The Passing Storm by Christine Nolfi

 

Chapter 26

Teenagers flooded into the corridor. The school day was over.

Letting the crowd carry him forward, Quinn scanned the sea of faces. When his gaze alighted on a swish of long brown hair near the lockers, his heart lifted.

“Hey, Ava.”

She twirled the lock. “Hey! I was hoping to see you.”

“Here I am.”

Pulling open her locker, she hoisted out her book bag. “We’re still meeting, right?”

“Five o’clock?”

She smiled. “I’ll be there.”

Most days when Quinn worked at Yuna’s Craft Emporium, he had a standing date to meet Ava at the coffee shop on Chardon Square. Not a date, exactly. More like chilling over a latte in hopes it would lead to something better. Ava showed up after cheerleading practice. Or she walked up to the coffee shop from her home on North Street. When she did, she sent a text and Quinn took a twenty-minute break from stocking shelves. Usually he’d find Yuna grinning at him as he pulled on his coat and dashed into the alley.

He bounced on the toes of his new boots. “Should I carry that?” he asked, nodding at her book bag. He wasn’t sure if Ava was his girlfriend or not. He did want to prove he was a gentleman—in case she wasn’t sure. “I don’t mind. I’ll carry it for you to the school bus.”

“I’m good.” She slung the bag over her shoulder. “Walk me out?”

“Sure.”

They merged with the students flowing toward Chardon High’s entryway.

Quinn was nearly a head taller. Doing his best, he shielded Ava from kids knocking elbows and shoving their way outside. He tried to think up words to say.

When teenagers dated, they were supposed to talk. Only he wasn’t sure of the right topics. The noise level was deafening, and big crowds made him nervous. Ava didn’t seem to mind that he was tongue-tied. He was always tongue-tied.

At the coffee shop, she carried the conversation. He listened. The arrangement was better than perfect.

When they reached the doors, Ava took his hand. Just for a second, long enough to give his fingers an affectionate squeeze.

She dashed outside.

Kids pushed and shouted. Quinn walked slowly, a stone in a fast-moving river. Only he was rushing or floating inside in a way no one could see. He was lighter than air. He watched Ava climb into the school bus, her glossy hair swinging across her back.

If he didn’t get a move on, he’d be late for work. But he couldn’t make his feet move fast. Not with his fingers tingling with warmth. Wending his way to the parking lot, Quinn studied his hand. Ava had touched him. Did it mean she was his girlfriend?

Engines revved as kids shouted to their friends. Some of the teenagers walked diagonally through the lot, past the cars, talking loudly and swinging tennis rackets. The tennis courts sat in a grassy bowl of acreage not far from the school complex. The kids looked eager to bat around a few balls even if winter wasn’t really over. Far behind the lot, a thick buffer of fir trees formed a green necklace. Quinn paused to take it all in.

The view was incredible, the trees emerald green and the birds chirping and the air smelling sweet. The sun was almost too bright; Quinn shut his eyes a moment as the pain lanced him like a blade, slicing through the happiness, bringing with it a sense of foreboding.

The good stuff never lasts. Something bad will happen. It always does.

A girl skirted past, running to her car. A cloud of blue exhaust seared Quinn’s nose as more cars rumbled to life and sped from the lot. Teenagers like him, on their way to afternoon jobs or to meet with friends. Only they weren’t like him. Their parents weren’t drunks; no one ever hit them.

“Galecki, move!”

A palm landed on his back, shoving Quinn forward. The air whooshed from his lungs, and he nearly fell. Ben Dolan, the school’s quarterback, strode past with a satisfied grin.

Fear raced through Quinn as Ben walked away. He felt small then, insignificant. Almost too frightened to move.

When the last of the cars disappeared, he climbed into his truck.

On Friday, Rae cleared off her desk at four o’clock. Yesterday and on Tuesday, she’d worked through the dinner hour. Both days provided a diversion from worry over Quinn’s parents, or reliving the embarrassment of her behavior at Griffin’s firm on Monday.

Leaving early posed no problem. Rae grabbed her purse. Slipping out to the alley, she climbed into her car.

The workweek was over. No one on the Square—not Yuna, the other shop owners, or any of the professionals in the various firms—had glimpsed Penny’s car circling Chardon Square. Five days running.

An optimistic trend. Rae prayed it would hold.

Pulling out of the alley, she considered stopping at the drugstore. She didn’t own stationery. Buy a blank card to compose an apology note to Griffin? She had no idea what to write. She couldn’t, however, drop a check in the mail for the damaged planter without an accompanying note. It would be rude. She’d already embarrassed herself thoroughly.

