The Passing Storm by Christine Nolfi
Chapter 17
Only three of the large-screen monitors glowed with activity on Design Mark’s ground floor.
On Saturdays most of the staff worked remotely, if they worked at all. Freedom of choice brought higher creativity. Griffin encouraged the staff to build their own schedules. The only exception? When clients were on premise. In the age of teleconferencing, those in-person meetings took place less frequently.
The business-casual dress code didn’t extend to Saturdays. Two of the graphic designers who’d come in today wore jeans and ball caps. The third, Tabby Jones, was hunched over her keyboard in flannel pajama bottoms and a neon-green Little Mermaid top, a souvenir from a recent trip to SoCal. No one acknowledged the boss striding past. Fingers streaming across keyboards, they were locked in concentration.
The second floor rested in silence. The conference room smelled of pepperoni; Griffin threw out the day-old pizza box left on the table.
The reception area was orderly, like his large, sparsely furnished office.
With the building’s refurb, the old plaster had been removed from the outer wall to reveal the red brick used to erect the building in 1887. The new bank of windows overlooked the street and his father’s car dealership, which was partially hidden in warmer months, when the century-old maple trees leafed out. Griffin had chosen sleek Danish furniture, including a long white leather couch for impromptu meetings with the staff. No personal mementos graced the office. The only exception was a silver-framed photo on his desk of him with Sally and Jackie at last year’s Geauga County Fair.
If Design Mark resembled a frat house most days, Griffin didn’t mind. He drew the line at his personal space.
He was finishing a call when his sister swept in.
He did a doubletake. Sally’s features were stiff with rage. An uncommon sight. By nature, both of the Marks siblings were even-tempered. He could only recall a handful of times when he’d seen his sister upset.
“Last year, how often did you take Lark to Dixon’s?” Sally demanded.
Warily, Griffin placed the phone in the cradle. “Does it matter?”
“Obviously. You didn’t tell me.”
Brows lifting, he searched for a reply. Taking Lark out for ice cream had been a kind gesture, nothing more.
His bafflement merely increased his sister’s anger. “Why didn’t you mention it when you showed me Rae’s keepsake? Griffin, we talked for more than an hour. We covered a lot of ground. You had ample time to fill me in.”
“It wasn’t relevant,” he snapped. “Why do you believe it is now?”
“Because an innocent man doesn’t hide the facts.”
The strange accusation warned there was more here than was obvious. What am I missing? Sally marched back and forth before his desk. Agitation spilled off her in waves.
“I took Lark to Dixon’s twice,” he said with care. “How is that a crime?”
“I guess it depends on how much you knew. Were you completely in the dark? Griffin, you took her to Dixon’s on Wednesdays.” Sally regarded him as if he was a fool. “If you weren’t keeping secrets, then Katherine is correct.”
Mention of Katherine sent anger flashing through him. They’d stopped dating months ago—not long before Lark’s tragic death. Sometime in early October. The relationship was never serious.
“Sally, what are you trying to say?” With misgivings, he grasped the real issue. He never should’ve agreed to take Katherine out in the first place.
“Katherine believes Lark used you as bait. She used you, and you had no idea why.”
“My personal life is none of her business.” For emphasis, he came to his feet. He didn’t relish arguing with his sister. Yet he refused to allow her best friend to meddle in his affairs. “I don’t care what she’s told you, or why she’s suddenly focused on Lark. Or me, for that matter. You’re overstepping here, sis.”
“Am I? Katherine is convinced it was no coincidence that you dumped her after Lark began coming around. A reasonable conclusion, isn’t it?”
“Sally, that’s ridiculous.”
“You might want to change your assessment. She overheard Lark bragging about you to Stella the week of the slumber party. When she picked the girls up from my house. They were walking to the car, and Lark was bragging up a storm. The driver-side window was open. She didn’t know Katherine was listening.”
The revelation doused him like ice water. “Lark discussed me with Stella?” Weakly, he sat back down.
“In great detail, apparently. About what good friends you were. How you’d take her out on Wednesdays and let her order whatever she liked. Were you blind to Lark’s ulterior motives? Baby brother, you’re a master at sticking your head in the sand. Even so, I have trouble believing you’re that myopic.”
The attacks came too fast. “Why would Lark use me as bait?” he demanded, frustrated by his inability to form an adequate defense.
“You are blind.” She planted her hands on his desk. “Dixon’s,” she emphasized, “on Wednesday afternoons.”
Griffin tensed. A dark foreboding crept through him. Whatever critical information he’d missed, he didn’t want to hear it now.
A conviction that held no importance to Sally.
“Rae meets with Yuna at Dixon’s,” she spelled out. “Every Wednesday afternoon like clockwork.” When he looked at her, speechless, her eyes narrowed. “You never bumped into Rae when you took Lark there?”
“No. Never.”
