The Passing Storm by Christine Nolfi
Chapter 29
MARCH
Two months after the White Hurricane
Red ink blazed across the envelope: FINAL NOTICE.
Rae dropped her book bag to the floor. Snatching the envelope from the kitchen table, she read quickly.
According to the notice, her father hadn’t paid the electric bill since December—one month before her mother’s death in January. By nature, her father was forgetful. But this was negligent. Was she supposed to do homework by candlelight?
A more distressing thought surfaced. If the electric bill had gone unpaid for months on end, what other bills were past due? Connor no longer visited the grocery store with any frequency. He left Rae to fend for herself. For weeks she’d been doing all the laundry and the general housekeeping, tackling the chores in the evenings before digging into homework. Keeping up with housework was exhausting for a high school senior preparing for her final exams, and Rae had begun to give up on the effort. How to manage household bills was even more daunting. She had only the slimmest understanding of home mortgages, health insurance, and similar obligations that adults were supposed to manage. She’d been accepted to Ohio University in Athens. Her college career would begin soon.
Rae’s stomach lurched. Has Dad paid my tuition?
With dismay, she scanned the countertops. Dirty dishes were everywhere. The mess had gone unnoticed because she’d begun avoiding the house. Lately Rae was practically living with Griffin and his family. She stayed there most evenings until after dinner. Clinging to the normalcy of the Marks household. A better alternative than dealing with her father’s erratic behavior and inscrutable silences. Sometimes he talked to himself in mumbled, disjointed sentences. One day in February, she came home from school to discover the farm’s livestock missing. The chickens, the goats—even the dairy cow was gone from the barn. Her father had sold them all. Then he’d closed himself inside her mother’s art studio for long hours and refused to answer when Rae knocked.
The house resembled a psychiatric ward, with Connor the only patient.
And Rae—left without a functioning parent to guide her through the crushing loss—was beginning to despise him.
Her temper flaring, she spied a heap of bills stuffed behind the toaster. A messy stack of neglected responsibility.
“Dad!”
Grabbing a handful, she stalked down the hallway. His bedroom was dark. On the side of the bed, his silhouette was a curved bow.
Rae turned on a lamp. “When did you last pay the bills?” She waved the envelopes before him. “Dad, you have to snap out of it! I’m sad too, but I’m not shirking my duties. Mom wouldn’t want that. My heart’s broken just like yours, but I never skip classes.”
Silence.
“What’s next? A final notice from the bank? Do you expect us to live on the street?”
Still no reaction. A pungent, unclean odor rose from Connor’s rumpled clothes.
Disgusted, Rae stepped away. “I’m ashamed of you. The least you can do is clean yourself up. Where’s your self-respect?”
The difference between typical grief and serious depression is canyon-wide. Rae didn’t understand. Until the White Hurricane, she’d been reared in a stable home with two loving parents. The sorrow engulfing her father was incomprehensible.
“Are you even listening to me? What’s the matter with you?”
Her attention swept the room, taking in the tangle of clothes strewn across the carpeting and Hester’s pitiful funeral wreath propped against the wall. When had he taken it from the cemetery? The roses had gone limp, blackened from frost. Withered petals were scattered beneath.
“Fine. Just sit there.” Her voice breaking, she latched on to her anger. “Where’s the damn checkbook?”
Her father blinked, yet his eyes remained unfocused. “Language.”
“Go to hell, Dad. If you won’t take care of us, I don’t have much choice.”
In a fury, Rae approached the dresser to search for the checkbook. She cracked open drawers, then slammed them shut. The checkbook wasn’t hidden amid the rumpled clothes, and she expelled a frustrated growl. At the sound of her anger her father crawled into bed, shoes and all. When he pulled the blanket over his head, tears scalded her eyes.
Stalking out, she brushed them away. Anger was safer. She refused to fall apart like her dad. Instead she dredged up the pithy nuggets of wisdom Griffin’s mother offered on a daily basis.
Hester isn’t gone. She’ll always live inside you, Rae. Even when it’s difficult, find the joy in living. Prepare for college. Don’t fall behind in your studies. Your mother would expect nothing less from you.
