The Passing Storm by Christine Nolfi

Chapter 19

Rattled by the confrontation with Penny, Rae skipped the grocery store. She drove straight home.

She blew into the house like a woman on fire. The door banged against the wall. With a gargled shout, her sleeping father rolled off the couch.

“Dad!”

Grunting, Rae hauled the coffee table back. Freed of the constraint, Connor rolled fully onto his back. His bleary gaze pinioned hers.

“What’s wrong with you?” He swatted her away. Wincing, he rubbed his elbow, which had taken the brunt of the fall. “You scared the daylights out of me.”

In breathless spurts—and after repeated apologies—she explained about the run-in on Chardon Square. By the time they reached the kitchen, where her father promptly steered her into a chair, concern had replaced his irritation.

Tufts of coarse hair stuck up from her father’s skull. He looked like the victim of an electrocution as he limped to the stove.

“What’s your poison?” He held up a box of chamomile tea and the Scotch.

“Tea, definitely.”

“You’re sure you don’t need something stronger?”

“The tea will soothe my nerves.” She anxiously watched him fill the teapot. “I’m sorry I woke you, Dad.”

“Stop apologizing. You gave me a start, that’s all.”

“How’s the elbow?”

He examined the tender flesh. “Not bad.”

Shelby padded into the room. The wily mutt was like a heat-seeking missile, homing in on the kitchen whenever humans clattered about. The dog nosed the back of Connor’s legs, a none-too-subtle hint, before planting herself obediently in the center of the floor.

“Good thing Quinn’s dog was asleep on his bed.” Connor tossed a biscuit that Shelby neatly caught. “Sometimes she sleeps right beneath me when I nap on the couch.”

“That would’ve been a disaster.”

“You’re telling me.” Her father was about to add something else when his phone chirped. After withdrawing it from his pocket, he read quickly. “Here we go,” he announced.

“A text from Quinn?”

“He’s on his way back—says he’ll be here soon. I have a feeling he knows his mother confronted you on the square.”

Her father made the tea, then poured a small glass of Scotch for himself. The clock ticked an impatient rhythm as they nursed their drinks.

At length, Rae said, “Why would Quinn lie about his parents throwing him out? I believed every word of it.”

“He’s young. Kids are prone to all sorts of foolishness.”

“Something doesn’t add up,” Rae insisted, angry and worried about what they were tangled up in. A disagreement between a teenage boy and his parents—two unpredictable adults whom no one in Chardon liked to cross. I don’t want to cross Mik and Penny either. She’d made that mistake once, back in high school. Not long after the White Hurricane.

Connor frowned. “What do you mean?”

“The day I found Quinn near the forest, he couldn’t have known we’d invite him to stay.”

“So he made up the story about his parents throwing him out while we were grilling him?”

“I don’t know. Would a teenager have the presence of mind to invent a story that elaborate under duress? It feels like a stretch. It’s not like he could’ve known we’d roll out the red carpet and move him into the spare bedroom.”

A puzzle, and Connor tapped his fingers against his glass. “You’re forgetting one thing.”

“Which is?”

“We didn’t know Quinn, but he knew all about us—from Lark. He knew we were good people. Caring. Not the sort to throw a teenager out. Especially if he didn’t want to go home.”

“He was planning to spend the night in his truck,” she recalled. That portion of Quinn’s tale seemed authentic. “Was he planning to run away while his parents were vacationing in Atlanta? Then he bumped into me near the forest, and inspiration struck?”

“Lots of teenagers dream about running away.” Sadness drifted through Connor’s eyes. “You did, at that age.”

The solemn observation pierced Rae. After the White Hurricane took Hester, Connor had seemed unreachable. Too depressed to recognize that he’d left Rae to singlehandedly keep their homelife from completely falling apart. She had wanted to run—to escape the sudden adult responsibilities she was too young to shoulder.

“Dad, that was different.” With gentle reassurance, she squeezed his hand. “I never would’ve run away after we lost Mom. Our lives were turned upside down . . . I was just scared.”

