The Passing Storm by Christine Nolfi
Chapter 13
“This belonged to Lark?”
Sally placed the keepsake on her lap. With awe she traced her fingers across the bumps and grooves of the lacquered top.
“Originally it was Rae’s,” Griffin explained. “I don’t believe she meant for her daughter to find it.”
Sally was barely listening. “This is one of Hester’s pieces. Good heavens, the workmanship is gorgeous.”
“Connor made the box to Hester’s specifications. She spent weeks on the detail work, setting in the crushed glass and the shells, adding layers of shellac. She finished when Rae and I were in sixth grade. It was one of Rae’s most cherished possessions. She kept it on her bedroom dresser all through high school.”
“Griffin, did Lark give this to you?”
At last, he captured his sister’s attention. “Not intentionally. The last time she came in—the week of the slumber party—she was visibly nervous. Unfortunately, she picked the wrong day to drop by. The guy we sent out to grab lunch was in a fender bender, and a client’s website was down. Everyone on staff was bickering, and I was late for a meeting in the conference room. Lark’s timing couldn’t have been worse.”
The details earned him a look of censure. “Please tell me you did not lose your cool with a fourteen-year-old. You know how sensitive girls are at that age.”
“No, I didn’t. Lark was so nervous, I knew that whatever the reason for the visit, we wouldn’t be chatting about the gig economy or school reports. It was serious. I asked if she’d mind coming back in an hour and we’d talk then.”
On his feet now, Griffin began pacing. Trying to outrun the guilt dogging his heels. Why didn’t he clue into Lark’s distress weeks earlier? The surprise appearances. The giddy laughter masking a young girl’s self-doubt. The trivial chatter concealing the questions she feared asking. Why didn’t he see?
Lack of parenting experience didn’t absolve him. His niece was Lark’s age. Jackie was part girl, part woman, a bubbling cauldron of emotion. Lark had been no different. What had it cost her to confront him?
Glass clinked as Sally poured the last of the merlot for herself. Padding to the liquor cabinet, she fetched the Jack Daniels and a shot glass.
She watched him drink. “Another?” She looked ready to pour one for herself.
“I’m fine.” He resumed pacing as she returned to the couch.
She slid the box near. “I’m afraid to ask what’s inside.” She inhaled a tremulous breath. “When you told Lark to come back later, what happened?”
“She opened her book bag and put the box on my desk. She looked ready to cry.” He grimaced. “I’ll give her credit. She got the whole speech out. How it was the happiest day of her life when she found the box in her mother’s attic. How much she’d wanted the missing pieces of her life. How grateful she was to finally have them.” Heartache threatened to steal Griffin’s composure, but he plowed on. “She was burying the lede—not that it mattered by then. I knew what she was trying to ask. Because I knew what she’d found inside the box.”
A potent silence fell between them. Sorrow inked Sally’s gaze. Then doubt thinned her lips. Griffin caught the reaction a split second before she washed her face clean of emotion.
A silent accusation, but he brushed it aside. What right did he have to take offense? This wasn’t about him or his feelings. It was about Rae and her daughter. About finding an honorable resolution.
The weight of what would come next made Griffin weary. The past he’d worked hard to expunge from memory, exposed.
“Go on,” he urged, “see what’s inside.”
“Griffin, if you’d rather I—”
“Go on, Sally. Look.”
The invitation crowded her face with doubt. Then the lid creaked open.
The contents charted a boy’s affections. One by one, his sister placed the items on the coffee table. A bracelet woven from long grass. A bird’s nest, old and crisp as kindling. A glass vial with pebbles inside. A clumsy drawing of a girl with flame-colored hair, and the graying skin of a baseball. Just the skin: the baseball’s core was missing.
Her nose wrinkling, Sally held up the soiled cowhide.
“Connor gave it to us as a joke,” he explained. “When we were kids, Rae and I pitched a lot of rounds. One summer, we wore the ball out.”
“I remember.”
“You do?”
His sister’s eyes misted. “You wanted to play pro ball. Rae decided if you were heading to the major leagues, she’d go too.”