Her phone buzzed. She put her father on speaker.

“Are you still at the office?” He sounded excited.

“Just left. Stopping at the drugstore. I’ll be home afterward.”

“Can the drugstore wait? Make the trip in the morning?”

“Sure. Why?” She hesitated. “Should I pick up dinner?” This morning Quinn had left for school early; she wasn’t sure if he was cooking tonight.

“Already taken care of,” Connor assured her. “I’m having Italian delivered. Veal parmesan, ravioli—the works. Did you know the only Italian food Quinn’s eaten is pizza? That must be some sort of crime.”

In Rae’s book, it was. She loved Italian. “I thought he was into all things French,” she joked.

“When he cooks. Quinn’s ready to branch out, and we’re celebrating.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“We’ve got half the lights strung. Actually, a little more than that—we stopped about a third of an acre from the house. Then we went ahead and started work on the lights near the barn. To get an idea of what the final result will look like. It’s something to see, Rae. Hurry on home.”

Clearing the traffic on the square, Rae accelerated. “Oh, Dad—that’s wonderful!” Bringing her late mother’s last artistic creation to life meant a lot to him.

Moisture gathered in her eyes.

It means a lot to me too.

A light drizzle pelted the windshield. Turning into the farm’s winding driveway, Rae sighed. There was little chance the recent, unseasonably warm temps would continue. The maple tree on the front lawn was still without buds; the slate walkway leading to the front steps wore a sheen of dampness. Like many people in northeast Ohio, she watched Canada’s weather in March. Lake Erie was the shallowest of the Great Lakes, and late-winter storms that blew southward often brought more unwanted snow.

No wonder Connor was using every spare minute to work on Hester’s design. He’d been grousing all week: his earlier prediction was off. Winter hadn’t finished pummeling the town just yet.

There was no one in the house. From out back, Shelby’s rapid-fire barking cut off suddenly. The dog was in the middle of a game of fetch, Rae mused, placing her purse and briefcase on the couch. As she wended her way through the kitchen and then the mudroom, the raucous barking resumed.

Streaking past the barn, Shelby caught a tennis ball. Rae stepped outside.

And gasped.

The trees seemed adorned with thousands of colorful fireflies. The tiny bulbs, in a variety of shapes, emitted light at different levels—some with sharp brilliance, others with a deeper, milder glow. Rae’s thoughts tripped back to the summer before her mother died. The countless days Hester spent working and reworking her design, throwing out one schematic and then another; her eyes flashing when Rae or Connor teased that she was obsessing over a silly lighting display. Who cared how they strung it all up?

Now the reason for Hester’s diligence was breathtaking to behold. On the trees nearest the house, swirling waves of purple found their counterpoint in moon-shaped swatches of gold. The fifth tree away stood in contrast, blazing in shades of blue. Half an acre past, the barn stood untouched, still shedding paint chips, but it was easy to imagine the structure brought back to life with a new coat of red paint. The trees midway across the expanse were dark, but the majestic oak and the two shorter maples near the barn were ablaze in shades of silver, green, and a surprisingly compatible rose-tinted hue.

She watched her father walk toward the barn. Connor paused. Shelby dropped the ball at his feet. Scooping it up, he tossed it toward the pasture.

Quinn appeared from behind the third tree. “Rae!”

She hadn’t noticed him, fiddling with the lighting winding around the trunk.

Approaching, he smiled. “What do you think?”

“Oh, Quinn . . . this is the most . . .”

“The most . . . what?”

Anticipating a compliment, he rocked back on his heels. Quinn didn’t have much experience with confidence, or ego-boosting moments. He was eager to learn.

Rae glanced at the steel-colored clouds. Icy bits of rain pelted her face. She didn’t care.

Mom, are you seeing this? It’s beautiful!

Puzzlement stole Quinn’s bravado. “Are you . . . crying?”

Overcome, Rae pressed a palm to her mouth. Lark, are you with Grandma? Are you seeing this, baby girl? Aren’t the lights pretty?

“Wow. You are crying.” Blushing, he looked away. “I didn’t know you were a crier. I mean, you’re kind of tough for a lady. No—that’s not what I meant. I just didn’t think you did the weepy thing. At least not often.”

His knowledge of pure joy was limited. Or nonexistent.

Eyes welling, Rae pulled him into her arms.

“You sweet, beautiful young man.” She landed a smacking kiss on his lightly stubbled cheek. He wasn’t sure how to react, and she laughed through her tears. Without giving him time to figure it out, she cupped his face and kissed his other, blushing cheek. “Quinn, this is the best gift—ever! Thank you. Really. The last months have been so hard, I’ve been so down—” She broke off, laughing again. Then she was crying, harder now, as she hugged him mightily. “You are simply the best. I love you.”

