reps.
"Try not to sweat in the sauce." Russell groaned.
"Sorry, Pop." Sam apologized. Russell grabbed the VHS tape labeled 'VIKINGS' from the container on top of the fridge, and sighed. The tape was well worn from the hundreds of times they'd watched it as a part of their daily routine keeping Quinn safe from the truth.
"Go Vikings." Sam said sarcastically.
"Seven hundred and five. Seven hundred and six. Seven hundred and seven." Sam counted as he pushed himself off the floor with his rippling arm muscles.
"Hey, you guys." Quinn said as she walked into the room, and Russell quickly put on the Vikings game.
"Hey, sweetie." He said, "How's the painting coming?"
"You'll see." She said and smiled, wiping the paint off her hands onto her skirt.
"Cool." Her father said and looked back at the TV.
"Oh. What's the score?" Quinn asked and plopped down on the couch across from her dad.
"The Vikings are on the two-yard line." He said "lf they score, they bring it to 16."
"Maybe they'll win for your birthday." Quinn suggested and smiled. "And I'll bet Culpepper runs it in."
Sam rolled his eyes. "I'll bet he fakes a handoff to Williams, throws to Kleinsasser in the end zone." He said, knowing good and well that was exactly what would happen. "Loser does the dishes?" He bet.
Quinn smirked. "You're on." She looked back at the TV with high hopes, and Russell shot Sam a dirty look.
"-keep the offense on the field. Culpepper fakes a handoff to Williams. He will throw. He's got Kleinsasser in the end zone! Touchdown, Minnesota!"
Quinn huffed and stood. "Sam, you're good." She said as she walked back out the door, "Maybe you should be a coach."
Russell took the remote off the table and threw it as hard as he could at his son once Quinn was out of sight. "Dad!" He whined.
"Moron!" Russell yelled back.
"That hurt." Sam mumbled as he rubbed the spot on his arm where the remote hit him.
"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear dad, happy birthday to you!"
Russell blew out the candles in one puff. Quinn smiled and clapped, "And you don't look a day over 20!" She said.
"Yeah, right," Russell said and chuckled, "and Sam's muscles aren't pharmaceutically enhanced."
"What?" Sam objected, "I use an herb supplement that can be purchased at any health-food store. Check this out." Sam turned around and flexed his butt muscles.
"Check out these glutes." He said as he flexed harder, "Rock-hard, baby. Pretty sweet, huh?"
Russell rolled his eyes and pushed Sam. "Stop it! You're gonna make me throw up on the cake."
Quinn giggled at her boys and handed Russell a perfectly wrapped rectangle. "Okay, just open your present."
"Okay. Let's see what we've got here." Russell pretended he didn't know what was inside, but he knew all too well. "The Sixth Sense."
"Hey! When I'm done doing the dishes, do you guys wanna watch it?" Quinn said excitedly.
The men gritted their teeth, but couldn't help but agree with the sweet girl. "Sure." They both said at the same time.
"I can't believe it." Quinn said, still shocked from the movie they'd just finished watching. "Bruce Willis is a ghost. I'm shocked. Did you see that coming?"
"No." Sam fibbed.
"Not a clue." Russell lied and shook his head. "Shocked as hell."
"Anyway, it was awesome." Quinn said and smiled. "Happy birthday." She said and kissed her father on the cheek. She moved on to her brother, standing on tip toes to kiss his cheek.
"Love you, Sis." He said and halfheartedly smiled. Quinn threw her arms around the boy and squeezed him.
"Your muscles are getting so big; l can barely wrap my arms around you." Quinn said in amazement.
"You like that?" Sam asked as she dropped the embrace, "Check this out." He hummed the George of the Jungle song and let his pecks flex to the beat. Quinn laughed hysterically and Russell cringed.
"Okay, okay! Enough with the titty dance!" Russell said, "Let your sister go to sleep."
"I like it." Quinn whispered before walking towards the stairs.
"Sweet dreams, Quinn." Her father said as she walked away.
"Good night." Sam said.
"Good night." Quinn yelled from the second floor as she closed the door to her room.
As soon as the doors were shut, the boys commenced their nightly routine. They ran around the house making sure every fiber of Quinn's world was just as it was the night before the accident. If one little thing were out of place, it could possibly make her question her reality. All the men wanted was for their remaining girl to stay safe and happy.
Russell ran out to the locked shed outside the house and grabbed one of the hundreds of reprinted newspapers from October 13th. Sam ran around the house, rewrapping The Sixth Sense, rewinding the Vikings game, washing Quinn's clothes, and even making sure the right amount of shampoo was in the bottle in the shower.
Sam caught a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror, and had to take a double take.
"Hey, Tracy, how you doing?" He said to his reflection as he annunciated every syllable with a flex of a peck. "Yeah? Well, things changed a little bit since high school."