The Passing Storm by Christine Nolfi

Chapter 22

A long, hot shower was normally a weekend luxury.

Rae didn’t care. She took her time washing her long reddish-gold hair, savoring the therapeutic pounding of water droplets on her back.

Would more headaches spoil the new week?

Rae was tired of feeling like a criminal. She’d spent the better part of last week sprinting down the alley behind the Witt Agency for quick visits to Yuna’s shop, or to grab lunch at a nearby restaurant. An indignity, to be sure. There’d been no better option to avoid the flurry of obscenities pitched from Penny’s car each time she drove by.

At least Penny couldn’t dump more trash in front of the Witt Agency. Her days of risk-free vandalism were over. The nearby shop owners and businesses were now keeping an eye out. With tax season approaching, several of the overworked employees at the accounting firm were arriving for work at dawn. Later in the day, the owners of the antique shop took turns patrolling the street.

If Quinn’s mother planned more foolishness, she’d have to haul herself from bed before sunup. There was little chance a woman into late-night partying could pull off an early-bird routine.

Confident the new workweek would prove calmer, Rae took her time dressing and drying her hair. Out of habit, she reached for a scrunchie—usually she pulled her unruly tresses into a loose ponytail for the office. Tossing the scrunchie aside, she let her hair tumble past her shoulders. She felt good. There’d be no public shaming this week.

At just past seven thirty, she left her bedroom with a bounce in her step. An early start today—her boss, Evelyn, was back from vacation. Rae planned to catch up on paperwork before their ten o’clock meeting. Connor’s bedroom door was still closed; his rumbling snores drifted out as she walked past.

Quinn was at the kitchen table, staring off into space. His book bag leaned against the chair, zipped up and ready for the school day. Shelby, nosing around her food bowl, gobbled down the last chunks of kibble.

Rae turned on the coffeepot. “Aren’t you having breakfast?” There wasn’t even a glass of juice before him.

“I’m not hungry.”

“You’re sure? I can make toast.”

“Don’t bother.”

Normally Quinn ate a hearty breakfast. If Connor woke early, lending Quinn an excuse to whip up a meal, a dozen eggs and half a pound of bacon could disappear from the fridge. Not to mention half a bag of potatoes, and most of the pancake mix. A teenager’s pride is a fragile thing, and Connor—grizzled and time tested like an old-fashioned stopwatch—was a skilled thespian. Playing his role convincingly, he pretended to need a large breakfast to start the day.

It was all the encouragement Quinn required to begin grabbing skillets and cooking supplies.

Once the platters were filled and Connor changed his mind—complaining about how he hated to see all the good eats go to waste—Quinn dug in. He’d consume enough calories to put the average person into a food coma.

He never skipped breakfast altogether. “You look tired,” Rae said, concerned. “Did you get enough sleep?” Sometimes he stayed up late studying.

“I’m okay.” He gave her a cursory glance. “Your hair looks nice.”

Giving her head a playful shake, she hoped to draw a smile. “We all need to let our hair down sometimes.” When no reaction was forthcoming, she ditched the humor. “Any tests this week?” she asked.

“Nothing major.” He watched Shelby trot out of the kitchen, no doubt to doze on his still-warm bed. “Just a few quizzes.”

“That’s good.”

He pulled out his car keys. “I guess.” He stuffed them back into his coat pocket.

On the parenting highway, his indecision signaled distress. Was there something he needed to discuss? He was also back to his old trick of avoiding eye contact. Another bad sign.

Worried, Rae turned off the coffeepot. Filling her travel mug, she searched for a new conversation starter. Whatever troubled him, he appeared in no hurry to open up. Leaving for work wasn’t an option until she got to the bottom of it. How to proceed was the real issue. They didn’t have a natural rapport. Without Connor to provide the essential chemistry, many of their interactions were stilted or brief.

“Should I pick up dinner on my way home?” Opening the fridge, she pretended to hunt for a breakfast option. “Do you want pizza tonight? Or I can bring home Thai. You liked it, the last time.”

“Why would you get takeout?” Quinn glanced at her peevishly. “I cook on Mondays. I’m making rosemary chicken patties and garlic potatoes. Connor’s helping me.”

“Sounds heavenly.” She closed the fridge. “You know, we appreciate all the great meals. Before you moved in, we lived on lunch meat and frozen entrées. But you’re under no obligation to pull kitchen duty. If you have to study or aren’t in the mood to cook, just give me a call. I’ll pick something up.”

