The Passing Storm by Christine Nolfi
Chapter 28
Griffin listened to her suppositions with growing unease. Midway through, he left Rae pacing in the living room and went into the kitchen to make her a cup of chamomile tea. He poured himself a glass of water. When he returned, he asked if she’d like to sit down.
Taking the cup, she gratefully sat on the couch. “Your niece is the key,” she repeated, as if she hadn’t already driven home what she needed him to do. “Will you talk to Jackie?”
“Of course.”
“I don’t want to believe one of the girls pushed my daughter into the pool. Not intentionally.”
“No one would want to believe that. They’re just kids.”
“If another girl did push my daughter, she probably didn’t realize Lark was standing close to the pool’s edge. And it was icy outside. None of the girls should’ve been allowed to go into the pool area in the first place. It’s just so stupid. Why didn’t Katherine tell the girls to stay in the house?”
“Rae, slow down.” He nudged the cup toward her lips. “Drink.”
She was becoming overwrought. It was another aspect of her personality he’d never before witnessed. It occurred to Griffin that his expectations were framed around the Rae he’d known in high school. An illusion. The seventeen-year-old girl he’d known had matured into the woman seated beside him. This version—the true version of Rae—was a woman who’d lost her daughter only months ago and now feared a heartbreaking accident was something more.
No wonder she’d assumed the worst from Quinn’s story.
Griffin said, “Quinn was hanging around outside the Thomersons’ hoping to see Lark?”
“But not for the reasons you think. They were just friends. He went over to lend moral support even though he knew he probably wouldn’t see her.”
“Support via text message. Sounds like a typical kid’s behavior.”
“It is.” Rae took another sip of tea, set the mug down. When she turned slightly, their knees almost touched. “Quinn’s parents get drunk just about every night. Whether they stay home, or come back from the bars drunk, they fight. And I mean, knock-down-drag-outs.”
“They’ve been doing that for as long as they’ve known each other.” Griffin recalled the many times his mother had tried to intercede in the Galeckis’ wretched lives. He suddenly understood what Rae meant. “Was Quinn also hanging around Thomersons’ to avoid going home because of the fighting?”
“Probably. At least he’d learned how to avoid being collateral damage.”
“How?”
“From Lark. She came up with a plan to keep him safe,” Rae said, clearly taking pride in her daughter’s ingenuity. “She’d sneak him into her bedroom whenever Mik and Penny were out of control. Have him stay until the coast was clear. Then he’d drive home around midnight. By then, his parents were too drunk to drag him into one of their battles. They thought he was in his bedroom the whole time.”
“He’d lock the door and leave music playing?” Griffin had used that ploy a few times himself in high school.
Rae nodded. “Then he’d climb out his bedroom window. Good thing he and my daughter both had bedrooms on the ground floor. Lark’s strategic planning would’ve been harder to pull off if either of them lived in a two-story home.”
“You didn’t know about any of this?”
“Not a clue. Anyway, I’m sure Quinn was texting Lark from outside Thomersons’. Earlier that night, she’d told me she didn’t want to go to the slumber party. A change of heart.”
“Because of her falling-out with one of the other girls.” Only a theory, but Griffin knew Rae was convinced of its veracity.
“Right. Once she’d gone to Stella’s house, Quinn probably hoped she’d change her mind. Call me to pick her up. Then he’d have somewhere safe to stay until midnight.” A faint tremor went across Rae’s shoulders. “Pacing outside the brick wall, Quinn heard everything. He’s sure he heard two girls arguing.”
“Thanks. I’m clear on everything now.”
“You’ll talk to your niece?”
“Absolutely. I’ll take care of it tomorrow. Rae, do you mind if I share this with my sister? Sally will want to know what I’m discussing with Jackie.” He grimaced. “Lately I haven’t been on the best terms with my sister. Bringing her in on this will smooth the way.”
“It’s fine. In fact, why not ask Sally to join you? It’ll make the conversation easier for Jackie, having her mother there.”
“I’m sure it will.” Hesitating, Griffin chose his next words carefully. “There is one thing. Before you get too far out on a limb with conjecture, I want you to keep Occam’s razor in mind.”
“What’s that?”
“The simplest explanation is more likely the right one. Which is . . . ?”
With visible relief, she blew out a breath. “My daughter slipped and fell.”
“Right. No one pushed her.”
“What about Quinn’s version of the events? He’s not making it up.”