Pain skimmed across his features. “You had good reason. I let my depression get awfully bad. I should’ve—”

“Don’t.” Impulsively, Rae pressed a kiss to his forehead. “It was a long time ago. It no longer matters. Besides, we have more important concerns.” She glanced at the clock. “Quinn will be here any minute. I have no idea what we should say to him.”

“Let him talk first. Explain why he lied about his parents throwing him out. Maybe Quinn didn’t know he had options about where to live—the boy didn’t understand his rights until we met with Lloyd over at the bowling alley.” A member of the geezer squad, Lloyd Washington was a retired attorney.

“That’s true.”

“The kid assumed he was obligated to live with his parents until graduation. It’s an interesting loophole in Ohio law—parents must support a child until age nineteen if the child hasn’t yet finished high school. However, an eighteen-year-old can elect to move out.”

“Which I attempted to explain to Penny Galecki.” Rae swallowed down the metallic taste in her mouth. Even now, adrenaline from the encounter raced through her. “I really thought she’d hit me. The look in her eye was unnerving. Like there’s something missing inside.”

A muscle in Connor’s jaw twitched. “A spark of humanity,” he supplied. “I’m concerned Mik doesn’t have one either.”

“He doesn’t.”

“We should buy a gun. Remember when you and Griffin were young, and his dad took you hunting? Everett swore you were a natural. You’d breeze through the classes in firearm safety. Maybe I would too.”

Rae looked at him, aghast. Her father—who’d protested against the Vietnam War, a sworn pacifist—was implying they needed . . . protection from Penny and Mik Galecki?

A chill ran through her. That was the implication. Because they were dangerous. Impulsive. They were both heavy drinkers—and too much liquor brought out the worst in people. It made them unpredictable, prone to reckless behavior.

As I well know.

Shame crashed through Rae, bringing with it the dark memory from high school. She understood the awful mistakes one made when under the influence.

“We’re not bringing firearms into the house.” Taking a hasty sip of her tea, she focused her thoughts on the matter at hand. “I hate guns. And when I was in high school, I hated those hunting trips with Everett Marks. Griffin did too. We only tagged along to sneak in some alone time. Easy enough to do once Everett started tracking a deer.” Winding anxious fingers through her long hair, she noticed the jagged ends. She was in desperate need of a trim. A normal, ordinary thought, and it made her feel better. “We’ll look into a home security system, if you’d like.”

“They’re expensive. My Honda’s on its last leg, and our food bill’s exploding.” He patted the dog, who was patiently resting her head on his leg. A biscuit appeared from his pocket. “It’s a toss-up who eats more—our new houseguest or his furry friend.”

“Let’s not rush into anything. We’ll shop around for an affordable system.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

The familiar rumble of Quinn’s truck came up the drive. The engine cut off. Rae exchanged a glance with her father.

The clock ticked, the minutes passing. Finishing his drink, Connor poured another.

Rae dropped her voice to whisper. “Why doesn’t he come inside?”

“He knows he’s in trouble.”

“What, he’s got a crystal ball in the truck? I hope he doesn’t get frostbite reading the signs.” On an intake of breath, she stumbled across a more probable reason. “Penny called or sent him a text. She filled him in about our encounter on Chardon Square.”

“That’s my guess. Now he’s stewing in his car.”

“Should I fetch him?”

“Leave him be. This is his decision. He’s got to decide whether to take a child’s way out or act like a man. First off, he’ll weigh the merits of heading for the hills. Driving all the way to California, or some such nonsense.”

The possibility made Rae’s stomach lurch.

No matter how much she dreaded another confrontation with Penny—or, worse still, with Mik—having Quinn run off didn’t bear contemplating. The skinny youth was beginning to gain weight. He was a genuine help to Connor. He pitched in around the house and insisted on paying for Shelby’s dog food. Some nights, when he thought Rae was asleep, he sang to his dog. Quietly, in a lilting whisper—silly, nonsense songs. The sort one sang to a toddler.

Shelby, entranced by the serenade, contributed amusing yips and full-throated yowls to the chorus.

The Galeckis were a threat. She’d take her chances to protect Quinn.

At last, heavy footfalls approached from the living room. Relief spilled through Rae. Then consternation. Quinn halted in the hallway, just a few feet away. She detected a scattered mumbling of words.