It was sheer, stupid luck. How would he have explained, if he had run into her?
“I’m sure Lark was disappointed. Given all the bragging she was doing to Katherine’s daughter. Apparently, Lark was playing matchmaker.”
“She . . . what?”
“She planned to fix you back up with Rae. Don’t you get it? So the three of you could live happily ever after.” Sally gave a short, mirthless laugh. “Griffin, you are dense. Manipulated by a ninth grader, and you didn’t have a clue. Would you have caught on before she picked out the date for you to marry her mother? Before she ordered a big white cake?”
Stunned, he fell back in his chair. “I didn’t know,” he murmured. Nor could he recall who first mentioned the outings. Had he offered to take Lark to Dixon’s, or had the suggestion been hers?
He didn’t keep tabs on Rae’s schedule. He didn’t keep tabs on Rae. Until her daughter began coming around, he’d studiously barred her from his thoughts.
Lark, however, would’ve known her mother’s schedule.
“Griffin, we’ve always been able to trust each other. Last summer, I encouraged you to ask Katherine out because she’s a dear friend, and you both seemed lonely. You’ve hardly done anything but work since moving back to town, and she’s dated some real duds since her divorce. I was hoping . . . oh, it doesn’t matter. Fixing you up was incredibly dumb. What was I thinking?”
Wheeling from the desk, his sister marched to the bank of windows. Cars came and went from their father’s dealership. The hum of activity was a million miles away. It was utterly detached from the pain leaking into the office.
“Sis, I never asked you to set me up with Katherine.” When she refused to turn around, he scrubbed his palms across his cheeks. “We only dated a few months. We didn’t have enough in common.” Anything in common.
“Your opinion, not hers. From the start, Katherine felt differently. She’s in love with you, Griffin.” From over her shoulder, Sally glanced at him swiftly. Her eyes were dark, accusing. “I don’t like seeing her torn up. We’ve been tight for years. She’s important to me.”
“I never meant to hurt her.”
“Well, you did.”
“I’m sorry. It was never my intention.”
The apology provoked an unexpected reaction. A tremor shuddered down his sister’s back. When she turned to regard him, her eyes were blank slates.
“I don’t believe you,” she said. “I’ve loved you all my life, but I’ve never really known you.” She wheeled back to the desk. “Who were you to Lark? The truth, baby brother.”
A thunderous silence overtook the room. It lasted long enough for the shame and the confusion to pull Griffin under, a treacherous undertow dragging him out to sea. He knew the most grievous wounds were inflicted carelessly. How much injury had he caused when Rae shut him out of her life—and he’d reciprocated by shutting her out of his heart?
Lark’s hidden agenda hardly mattered. Given all she’d discovered—his love letters to Rae, the photos—why wouldn’t she devise a plan to put him back in her mother’s path? The dreams Lark had constructed were fragile—spun glass.
He’d abetted her in spinning each one.
In agony, he grasped his grave mistake. He’d taken Lark to Dixon’s to fulfill a secret wish sealed beneath the seabed of his emotions. As Lark slid into the booth across from him and proceeded to enthrall him with giddy laughter and a young girl’s nonstop, effervescent chatter, he’d allowed his thoughts to veer onto the reckless ground of fantasy.
This is my daughter. The perfect child Rae and I brought into the world.
Sally’s fist hammered the desk. Pulled from the reverie, Griffin flinched.
“Answer me!” Revulsion glazed her features. “In high school, why did Rae break up with you?”
He set his jaw, too heartsick to respond.
“You got her pregnant. You refused to own up to what you’d done. Were you afraid to tell Dad? You didn’t have the courage?” Tears brimmed in Sally’s eyes. They glistened with pain and the awful conviction that her brother was a dishonorable man. “He loved you and he loved Rae, but he never would’ve forgiven you for knocking her up. For having Lark before he’d groomed you to take over the dealership.”
“Back off, Sally,” he growled. “What happened between me and Rae is none of your business.”
Even the closest siblings harbored resentments. Fault lines existed in every relationship. Griffin sensed they were approaching one in theirs.
“I never wanted the dealership,” he added. “That was your dream.”
“I’m not a man. My dreams never mattered.”
“How is that my problem? Dad was too sexist to put a woman in charge. Not my fault.” Cruelty wasn’t Griffin’s normal play, but he’d tired of the attacks. They struck too deep. He needed to strike back. “Cheer up, Sally. You had the sense to marry right. Trenton will let Dad lead him around by the nose until you both inherit Marks Auto. When you do, push your sniveling husband aside and take over.”
“Go to hell.”
Pride stopped him from responding immediately. She was his sister, his blood, and they’d taken this too far. There wasn’t anyone he valued more. She was nearing the door when he called out, the apology still forming on his lips.
Too late. In the doorway, Sally delivered a parting shot.
“The next time you’re on the prowl, stay away from my friends.”