Her homework forgotten, Rae stepped into the art studio. The tang of paint clung to the air. She found the checkbook beneath a sheaf of bank statements on the table before the studio’s wall of glass. There were also three checks from art galleries—a tidy sum. The money from Hester’s life insurance policy was already deposited in a savings account in Rae’s name. Hester, ever prudent, had set up the policy years earlier.
Clearing a space, Rae paid the bills. She filled out deposit slips and made a note to transfer funds from her savings account. By the time the last envelope was sealed, a headache pounded at her temples.
Lonely and frustrated, she picked up the phone.
Sally answered. “Hi, Rae. Hold on. I’ll get my brother.”
The phone clattered down. The sounds of soft music and adult laughter drifted through the line. Griffin’s parents entertaining guests. This afternoon Winnie had been preparing canapés when Rae and Griffin walked in from school.
“Hey, babe. What’s up?” Surprise laced the greeting; it was after nine o’clock.
“Griffin, I know it’s late. Can I come over for a little while? My dad’s being weird. I need to get out of here.”
“Sure.” Happiness replaced the surprise in Griffin’s voice. “I’ll be at the door waiting.”
When she arrived, the foyer chandelier threw sparkles of light across the walls. Frank Sinatra warbled from the living room. Griffin’s parents were drinking martinis with their guests.
The intrusion went unnoticed, and Griffin led her through the kitchen. They hurried down the stairwell to the basement.
Dust swirled in the air. An old couch sat against the concrete wall. A wooden crate stood in as a side table, with a CD player on top. There was also a beanbag chair that Sally had picked up somewhere, and the mini fridge Rae had given Griffin at Christmas, before the White Hurricane upended their lives. Although Winnie Marks had decorated every inch of the main living areas, her two children preferred the jumbled crash pad they’d created together.
“Do you want a Coke?” Griffin asked.
“No, thanks.” Rae flopped down on the couch. “I just need a breather. Twenty minutes, and I’ll let you get back to your studies.”
“Stay as long as you’d like.”
“Can I move in?” She let her head fall back on the cushion. “Commandeer one of the guest rooms?”
“It’ll get my dad’s vote.” Griffin sat down beside her. “He loves having the sharpshooter around.”
“I wish he’d stop calling me that.”
Griffin flicked her nose. “Me too. It makes me think twice whenever I say something that pisses you off.”
Despite her gloom, Rae laughed. “Then don’t piss me off.”
“Hey, I don’t do it on purpose. Your temper is unpredictable.” Griffin wrinkled his wide, oversize nose. Rae loved his nose, how the sheer heft was nearly as expressive as his eyes. She was about to tell him that when he added, “Sally’s convinced Dad loves you more than me. Her too.”
“Stop it. The great Everett Marks loves you best. That’s why he criticizes you, Griffin. He’s determined to mold you in his image.”
“Fat chance. I can’t wait until we leave for college and I get away from him. I hate working at the dealership. Gas fumes and picky customers. He can dream all he wants. I’m never taking the place over.”
A common complaint, and Rae kicked off her shoes. Her eyes were still burning. “Well, I’m glad I get along with both of your parents.” Blinking away the dampness, she reached for humor. “If they’ll let me move in, I’ll clean Everett’s rifles to earn my keep.”
The humor failed, and Griffin noticed her lower lip wobbling. “You’re not thinking about it, are you?”
A dumb question, as usual. “I can’t stop that day from popping into my head. It just does.” Vivid, jarring, like a film replaying nonstop. A crushing remembrance of the worst moments of her life.
“Everything’s okay,” he whispered, moving closer. Providing solace wasn’t a skill set normally honed by a teenage boy, but he made the attempt. “The White Hurricane’s over. The way Hester died . . . no one should go like that. It makes me sick too, thinking about your mom caught outside in the blizzard. I know you’re hurting a lot more than I am. It will get easier. Not today or tomorrow, but someday.”
“I can’t stop seeing it in my head. Spotting my mother under the tree, believing she was okay and then—”
“Rae, don’t do this to yourself. We’ve covered this ground a million times. Think about the future, not the past. Our future.”