They’d been eight or nine. Too young to grasp life’s limitations. “We figured we’d play on the same team.”
“No one had the heart to tell you otherwise.” She sighed. “You and Rae were inseparable. I was a little jealous.”
“That was stupid. Why didn’t you hang around with us? We wouldn’t have minded.”
His sister regarded him as if he’d grown a tail. “Who’s being stupid? You wanted Rae all to yourself. The chemistry was there from the beginning—even before either of you were old enough to understand. You brought out the best in each other. Tempered each other too.”
“Rae became a little less impulsive, and I came out of my shell.”
“I guess, on a different level, I wasn’t jealous. More like . . . relieved. After all the bullying from other boys at school, you’d found a friend who liked you for exactly who you were.”
Her expression shifting, Sally returned her attention to the box. She withdrew a series of photos. All were close-ups from high school, a visual representation of the dangers of love.
Pausing, she frowned. “What else is in here?”
When he remained silent, she removed the love letter he’d feverishly penned right after Rae broke up with him and said to stay out of her life—permanently. He’d never received a response.
The letter rustled open.
Sally averted her gaze. “Should I stop? This must be excruciating for you.”
Griffin poured himself another shot. Excruciating? Not even close. The alcohol wasn’t strong enough to dull the pain.
“Go on. Lark’s already been through the contents. You need to see what she found.”
More love letters drifted onto the coffee table. Sally handled them with the care one took with sacred objects. Next, the silver locket he’d given Rae on her seventeenth birthday. Then a Valentine card, crumpled and worn.
All of it, the map of a young man’s heart.
Looking away, he got back on track. “After Lark put the keepsake on my desk, my assistant came in. The client waiting in the conference room was furious about the delay—I only left for a minute. When I returned, Lark was gone.”
“But she left the box?”
“To ensure I’d go through the contents. I didn’t have her phone number.”
“You didn’t feel right calling Rae.”
“What was I supposed to say? ‘Rae, your daughter was in my office. She wants to know if I’m her father.’” He sank to the couch, his emotions in flux. Now he wondered if he should’ve called Rae and tackled the issue head-on. Insisted she talk to him. Unsure, he added, “I didn’t open the damn thing until the week after Lark’s funeral.”
“You have to return this to Rae. You mentioned Lark took it from the attic. Which means Rae has no idea it’s missing.”
“I figured you’d do the honors. Drive over to the farm, play intermediary.”
“No!” The contents were quickly put back, the lid snapping shut. “Griffin, I’ve never been close to Rae. Our daughters were friends, and sometimes we volunteered for the same committees. That’s all. Since the slumber party, she’s been missing from the social scene. I’m sure she won’t have anything to do with me. I’m sorry—this is one problem I can’t solve.”
Frustrated, he rubbed his palms across his face. “So I need to contact Rae?”
“That’s not a good idea either. She’s had enough upsets. She doesn’t need you reappearing in her life.” Sally tapped a polished nail against her wineglass. “Talk to Yuna. She lives next door—get her advice on what to do. Yuna knows Rae better than anyone. If you’re lucky, she’ll offer to return the keepsake.”
A course of action he’d already mulled over and discarded. “I was hoping not to drag Yuna into this.” He preferred to avoid another retelling of his brief acquaintance with Lark.
Sally regarded him with disbelief. “Get your head out of the clouds, little brother. Dragging Yuna in is the only option.”
On Thursday Rae strode into the craft emporium’s stockroom. “One order of pad thai, no bean sprouts or shrimp, with extra chicken.” She held up the bag. “Normally you love bean sprouts and shrimp, but who am I to complain if you need a change of pace?”
Yuna cleared a space on her cluttered desk. “You’re a lifesaver. I have a class in thirty minutes. I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”
“It wasn’t an inconvenience. I promised Dad and Quinn I’d bring dinner home—a guilt move on my part. Quinn has been cooking nearly every night. Am I taking advantage of my talented houseguest?”
“Oh please. Quinn likes to cook. Doing his bit helps him fit into your household.”