“I can’t breathe, Rae. Let go.”

“Oh. Sorry.” She released him from her affectionate hold.

“No problem.” His shoulders inched toward his ears. “I love you too . . . if it’s okay to say.”

“Of course it is.” Unable to resist, she pinched his cheek. “You are the best!”

Shelby barked.

The sound broke the sweet interlude.

Connor reached them. “The lights look great, don’t they?” He caught a whiff of the tenderness passing between his daughter and their young houseguest. “This looks like a Kodak moment. Aw, Rae—your nose is all runny. You’re not going to cry, are you?”

“Too late,” Quinn said. “She’s already gone there.” He regarded them both with confusion. “What’s a Kodak moment?”

They ate a ridiculous amount of Italian food. Quinn’s dog, doing her part, sampled veal and sausage and greedily accepted a bowl of ravioli. Rae wasn’t sure if red sauce was healthy for a dog, so she rinsed the pasta first.

As they were finishing up, Shelby flopped down in the center of the kitchen and dozed on her back. Her paws twitched. She resembled a beached whale with fur.

“Well, I’m done.” Connor gestured at the empty platters strewn across the table. “You two clean up. My knees are on fire. I need to soak these old bones in Epsom salts.”

Wrinkling his nose, Quinn leaned toward Rae. “What’s he talking about?” he whispered.

“Soaking in a bath.”

“Got it,” he murmured as Connor shuffled past. “Sleep tight.”

Connor gave a thumbs-up.

When he was gone, they shared a companionable silence. Their first. Privately, Rae wondered why she hadn’t displayed physical affection weeks ago. She was a mother; she understood the power of touch. Children needed words of encouragement, but they thrived most when they were supplied with the basic human need of the shelter of an adult’s arms.

Granted, Quinn wasn’t a child. Legally, he’d reached adulthood. Yet she doubted he’d received much nurturing. When was the last time Mik or Penny had hugged him? Their disheartening abuses were painful to consider, a dark terrain Rae preferred not to visit. Were there other, kinder moments?

Quinn said, “Do you mind helping me clean up?”

A trace of nerves rimmed the comment. He was already ferrying dishes to the sink.

Rae scraped back her chair. “Do you have homework? I can take care of this.”

Opening the dishwasher, he darted a glance. “It’s Friday, Rae. I have all weekend to study.” He peered out the window at the darkness. “Connor says we’ll get snow tonight. We won’t be able to work on the rest of the lights.”

“Are you scheduled at the craft emporium tomorrow?”

“Yeah.” Moving past, he fetched more dishes. “I meant on Sunday. That’s when I was hoping to work on the lights. It’ll look cool, once we finish.” A spoon skittered off the platter he carried.

When he returned to the sink, she stared at him pointedly. “Quinn, what’s the matter? Five minutes ago, you were perfectly relaxed. Now you seem nervous.”

“I am.” Setting the platter on the counter, he inhaled a deep breath. “Can I ask you something?”

“Always and anytime. I’m here for you. I hope you know that by now.”

His gaze dropped to his feet. Which kicked in her mothering instincts as she neared.

“There’s nothing you can tell me about Lark that will upset me,” she said evenly.

“That’s not true. You were really mad when I told you about Griffin.”

“And I was wrong.”

“You were?”

“I shouldn’t have lit out of the house the way I did. Quinn, even grown-ups misbehave at one time or another. I’m not talking about the really bad things grown-ups can do, like getting drunk, or—” Rae ground to a halt. Emotion welled up quickly. Finding her footing, she pressed her hand to his cheek. “Or when they behave really badly, like when they hurt a child. That should never happen.”

When her hand fell away, Quinn’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat.

“I’m talking about regular-variety, dumb stuff,” she added. “Grown-ups should know to think before they react. Most of the time we do. The point I’m trying to make is that you can tell me anything, and not worry that I’ll get mad or upset. I want you to confide in me. You are a fine young man, and I’m on your side.”

“What we need to talk about . . . it’s about the night Lark died. I guess you know why I went over to the Thomersons’. I knew I probably wouldn’t see Lark, but she needed moral support.”

“I know,” she murmured, “my daughter had been thinking about skipping the party.” It was easy to imagine Quinn pacing outside Katherine’s elegant property, sending Lark comforting text messages.

“Yeah, but there’s something else.”

“Go on.”

“Rae, the police got it wrong. I don’t mean they messed up their conclusions exactly. Or maybe that is what I mean.” He blew out a frustrated breath. “I’m not sure.”