“The recipes are easy. It won’t take long.”

“How’s it going with the decorative lights?” She’d been too busy to check. “My dad says you’re making great progress.”

Quinn reached for his book bag, then reversed the motion. “Great,” he said with exactly no enthusiasm. In another worrisome habit, he began picking at his nails. “We’re on the fourth tree now. We’ll have all the lights strung this afternoon. We might get started on the fifth tree, if the weather holds. Connor thinks it might rain later on.”

“The forecast doesn’t call for rain until tonight. Only a twenty percent chance.”

“Whatever.”

A snippy response, and totally not Quinn’s style. “Do you need lunch money?” she asked, determined to get him talking. There was a chance bribery would soften up the churlish teen.

His eyes flashed. “Why would you give me lunch money? I’m not your kid.”

“I’m feeling generous this morning,” Rae tossed back, thinking, Hit the brakes. Trouble ahead. Speeding up instead, she asked, “Any new text messages from your mother? I’m hoping Penny had better things to do than badger you all weekend.” A touchy subject, but Quinn was already peevish.

“I took Connor’s advice and blocked her. He got pretty mad when I showed him the texts.” Dots of blood appeared on Quinn’s pinkie as he tore the nail too close to the skin. “He said a grown-up shouldn’t talk filth, especially to her own kid.”

The self-inflicted injury made Rae wince. “I agree. Parents should treat their children with love and respect.”

“Someone should tell my mom. I hate her stupid texts. She knows more cuss words than anyone on the planet.”

“Tell me about it. I googled a few of the unfamiliar ones.”

“Me too.” Quinn hesitated. “I also blocked my dad.”

A trill of fear swept through her. “You did?” Blocking Mik was like throwing down a gauntlet. There would be repercussions.

“I figured, what the heck. No guts, no glory. That’s what Connor says when I get hung up on decisions. The glory feels like a reach, though.”

Her heart went out to him. “Finding courage is never easy, Quinn. What matters is that you make the attempt.”

“Yeah. Learn to stand up for myself.”

“You will, in time.” Rae’s pulse jumped as she struggled for a placid tone. “Don’t let anyone stand in your way.”

Quinn rubbed his temples, as if dispelling a disturbing thought. “My dad will be angry when he figures out why he can’t reach me.”

“Just remember what I told you. The choice on where to live is legally yours. Mik has no power over you.”

“He won’t see it that way.”

“Maybe not, but you’re more than welcome to stay here.”

This didn’t sound nearly as positive as she’d like. Pausing, Rae dug deep for the right words. Quinn was learning to stand up for himself. She refused to let him down.

She caught his gaze. “I want you to stay, Quinn. You’re doing well in my home, and I like having you around. The last months have been hard . . . You’ve been an incredible help. More than you imagine. Plus, my father adores you. He seems ten years younger since you moved in.”

It was too much affection too fast. Quinn looked pained, too distraught to respond. Silently Rae chastised herself. His emotions were a delicate ballet. She was still learning the steps.

She picked up her briefcase. “I guess I’ll head out.” The urge to embrace him was powerful. To give physical proof to her desire to stand by him. Rae warded off the impulse. “If there’s anything else you’d like to discuss, I don’t have to—”

“No. I’m good.”

“Sure. Well, have a great day at school.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll see you tonight,” she added, stalling.

Quinn’s expression churned, and she knew there was something more. Another problem he seemed incapable of sharing.

With misgivings, she pivoted away.

“Wait.” Quinn bit at his lower lip. “Rae, there’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about. I shouldn’t have waited this long. A dumb move, on my part.”

“Sure. I’m all ears.”

“It’s about Lark . . . what she was doing without telling you. I suppose she would’ve filled you in, eventually. I don’t want you to get mad, finding out now.”

The oxygen left the room. A new, darker element rushed in.

“I won’t be angry, promise.” She dredged up an encouraging smile. “What is it?”

“It’s about the stuff you wouldn’t tell her. The things you and Lark fought about.” A darting glance, this one anxious. “You know—about her dad.”

The moisture fled Rae’s mouth. “You mean, how she wanted to know who he was?”

Past tense, and Quinn frowned. “Who the guy is,” he said, correcting the error. “Lark did know him. She knew him well. Sometimes they spent time together, on Wednesdays.”