“True, and he’s never had Thai. He’s in for a treat.”
“Never? That’s just sad.”
“From what he’s told us, his parents rarely took him out. Burger joints or pancakes. Nothing fancier.”
Quinn’s parents were deadbeats. Better to relegate them to the past—she’d help Quinn move toward a better future. He was fitting into their homelife well, and quickly becoming her father’s sidekick.
In a lighter tone, she veered to another topic. “Want to guess who I ran into this morning? It was great.”
The bag rustled open. “Not Katherine Thomerson or Sally Harrow, I presume. Since you’re still avoiding them, you must mean someone else.”
“Don’t push, Yuna. Just because we’re besties doesn’t mean we have to like the same people. I can’t interact with any of the women whose daughters were at the slumber party. I just can’t. Every time I see one of them, I’m reminded of how I lost Lark. I just want to move on.”
“You are moving on. Look how you’ve opened your heart to Quinn. Change is hard, Rae. Even when it’s uncomfortable, you have to keep putting one foot in front of the next.”
“I am doing that—with Quinn.” In more ways than you understand. “It’s enough.”
Sheltering him gave Rae an unexpected means of making peace with the girl she’d once been. A girl that Yuna—although she’d been in the same grade, back in school—hadn’t known well. Yuna had been much more popular.
“Can’t you bend a little?” Yuna looked exasperated. “Sally’s not bad. She never has a mean word to say about anyone. You should give her a chance.”
“The truth? She’d irritate me less if she weren’t so tight with Katherine—and Katherine I can do without.”
“Are you sure you’re not misplacing your animosity?”
“What do you mean?”
“C’mon, Rae. Sally’s and Katherine’s daughters have been close since they were little . . . and Lark was on the outside. The friend they let tag along. They never fully brought her into their private circle. As if she wasn’t good enough.”
The baldly honest remark was delivered with affection. It was meant to enlighten—not injure Rae with a reminder of how the other girls had treated Lark as second-best. Besides, Yuna spoke the truth: Jackie and Stella never considered Lark an equal.
“The way they treated my daughter was never right,” she agreed. “But, honestly, I’ve never liked Katherine. She’s catty and superficial. You must achieve a certain net worth before she’ll consider adding you to her posse. Haven’t you ever noticed? All she does is shop and primp.”
“She’s bored, Rae. She didn’t take her divorce well.”
The remark stirred the pity Rae didn’t want to feel. Two years ago, Katherine’s husband, a surgeon at the Cleveland Clinic, ran off with one of his nurses. He’d been a lousy father before that. Rae couldn’t recall a time when he’d shown up for a school activity. Not once. Stella hadn’t been a true-blue friend to Lark, but the kid had deserved better. The ink was barely dry on Katherine’s divorce before the fortyish divorcée was back on the hunt for a new husband. There were women convinced they couldn’t function without a man. They viewed single life as a demotion in status.
In balance, however, the family’s personal issues didn’t matter.
“Can we get something straight?” Rae folded her arms. “On the night of the slumber party, Katherine shouldn’t have left the house. Not even for an errand.”
“I agree.”
“I’ll always wonder if Lark would be alive. If Katherine had stayed home, Lark wouldn’t have gone outside and slipped on ice.”
“I get it. I didn’t mean to upset you.” Leaping up from her chair, Yuna wrapped her arms around Rae. “I love you. I only want you to—”
“Put my life back together.”
“Because you deserve happiness.”
“Whatever.”
“Cheer up. You’ll get there.” Hugging tighter, Yuna rested her head against the lapels of Rae’s coat. “Do you love me?”
“Not when you lay on this much sugar.” Grinning, Rae struggled out of her arms. She shook the tension from her neck as Yuna returned to her chair. Reconsidering, she added, “I do like your kooky side. You’re never boring.”
“Spontaneity is my secret sauce.”
Yuna opened her carton of Thai. It seemed odd when she took a hesitant sniff. She was crazy for the stuff. Rae was about to ask if there was a problem with the carryout when Yuna spoke again.