Shock held Rae transfixed. What did the police get wrong?

The dog rolled onto her side. She yipped in her sleep.

A diversion, and Quinn took it readily. He skirted past her, clearly needing distance before continuing. Lowering to his knees, he began stroking his dog. Long, even strokes. Calming Shelby as she slept. Calming himself.

“You know about the first part,” he said, “when I climbed over the wall surrounding Mrs. Thomerson’s pool. The police got that right. I climbed over in a hurry. I tore my jeans on those prickly bushes.”

The brick wall enclosing Katherine’s pool area was seven feet tall. “The holly bushes,” Rae supplied. The PD’s report had given the details. Quinn scrambled onto the holly bushes to grab hold of the wall’s top edge. Then he’d gone over.

“Holly bushes—right. That’s what they’re called. Anyway, the first officer showed up. Young guy, not much older than me.”

“Officer Collins.” A new recruit, only three months on the job.

“That’s his name. I was still in the pool with Lark. I didn’t want to leave her there. Not even when Officer Collins ordered me out. I told him to go away, just leave me alone. There was lots of commotion—the girls screaming from inside the house, and Mrs. Thomerson kept pacing around the pool, slipping. It was all keeping Officer Collins awfully busy.” Quinn hesitated before adding, “I was crying pretty hard.”

At her sides Rae clenched her fists, her nails digging into her flesh. “I can imagine,” she whispered, trying hard not to.

“I was scared. I didn’t believe Lark was dead.” Quinn brushed a shaky hand across his eyes. “Sometimes I still don’t.”

An ache tore through Rae. “Me either,” she agreed.

“I don’t know how much time passed before the other guys showed up. I remember yelling at them, making them angry. They climbed down the steel ladder into the pool. They had to drag me out. I didn’t want to leave Lark down there alone.”

Rae pushed away the image. “The other guys . . . you mean the other police officers?”

Nodding, Quinn pulled his knees to his chest. The telling was hard on him.

“The first guy—Officer Collins—he put me in his cruiser. I was talking real fast by then. Telling him I only trespassed because I’d heard Lark on the other side. I heard her shouting and knew something was wrong. I guess I was in shock. Plus, I didn’t know about my Mirabelle. No. Mara—”

“Your Miranda rights?”

Again, Quinn nodded. “Collins drove me to the station. He was being smug. Like he’d solved the case right there. He gestured to a lady detective, and they took me into a room. Accused me of killing Lark. Pushing her into the pool after a lover’s quarrel. They kept asking the same questions, over and over. Hoping to trip me up and get a different answer. I was really scared by then.”

This part Rae knew well. An interrogation mishandled. A minor grilled without a shred of evidence of wrongdoing. By sheer luck, the night-shift receptionist—arriving about ninety minutes into Quinn’s interrogation—was the daughter of Theresa Russo, Chardon High’s principal. After receiving a call from her daughter and hurrying to the precinct, Theresa demanded a halt to the interrogation.

Quinn’s parents never arrived to stand by their son. Predictably, they were out making the rounds of the bars. From what Rae had gleaned from Theresa since Quinn had moved in with her, the Galeckis didn’t get around to returning the PD’s calls until the following morning. By then, Quinn was holed up in his bedroom on a chilly Sunday morning, the damage done.

“You were scared,” Rae prodded, “and you wanted to go home. You didn’t want to tell Officer Collins and the lady detective anything else. You were afraid they wouldn’t believe you.”

“And they’d never let me go home. Maybe put me in jail, even.”

“Quinn, it’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong. You tried to save my daughter.” In agony, Rae pulled in a quick breath. “What did you forget to tell the officers?”

On the floor, Quinn began rocking. Like a small child, overwhelmed.

“Rae, I didn’t climb over the wall only because I heard Lark shout. That’s what the police wrote up in the report. I climbed over because I heard Lark arguing.”

“She was . . . are you sure?”

“I’m positive. She was fighting with another girl. Their voices carried—it was easy to hear them. I just couldn’t hear what they were yelling about. They were talking fast, shouting at each other. Whatever they were mad about, it was bad.”

Quinn stopped rocking so quickly, Rae flinched. The moisture evaporated from her mouth.

Don’t tell me the rest.A trapdoor opened beneath her world, revealing a truth too dark to contemplate. Too dark to endure.

Quinn’s eyes misted as they found hers. “There was another girl there,” he insisted, “someone else who’d gone to the slumber party. I’m not implying someone pushed Lark in, but she wasn’t alone when she fell. I just thought you should know.”

Rae paled.

That was exactly what he meant.