“I’m sure he’s telling the truth,” Griffin agreed, his tone soothing. He was calling into play all his verbal powers of persuasion to calm Rae, because he couldn’t embrace her. He couldn’t offer physical comfort. “Rae, here’s what I believe happened. Lark and one of the girls were arguing about something.”
“About you,” she cut in, faintly chagrined and insistent, all in the same moment.
“Sure, that’s possible. But it could’ve been something else. A remark one of them made at school that embarrassed the other. A boy they both had a crush on. Whatever it was, Quinn overheard the debate. Then the other girl went back into the house. Perhaps Lark was about to follow her inside and slipped. Or she began pacing—”
“And then slipped.” Rae covered her face with her hands.
She looked broken.
Pain lanced Griffin, sure and swift. “Either way, there was nothing sinister at play.”
“It was an accident.”
“That never should’ve happened. Rae, I’m so sorry that it did.”
He rested his hand on her curved spine. But only for a moment. Touching her brought a different sort of distress.
Sexual longing is a form of muscle memory. Their bodies, he mused, were automatically primed from years earlier. All those breathless hours of foreplay. If he had any sense, he’d get off the couch. Finish the conversation at a sensible distance.
She looked at him suddenly. “How is Jackie?”
“Not great. I suppose it’s the same for all the girls.” He frowned. “More importantly, how are you doing?”
“Before tonight, I would’ve said I’m managing. Quinn’s revelation didn’t help.” She regarded him, her eyes lingering for too long. “Grief is hard. It hits you like a hammer. You can’t prepare for those moments. They just come. In one respect, it does get easier. You learn to expect the blows.”
“Do you exercise?”
The practical suggestion cleared her gaze of some of the pain. “Not as much as you do, obviously,” she said lightly. “You look good. Really great. The term ‘beefcake’ comes to mind.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“As it was intended.”
Without warning, she lifted affectionate fingers. Slowly she feathered the lightest caresses across his brow. Taking her time as she traced curious fingers across his receding hairline, her attention delving, thorough, as she altered the atmosphere between them.
Her touch pinioned Griffin between agony and bliss.
“Griffin Marks, your worst fear is coming true,” she teased, and her breathing hitched. Touching him was affecting her too.
She meant his biggest worry, their last year of high school. “It is,” he agreed.
The power of her tenderness brought him a fraction closer, and she smiled. “Your hairline is receding. I doubt you’ll believe this, but . . . it looks good on you. You’ve always had a great forehead. Wide, sturdy. With your hair moving out of the way, you look distinguished. You’ll look even more distinguished in your forties.”
“Rae.”
“Hmm?” She was toying with his ears now, her eyes sparking when he shivered.
“Either stop what you’re doing,” he said, his resolve slipping, “or let two play this game.”
“What game?”
Tired of her teasing, he captured her mouth in a hungry kiss. Cupping her face, he took his sweet time, his head swimming; when Rae whimpered with need, he brought her fully into his arms. Then he dragged his mouth across her cheek, savoring the taste of her skin, before he kissed her again.
He allowed them both a few minutes of bliss. No more. If they were taking their relationship in a new direction, they weren’t doing so tonight. Not after the disturbing conversation they’d shared. Not while Rae—still in mourning and fearful about the circumstances surrounding Lark’s death—was too fragile to make a life-altering decision.
There were mistakes a wise man didn’t repeat.
The snow had let up. Only a smattering of white flitted through the night air.
“Would you like another cup of tea?” Griffin asked. He was hoping to keep her near for another hour or two, just to talk.
“That would be great.”
Deciding to have some himself, Griffin made two cups. By the time he returned to the living room, Rae had smoothed down her wild hair. Her posture—straight, nearly rigid—slowed his pace.
When he set the cups down, Rae pulled in a breath. “I want to tell you something.” She inhaled another breath, clearly steadying herself. “Griffin, I’ve never told anyone what I’m about to share. I sure didn’t think I’d discuss this with you. Before Quinn came into my life, I’d done a good job forgetting. Oh, that’s not the right word. Not forgetting—burying it. One of those memories you resist, because it tears you up too much. With everything that’s happened—between you and Lark, and with Quinn, his parents—I think you need to know. In case what happened back then has more bearing on the present than I’d like to believe.”
Protectively, Griffin placed his hand on her knee. The reassuring gesture eased the tension on her features. Lowering her hand on top, she held his fingers tight. Seeking assurance that he’d anchor them both before she carried them out to rough seas.
The silence wound out.
Then Rae led him into the past.