The Passing Storm by Christine Nolfi

Chapter 20

For days, Griffin immersed himself in the monotony of work.

He trudged into Design Mark at dawn. Often, he stayed until midnight. His assistant joked he should sell his house and live in his office.

In between meetings, he attempted to reach Sally. His sister refused to pick up. The sincere apologies Griffin left on voice mail, he suspected, were summarily deleted.

For two siblings so close, the break in diplomatic relations was a first.

Griffin took full ownership of the mess. Last weekend, when Sally had appeared in his office, hurling accusations like well-aimed darts, he shouldn’t have become defensive. It should’ve been obvious she was upset about more than Katherine’s revelations concerning Lark. Or because Katherine still harbored feelings that Griffin couldn’t return.

His sister’s anger ran deeper.

Sally believed he’d broken a key element of their relationship: trust. Which he’d done through his inability to give her the full, unvarnished truth. Why hadn’t he mentioned taking Lark to Dixon’s for ice cream? Had embarrassment kept him silent? Playing a shadow game, he’d offered some facts while hiding others.

Now Sally viewed everything he’d told her as suspect.

By Thursday night, it became clear the standoff might last indefinitely. The prospect spurred Griffin out of Design Mark. What choice was there but to drive over to Sally’s house? When two adults disagree, nothing beats in-person negotiations. A face-to-face would soothe his sister’s ruffled feathers. Griffin was prepared to eat crow, if it came to it.

On the first knock, the door opened a crack. His brother-in-law looked agitated.

“I don’t know what you’ve done, pal.” Trenton spoke at barely a whisper. “Your sister is hotter than Death Valley. She’s more dangerous than extreme weather. She’s like the volcano that erupted in . . . which country was it? Somewhere in Asia.”

A query not worth exploring. “I get it, Trenton. May I speak with her?”

“No.”

“No?” Griffin polished his tone to a brittle sheen. “May I ask why?”

“Like you don’t know.”

“Okay, I know. I’d still like to come in. I need to apologize.”

“You’re wasting your time.”

“Let me be the judge.” His irritation flared. “Back up, man. I’m coming in to talk to my sister.”

“No way.” Trenton cast a nervous glance behind him. “If I let you in, she’ll strip my ego naked and dip it in bleach. I’m not that strong. Go away.”

The door clicked shut.

The rejection deflated Griffin, and he trudged back to his car. He returned to Design Mark to stew in a broth of self-pity and remorse.

The self-pity was especially hazardous. It led him down the blind roads and rocky paths to that last, unfortunate year at Chardon High. A smarter man would avoid such a journey. He wouldn’t poke around the undergrowth of his memories to examine the most painful events.

But the sting of Sally’s darts was still fresh.

And so, Griffin paced the empty halls of Design Mark with the memory of his former self dogging his heels. The sweaty dope whose only redeeming quality—a full head of hair—was now in full retreat. The awkward boy who’d been hopelessly in love with Rae Langdon.

Griffin meant what he’d told Sally: he bore Rae no ill will. Since moving back to Ohio, he’d only glimpsed her from a distance—not once making the attempt to approach and strike up conversation. Besides, she’d been a girl when she’d broken his heart. What sense was there in despising the woman she’d become?

We are each many people in a lifetime. We slip through versions of ourselves, no more staying in place than a fast-moving river. Rae wasn’t the girl she’d once been. Nor was he, thankfully, still an inept teenager. The harm they’d done to each other long ago seemed like the errors of two people Griffin didn’t know at all.

At dinnertime on Sunday, Griffin ended the pity party. He abandoned the office. He went home, took a shower, and made a salad for dinner. Trenton was correct—Sally needed to cool down. There was no sense putting in more calls. Griffin could, however, act on the advice she’d offered the day he’d shown her the lacquered box.

Ask Yuna to return the keepsake to its rightful owner. With luck, she’d agree to handle delivery. Toting the thing next door, however, was presumptuous.

Odds weren’t great that Yuna would jump at the chance to get involved. Why would she? Lark had taken the box from Rae’s attic without her mother’s consent. Rae didn’t know it was missing. How the thing had landed in Griffin’s possession—and the thorny implications—were sure to upset Rae.

Set on a course of action, Griffin pulled out his smartphone. He snapped a photo of the precious object.

A boxwood hedge separated the yards. With grim resignation, he walked around. He was still working out what to say when the door swung open to reveal . . . no one.

He looked down.

His favorite mini human was dressed in flannel pajamas. “Mommy threw up—twice!” Kameko pinched her nose dramatically. “Smelly!”

Griffin aped her expression of disgust. “Yuck.”

“Want to come in?”

Not on your life.“If she’s sick, I should come back later.”

Latching on to his wrist, Kameko made a pouty face. “Don’t go! Mommy’s not sick.”

“But you said—”

“The baby is mean when Mommy smells burgers. Me and Daddy like burgers.” Her face fell. “We can’t eat them anymore. The baby won’t let us.”

Baby? What baby?He wondered if his arrival had disturbed the child’s fantasy play.

Toys were strewn across the living room. A cornucopia of plastic animals and talking books. There wasn’t a doll in sight.

“He jumps on Mommy’s tummy. Like this.” Kameko hopped up and down to demonstrate. Then her expression grew earnest. “Griffin, do you make burgers?”

“Sure. Sometimes.”

“I’ll come over and eat one. Maybe tomorrow. Don’t tell the teeny baby.”

“Good plan,” he murmured, following her to the kitchen.

