The Passing Storm by Christine Nolfi
Chapter 16
Cars screeched to a halt. Striding across the street, Penny Galecki tacked her furious gaze on Rae.
Quinn’s mother was . . . incongruous. The tight-fitting leather jacket showed off a youthful build. Her well-toned body stood in stark contrast to the wrinkles marring her face after years of smoking and drinking. Frequently Penny changed her hair color. Today her cropped tresses were jet-black. They matched the disturbing, thumb-size pitchfork tattooed on her neck.
“Don’t move! We’re having words, sister.”
Breathless, Rae searched the ground for her keys. Scooping them up, she attempted to rouse her temper. With horror, she realized she couldn’t marshal her defenses.
Time leaped backward, jarring Rae with images. The security lights surrounding the empty post office. The shadows draping the section of the lot farther off, where she’d parked. A couple approaching, arguing about their son. Penny’s voice rising in pitch, drawing Rae’s drunken appraisal.
The memory sickened Rae. She felt winded, off-balance.
“Is it true?” Penny backed her against the car. “My son is living at your place?”
“Yes, he is.”
Her response, barely audible, left a scent—like blood on a wounded animal. She was easy prey, and Penny knew it.
“How long’s he been staying there?”
Confusion spilled through Rae. Then disbelief. “Since you and Mik left for vacation,” she sputtered, wondering if the furious woman before her had assumed Quinn was living in his truck.
“Well, the party’s over. Tell Quinn to get home, and I mean today. The little brat doesn’t have my permission to stay at your place.”
Little brat.
The remark stirred the memory Rae wanted desperately to suppress. Little brat—what Penny had called her son on that terrible night. When Quinn was a small child left unsupervised in an apartment while his negligent parents were out drinking.
Anger darted through Rae. Quinn was no longer a defenseless child. He wasn’t trapped in a home short on love and heavy on abuse. Despite all the bad examples he’d received, he was nothing like his parents. Each night Quinn dutifully completed his homework. When he climbed into bed, he sang charming lullabies to his malnourished dog.
“Penny, you can’t tell Quinn what to do.”
“Yes, I can. I’m his mother. He’s my kid, not yours.”
“That isn’t the point.” The effort to meet Penny’s gaze proved impossible. Her large eyes, fringed with thick lashes, were disturbingly similar to her son’s. Yet they were set in a face carved by hard living.
The same face that had once haunted Rae. For years after the last bleak months of high school, when Rae was grieving, broken, and pregnant, she’d been unable to eradicate Penny from her mind.
“I don’t think you’re hearing me. Quinn is my son. You’ve got no right to be moving him into your house.” Penny’s lip curled. “What do you want with a boy his age? Are you into something kinky, Rae? Is he sharing your bed?”
The lewd suggestion hung between them like a foul stench. Dignifying it with a response was out of the question.
Cars streamed past. A young couple, walking arm in arm past the Witt Agency, quickened their pace. They were eager to escape the dangerous atmosphere brewing between the two women.
Rae said, “My father checked with an attorney for clarification on Quinn’s rights.” A retired attorney—one of Connor’s friends on the geezer squad—but there was no reason to elaborate. “You can’t tell Quinn what to do. An eighteen-year-old can choose to leave home prior to completing high school. Quinn has no obligation to you. He has a new home. I suggest you deal with it.”
“What gives you the right to mess with my family?” Lightning quick, Penny shoved her. A hard jab to the shoulder that jolted Rae’s pulse.
She fell against the car. Instinct warned her not to react. Do so, and Penny would punch her.
“I’m not interfering.” The cold rush of fear made Rae’s muscles loose. She steadied herself. “You told Quinn to move out. He needed somewhere to stay. As an adult, he’s perfectly within his rights.”
“I’d never throw my son out.” Her predatory instincts were on full display as Penny curled her fists. “Who told you that—Quinn? He’s a liar.”
The denial was stunning. Had Quinn . . . fabricated the story? Pretended he’d been thrown out because he was sick of living with his heavy-drinking, combative parents? Rae blinked with confusion.
Penny raised her fist. “You’d better keep something in mind. You’ve got no business interfering. Do you need a lesson in why you shouldn’t mess with another woman’s family? Is that what you want?”
From behind, a man cleared his throat.
David Greer, the new account executive, stepped out of the Witt Agency. Close to Rae in age, David smiled readily and talked incessantly about his wife and two daughters.
He wasn’t smiling now.
“Rae, is this woman bothering you?”
Penny flashed a venomous glance. She stepped back.
With her middle finger raised, she marched off.