“Don’t keep me in suspense. Who did you see this morning?”
“I had two seconds of face time with the deplorable Mr. Cox.” Rae chuckled. “The best two seconds of my day, so far.”
“The man you paid to free Quinn’s dog?”
“The one and only. Cox strolled into the drugstore. I was picking up a scrip for my dad on my way to work.”
“Rae, you won the battle. The dog is safe. There’s no reason to pick a fight with Mr. Cox.”
“I didn’t! He took one look at me and darted into the shampoo aisle. Knocked over a display case and kept on moving. There were bottles of shampoo rolling across the floor, but he never looked back.” She chortled. “He couldn’t escape fast enough.”
Yuna picked up her fork. “Putting the fear of God into the average man. You must be proud.”
“Watching him hightail it did feel good.”
“I’m sure.” Yuna gestured at Rae’s briefcase. “You have the quotes?”
In between training the new employees at the Witt Agency, Rae was making progress for the June event, Night on the Square.
“All done. Quotes for brochures, posters, flyers—you name it. Three of the quotes are from printers here in the county. One is from Mentor. A larger outfit, and their prices are competitive.” She handed over a sheaf of papers. “The final decision is yours.”
“One task down, but we have a million other considerations. We still need a theme for the event. So far, no one on the committee has come up with a compelling idea. I’m tired of themes around moonlight and flowers.”
“Older couples like the traditional fare. Anything that stinks of romance. It draws them like flies.”
“Your cynicism is not your best attribute. But you’re right. We need a change.” Considering, Yuna began swiveling her office chair, side to side. “We should come up with a theme to draw more younger people. Besides, lots of singles attend. You go every year.”
“Only because you insist.” Rae didn’t mind playing third wheel at Yuna’s table, and the food was always good. “If you’re aiming to draw in more singles, come up with activities other than dancing.”
Yuna looked intrigued. “Like what?”
“I don’t know . . . what about gambling? We can set up a mini casino at one end of the square, with the dance floor at the other end. If people want to go stag, they’ll have options.”
“That isn’t the worst idea in the world.”
“Gee, thanks.”
Yuna dipped her fork into the carton. “Will you reconsider attending the planning meetings? Sit down, give your input—when the meetings wrap up, you can hightail it out like Mr. Cox. I promise no one will care. You don’t have to stick around and chat with Katherine or Sally, or anyone else.”
The tension returned to Rae’s neck. “Sometimes you’re a pain.”
Yuna batted her eyes. “This is me begging.” Pointing at her face, she added a charmingly fake smile. “Please. Change your mind. Just this once, for me.”
Intuition lifted the hairs on the back of Rae’s neck. Yuna cajoled and bribed with chocolate. She nudged Rae toward difficult choices. Sometimes she was relentless, but she didn’t beg.
A woman had to draw the line somewhere.
On closer inspection, fatigue rimmed Yuna’s eyes. Exhaustion, or something more worrisome?
Anxiety surged through Rae. “What aren’t you telling me? Yuna, are you ill?”
“Don’t be silly. I’m great. It’s just that, well . . .”
“What?”
“It’s nothing.” Yuna shrugged. The cheerful expression fled her features, and she suddenly appeared troubled. “I mean, it’s nothing bad. Don’t jump to conclusions.”
“Why the mystery, then? You’re scaring me.”
“I’m not trying to scare you. I need you at the meetings, that’s all. No one has volunteered to lead the committee. I’ll get stuck with the honors.”
Rae laughed. “What else is new?”
The same process occurred each year. Yuna insisted she wasn’t taking charge of the effort. The other volunteers waited her out. Over time, she became the de facto leader.
“I can’t handle everything. I need your help.”
“Gosh, Yuna. Thanks for the guilt trip.”
“Is it working?” Yuna held out the fork, twined with savory noodles. “Want a bite? I’ll share.”
“No.”
In her coat pocket, Rae’s phone buzzed. She scanned her father’s impatient text:
Will hell freeze before U bring dinner?
“Let’s talk later,” she said. “I have to go.”