Did she mean her mother was pregnant? It would explain the teeny baby’s unpleasant behavior, not to mention Yuna’s distress. He’d lived next door long enough for Kipp to regale him with tales of Yuna’s morning sickness when she’d been pregnant with Kameko. Each story came with a colorful and amusingly gruesome title. “Life with the Hurl Master” or Griffin’s personal favorite, “Vicious Stops on the Vomit Train.” The stories were never told when Yuna was within earshot.

“Mommy, Daddy—look who’s here! I told Griffin about the mean baby!”

The atmosphere in the kitchen was testy. At the table, Yuna sat in a miserable silence. She was flicking saltines past the napkin holder like poker chips. Kipp, hovering nearby, looked ready to bolt.

Griffin appraised the subdued couple. “Are we celebrating or sitting shiva?” he asked.

“Hey, pal.” Kipp pulled a cold one from the fridge. “We’re celebrating. Yuna’s pregnant.”

“Congratulations to you both. A baby is happy news.” Accepting the beer, Griffin frowned. “Aren’t you joining me?”

“Naw.” Kipp patted his middle. “Yuna says my abs are starting to resemble blubber. If her hormones get much worse, I’m worried she’ll buy a harpoon. But enough with the small talk. I’m going to be a daddy—again!” He raised his bottled water. “To my sperm. May they always swim fast and free.”

Yuna gave him a jaundiced look. “Language—your daughter is in the room. As for ‘swimming free,’ if they do, you’re in trouble.”

“It’s just a toast!”

“Whatever.” She smiled weakly at Kameko. “Daddy’s goofy tonight. Mostly because he’s excited about the teeny baby. Don’t listen to him.”

“Okay, Mommy.” Kameko obediently stuck her fingers in her ears.

“I’m sitting shiva,” Yuna informed Griffin. To Kipp, she said, “I promised to marry you on one condition. We split all family chores fifty-fifty. I’m thrilled about the baby, but it’s your turn to gestate. I’m so done with morning sickness.”

“Whoa, sweetheart. Some duties are outside my jurisdiction—like the laws of nature.”

“Amend the law,” Yuna sulked. She regarded Kameko, fingers still dutifully stuck in her ears. Gently she removed them. “Sweetheart, can you go upstairs and brush your teeth? Daddy will be in soon to read you a story.”

“Can I have a snack first?”

“No. You had cookies after dinner. Go on.”

Her dimpled chin jutting out, Kameko glared at her mother’s tummy. “Mean baby,” she hissed. She stomped off.

Her tempestuous departure left a heavy silence. Griffin cleared his throat.

“Listen, I’m catching you at a bad time,” he said to no one in particular. “My issue pales in comparison to your happy news. Really great news—congratulations again. How ’bout I touch base this weekend? I’ll call.”

Female intuition was a strange phenomenon; Yuna knew he meant her.

“Sit.” With her toe, she nudged a chair out from the table. “You look upset.”

“I am, I suppose.”

“Your car hasn’t been in your driveway all week. Were you out of town?”

“No, just living at my office. Burying myself in work. It’s the manly way to deal with tough problems.” He pushed the beer away. “Or avoid them. Which is why I need a favor. I hate to ask.”

“It’s fine, Griffin. I’m always here for you.”

“I know you are. I appreciate your friendship.”

Turning to Kipp, she glared. “Why are you still here?” Evidently her sympathy didn’t extend to her husband.

Kipp drew himself up tall. “Because Griffin’s upset,” he volleyed back, “and I’ll gladly discuss anything not related to vomit or marital equality. I’ve sworn off red meat and have thrown out my favorite sriracha sauce. I’m dealing with your mood swings. What more do you want from me?” When she remained silent, he landed a palm on Griffin’s shoulder. “Spill—we’re here for you.”

Glad to get on with it, Griffin pulled out his phone and found the image. To Yuna, he said, “I need you to return this to Rae.” He slid the phone before her.

“What is it?”

“A keepsake Hester made when Rae was in elementary school. It was special to Rae when she was growing up. I have it.”

Running through the story about Lark’s visits was no picnic. Griffin kept it short and sweet. There was no reason to mention the box’s humiliating contents—knowing Yuna, she’d never look inside. Her sense of propriety ran deep.

A minor consolation. By the end of the telling, her jaw hung loose.

Kipp’s reaction was the opposite. He looked entertained. Any man in trouble, other than himself—that was a joyride he was happy to take.

He snatched the beer Griffin hadn’t touched. “That’s some story, man.” Taking a swig, he eagerly pulled up a chair. “Rae’s daughter was dropping by your office repeatedly?”

“I thought she was working on a school report.”

“She had you fooled.”

“Obviously.”

“One question. Why would Lark, may she rest in peace, get it in her head that you were her father?” Kipp fought the grin quirking his lips. “Don’t take this the wrong way, pal. Lark was way too pretty. If your DNA got in the boxing ring, Rae’s won the match. Lark didn’t look anything like you.”

At the good-natured teasing, pain rushed through Griffin. He recalled the shocking phone call from his sister during his first semester at Ohio University. Learning that Rae—whom he hadn’t seen since their graduation from high school—was pregnant. How the gossips in Chardon were chattering that he was the deadbeat father.

How the news of Rae’s condition gutted him.

Yuna threw a saltine at Kipp’s head. “Kipp, baby-making turns you into an idiot. I’m not looking forward to another five months of your juvenile behavior.” Her eyes flashed. “Griffin was childhood friends with Rae. I know I’ve mentioned it—can’t you remember anything? What I didn’t tell you was that they dated in high school.”

“They did?”

“That’s right. Over time, their childhood friendship had evolved into something deeper. They broke up near the end of their senior year.”

“Ah. Now it all makes sense.”

“Go.” She pointed toward the hallway and the stairwell beyond. “Your daughter is waiting for you to read her a bedtime story.”