Was Quinn praying?

Connor rolled his eyes. Prayer or not, there were limits to his patience.

“Get in here, son! We’re waiting.”

From the doorway, Quinn dredged up the classic teenage response. “I can explain everything.”

“And pigs can fly.” Connor stabbed a finger at a chair. “Let’s take this one step at a time.”

Once Quinn was seated, Rae jumped in. “Why did you lie to us? You led us to believe your parents had thrown you out of the house.”

“It was only a half lie. My mom told me to move out. She said if I didn’t, I’d catch hell when she got back from Atlanta. She was getting drunk, but I knew she wasn’t kidding around. She, um . . .” Embarrassed, Quinn hung his head.

“What?”

“She had me by the neck when she spelled it out.”

Disgust pinged through Rae, stirring her tender, mothering instincts. “Where was your father while this transpired?”

“In the bedroom, packing for the trip.”

“Mik left for the airport without knowing Penny told you to move out?”

“She warned I’d get a walloping if I told him.”

“So Mik doesn’t know she threw you out. He thinks this was all your idea. He assumes you took advantage of their trip to Atlanta to clear out—and avoid setting him off.”

Connor shifted in his chair. “Penny’s stirred up one fine hornet’s nest,” he muttered. “I’ll bet Mik’s furious.”

Quinn shrugged out of his parka. “I suppose she’d put together a story to tell him when they got back. About me going to live with friends, or something.” His gaze was still downcast, the color rising in his cheeks. Discussing this was clearly a humiliating experience for the kid. “She gets really pissed off when she drinks too much. I wasn’t going to argue with her.”

The sentiment was understandable. This afternoon, Rae hadn’t wanted to argue with Penny either. She’d been frightened. A shameful response. When Penny pushed her back against the car, she should’ve clocked her, and good.

With confusion, Connor scratched his head. “If Penny wanted you to move out, why’s she gunning for you to come home now?”

“Lots of reasons. Coq au vin, mostly.”

Rae frowned. How did the kid’s mastery of French cooking figure in?

Her father was faster on the uptake. “Your dad likes when you make dinner?”

“Oh yeah.” Quinn grew animated. “I get along with him a whole lot better when I cook stuff he likes. Coq au vin is his favorite. I’ve also got a venison bourguignon I make during hunting season. Dad loves to hunt. When school’s not in session and I’m not working, I make French bread and desserts too. The more he eats, the less he drinks.”

Sympathy filled the webwork of lines comprising Connor’s face. “How long have you been cooking for him?” Reaching into his pocket, he slid a biscuit down the table.

Murmuring thanks, Quinn gave the treat to his dog. “Oh, since I was eight or nine. A lady who used to live on our street taught me the basics.”

“That was sweet of her.”

“She was old. She missed cooking for her husband. He’d died. One day when my parents were fighting, she found me sitting at the picnic table in her yard. I thought she’d get mad. She didn’t—she invited me inside.” Remembering, he coasted thoughtful fingers across Shelby’s back, smoothing down the fur. “After that, I started checking out food shows on YouTube. My dad is less of a bear when I make dinner. I think it soaks up the booze.”

“You’re a smart young man,” her father said.

Rae asked, “What about Penny? Does she cook?” Apparently, a macho guy like Mik never went near a stove.

“She thinks she does. Mostly she burns stuff in a skillet.” A trace of fear swept through Quinn’s eyes. “My parents have some scary go-rounds about Mom’s cooking. She’ll get dinner started, then walk away. Start watching TV or make a drink. Lots of times the kitchen reeks of smoke before she remembers what she’s doing. Really pisses Dad off. The rest of the time, he makes fun of her. Teases her about her lousy cooking or mocks her when she goes heavy with the makeup to try to look younger.”

Rae felt sick. “Does your Dad make fun of you too?”

“All the time,” Quinn replied with indifference, as if verbal abuse was commonplace in most homes. “Dad says I’m more of a girl than Mom. He’ll ask if he should get me a girlie apron to finish my transformation into a chick. I just keep my mouth shut when he starts in.” A gratifying trace of pride blotted out the fear. “What does he know? Lots of men cook.”

