Claire’s harmonies gave the group the fuller sound Imaani didn’t realize they’d been missing. The added instrument also gave Quinn and Imaani the chance to produce a more complete bass line between them while Claire took the lead in faster songs that a violin could maneuver easier than a cello.
It’d been about five months since that first concert at Natasha’s school. They were on their way three hours north to play for kids in a handful of towns. It would be something of a road trip that would span almost four days.
Imaani thought Clayton wouldn’t let her go, but she was thrilled when he encouraged her to take the trip, saying he would take a few days off to care for Natasha.
Ethan told them he would come up on his own early the following morning, and Claire had an afternoon rehearsal with the symphony after which she was going to drive up on her own. Imaani wasn’t comfortable driving across the snowy expanse of northern Ontario as she’d lived her entire life as a city girl near Toronto, so she was grateful when Quinn asked her if she wanted to carpool.
“Did you really have to rent this monster?” she asked him as he backed a massive Ford Flex into her driveway. She stood off to the side with her duffel bag and sleeping bag, and of course, her cello case. A frigid January wind blew across her face and she instinctively ducked deeper down into her bubble jacket.
Quinn stopped the truck and opened the hatch, taking his partner’s cello from her. He was surprisingly strong for such a lean guy, she thought, as he knelt into the back to lift his own instrument with one arm and shift hers in with the other.
“I got there late and it’s all they had left that would fit our stuff,” he explained. Plus, if Ethan doesn’t have room in his car, we can pick up a few drums and help him out.” After they stopped by the academy to do just that and texted Ethan to let him know which pieces they took, they were speeding up the 400 series of highways.
They were a little south of Barrie when the snow started swirling and quickly picked up into a full-on squall. Quinn slowed down and turned on the high beams, thinking it would clear up in a few minutes but soon the combination of snow and the darkening sky made for near whiteout conditions.
“Quinn, just pull over and we can wait it out,” Imaani told him. He grimaced and hit the hazard lights as he went over onto the shoulder, parked, and turned off the engine.
“The car’s already toasty and I don’t want the big bass skin to be affected by excess heat,” he explained, taking off his seatbelt and turning to her. “Good thing we took a break at the last rest stop, huh?” he added, picking up his coffee.
“It might be a longer break than we think,” Imaani said, trying to see more than a few metres past the front bumper. The snow was already piling up on the hood.
“I’m fine with that,” Quinn winked at her with an easy smile and unzipped his parka. “Now I get to hear all about your fascinating day.” Imaani swallowed her mouthful of orange pekoe tea before grinning.
“You mean working from home? Oh, well, let’s see,” she started. “Between calls with developers and architects, I did all the house cleaning I’ve been putting off because of our shows.”
“I still can’t believe someone with an artistic soul like yours works in IT for a bank of all things,” Quinn said. “It’s so…”
“Stable? Lucrative? Important for Black girls in STEM fields to see some representation?”
“Yes. Yes. I was going to say all those things and I wasn’t going to mention how sinfully boring it sounds,” Quinn nodded vigorously.
“It’s also sinfully boring,” Imaani admitted. “Which is why the highlight of my day was sheeting the bed.” Quinn laughed mid-sip and spent the next 30 seconds coughing, which made Imaani spring forward to rub his chest and back.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” she apologized. He was mildly aware of the electric sensation that sparked down his body as soon as she touched him over his sweater, but tried to stop coughing first and foremost.
“Did you have to say it that way?” he finally asked between clearing his throat, still laughing. “You put fresh sheets on the bed.”
“Exactly,” she smirked, her hand still stroking his chest. “I sheeted the bed. You say ‘I vacuumed the carpet’ so why not use a noun as a verb here too?”
“Because!” Quinn giggled.
“Don’t ‘because’ me, you native speaker,” Imaani jokingly scolded him.
“Native speaker? How do you hear the last name ‘Michaud’ and think my first language was English?”
“Well, French is also highly respected here in Canada,” Imaani countered. “They put me in English as a Second Language classes as a kid because I still had a slight Swahili accent. But I spoke perfect English! So you better come up with a proper rule as to why I can’t sheet the damn bed!”
That set Quinn off all over again and he fell back against the driver’s seat backrest chuckling between the occasional cough.
Imaani enjoyed the sight of him letting go and waited until he finally settled down, his cheeks slightly pink. She took a sip of her tea and peered at him overtop the rim.
“Wow, talk about losing your sheet.”
Quinn collapsed against the steering wheel with fresh laughs, his face now fully crimson.
“It’s not even that funny, Red,” Imaani said, amused.
“It is when you love stupid puns,” Quinn replied, breathless and wiping away a tear. Suddenly, his smile faded. “Hey, did you turn off the hazards?” he asked his partner. “Or did I when I had a fit just now?” He pressed the dashboard buttons with no response from the car. “Oh, no, no, no,” he muttered, turning the key in the ignition, just to hear the engine wheeze repeatedly.
Tabarnac, he swore inwardly in the Québecois vernacular, frantically trying the key again as it became clear the car battery had died. Imaani was already on the phone calling CAA’s roadside service, but grimaced and sighed, resting the phone in her lap.
“There’s a prerecorded message,” she told Quinn. “There’s already a 4-hour wait for towing, flat tires, and battery boosts.” She put the phone to her ear again and spoke to someone about getting on the waiting list, telling them what vehicle they were in and their approximate location.
“I know it’s all we can do, but we’re stuck here and the car is going to cool down fast,” Quinn said. “Maybe I can walk back to the rest stop.”
“Are you kidding me?” Imaani asked in horror. “You’d be risking your life in the dark, especially if some car doesn’t see you walking along the shoulder.” She paused, then turned toward the back of the truck and sighed. “I guess this is where my Girl Guide training comes in handy.” Quinn wasn’t sure if she was joking again.
“You were a Girl Guide?” he smirked.
“I know, it was the whitest activity I could have picked but my best friends were in a troupe and so I…” she shrugged. “Anyway, we learned survival training on camping trips. It’s minus-15 out there today, Red. We have to make a plan now before we get too cold. Leave your shoes and jacket here in the front seat and follow me into the back.”
Quinn was perplexed but at least one of them knew what to do in an emergency, he reasoned. He managed to scrunch his frame enough to scoot into the massive cargo area, where Imaani was already opening up her sleeping bag. She instructed him to move the instruments over enough that they had room to spread it out, then unzipped the side.