“Including some of the world’s greatest chefs,” Connor added. “Your dad is a dumbbell. No offense.”

Quinn laughed. “None taken.”

Rae finished her tea. “Well, now I understand why Penny was ramped up today. They got back from vacation, and Mik wasn’t happy the French chef had moved out.”

“I’m sorry about my mother.”

“Forget it. I can take care of myself.” It wasn’t entirely true, where Penny was concerned. She resolved to prepare for the next standoff—which seemed inevitable. Switching topics, Rae asked, “Why did it take so long for your dad to notice your absence? They must’ve returned from Atlanta days ago.”

“I’m not sure. Somehow my mom got him believing I was still around.”

Connor grunted. “She’s a dumbbell too. Probably stuffed your bed with pillows. Figured she’d fool your dad forever.”

“Could be.” Quinn gripped the table’s edge, then began drumming his fingers. “Should I move out? You know, because my parents want me back?”

“Hell no.”

Rae cast a warning glance. “Dad—language.” To Quinn she said, “I can’t promise your parents won’t keep demanding you return home. But the choice isn’t theirs to make. Quinn, you’re a legal adult. This is your decision. We’re glad you’re living with us, and we want you to stay.” For emphasis, she paused. Locating the steady, serious tone she’d once used to steer her late daughter in the right direction, she added, “Will you do me a favor?”

“Sure.”

“Trust matters in relationships. That means you don’t hold back or lie. You should’ve told us immediately that your mother—not both of your parents—made you move out. The specifics wouldn’t have mattered to me or my father. We still would’ve offered you a place to stay.” She looked at him closely. “Do you understand? I’m not trying to come down on you. I’m just explaining the rules of the road in the Langdon house.”

Quinn swallowed. “I get it.”

“Good.” She hesitated. “Is there anything else you’d like to tell me?”

Unaccountably, his gaze skittered away. Rae’s heart sank. She was wondering how to press when he caught the error. Quinn pulled his attention back to her.

“We’re good, Rae,” he said too quickly. “We’ve covered everything.”

Nightfall dropped the temperature to near freezing.

Grass crunched beneath Rae’s boots. Swinging the flashlight in a loose arc, she strode past the barn.

The air smelled boggy and damp from winter’s thaw. Small pools of water dotted the pasture, the last remnants from the snowdrifts that had blanketed the acres. A hawk swooped through the approaching night. Its dark wings caught a downdraft as it sped toward the forest.

Slowing her pace, Rae sorted her jumbled thoughts.

She feared she wasn’t finished with Penny and Mik. In one form or another, they’d reappear. They’d continue to badger Quinn, putting at risk the fragile equilibrium she’d brought to his life. They wouldn’t stop there. Mik and Penny were like seventeen-year locusts, once dormant and now deadly. Burrowing up from the past to destroy everything in their path.

They’d devastated the emotional terrain of Rae’s life once before. On a dreadful March night, two months after the White Hurricane had upended her world.

Would they do so again?

Normally Rae wasn’t a fatalist. Yet their reappearance in her life felt preordained. Like an error that destiny insisted she repeat until she’d learned a critical lesson.

Grimly, she halted in the pasture. What is the lesson?

She’d worked hard to bury the past’s mistakes. To seal them over and move on. Even though she’d lost her precious daughter, Rae knew she’d built a good life. She loved her job and cherished her friendship with Yuna. Her father was now getting on in years, but he was thankfully in good health. Having Quinn around had put a spring in Connor’s step.

It had been years since she’d been haunted by thoughts of Quinn’s parents. Bedeviled by the memory, which she’d relived countless times in her unwelcome sleep. The nightmares hadn’t stopped until Lark’s toddler years, when Rae’s job at the Witt Agency went from part- to full-time. The combination of long work hours and motherhood proved an unexpected remedy. Each night she’d fallen into bed exhausted, welcoming the dreamless sleep.

Quinn’s arrival into her life hadn’t stirred those private demons. Hadn’t punched through Rae’s subconscious to start the nightmares once again. Would the encounter with Penny?

I can’t get trapped in the past. I must stay sharp.

A necessity, she decided. The battles with Penny and Mik weren’t over.