Breaking off, Griffin searched her gaze for confirmation she wouldn’t give up. That she believed their future together would heal the grief she was only beginning to feel, the bottomless heartache of losing the mother she’d adored.
He rested his fingers on her chin. His pupils dilated, like windows opening to his soul.
Lately, his touch made Rae breathless. Even when her heart was crumbling.
Their gazes tangled. Searching, probing, as Griffin’s fingers trailed fire around her mouth.
This new, intensely physical aspect of their relationship perplexed them both. As kids, they’d tussled in the grass. Played sports together in the summer heat. During a disgusting phase in ninth grade, they’d lobbed spitballs at each other whenever they met in the school cafeteria. Their chosen form of greeting, and Rae had prided herself on grossing out the other girls.
Everyone at the high school assumed they’d been dating since freshman year. But it wasn’t until the end of their junior year that they’d traded a few lip-smacks. Out of curiosity. The experiment left them both feeling silly. After a decade of friendship, they seemed incapable of viewing each other in a sexual way. Which suited them fine. They were content being two unremarkable teenagers who’d skirted the self-confidence killers of dating, or vying to fit into the popular crowd, because they had each other.
The White Hurricane changed everything.
As Rae mourned and her father slipped further away, she often found herself nuzzling in Griffin’s arms. She’d never been prone to tears—Rae gravitated toward physical activity or wisecracks if she felt low—but the changes overtaking her life were frightening. Hester, buried. Connor, drifting away. At times, before Rae became aware of the sorrow bubbling up, Griffin would draw her into his arms. He’d rock her slowly, until her emotions settled.
It was here, in the privacy of his crash pad, that the hugging had led to kissing.
Griffin kissed her now, his lips moving slowly over hers. For a boy with no dating experience, he’d become an expert.
Pausing, he cradled her face. “Don’t be sad—everything will get better. We don’t have to wait until August to move down to Athens. We can get summer jobs near the campus. We’ll find somewhere to stay until we move into our dorms. When we come home for winter break, your dad will be better. He’ll pull himself together.”
“What if he doesn’t?”
“Then move in here. My parents won’t mind.”
“Don’t tease.”
“I’m serious. Rae, I don’t want you living anywhere you’re not comfortable.” The embers in his gaze leaped higher. “I’ll always protect you. You know that, right?”
Words escaped her. She was acutely focused on Griffin’s hands, lowering now, toying with the hem of her shirt. Testing the limits of his self-control—and hers. When his palms slid underneath, they both gasped. It was a revelation, how easily they were able to pleasure each other.
Throwing off her own reservations, Rae dipped her hands beneath his T-shirt. Griffin’s breath hitched. The reaction was more thrilling than the downward plunge on a roller coaster. Boldly now, she ranged over the hard muscle girding his waist with curiosity and the sudden, dizzying awareness that she could give pleasure as well as receive.
Griffin’s skin felt like fire.
One moment they were trading the lightest caresses. The next, their hands were everywhere, touching, exploring. Griffin’s kisses became more urgent, demanding. When they fell back together on the couch and he rolled on top, Rae marveled at how well they fit together.
Breaking off, he lifted up onto his palms. “Not here.” He was panting, his mouth quirking into a grin. “It’d be our luck for Sally to come down.”
Rae scrambled upright. “I’m not sneaking upstairs to your bedroom. It’s too big a risk. Everyone’s home.”
“That’s not what I mean.” He brushed his lips beneath her ear, and she quivered.
She angled her neck back. What do you mean? The glint in his eyes was mesmerizing.
With a start, she understood. Excitement bubbled through her.
He pulled her to her feet. “Give me ten minutes,” he said, deciding for them. Which was astonishing—most of the time, she took the lead. “My parents won’t notice I’m gone. They’re too busy partying with their friends. Let’s meet in the parking lot behind the post office.”
“Which post office? Griffin, there are three in town.” To her consternation, Rae couldn’t mask the eagerness in her voice.
“The one with the big parking lot and no one around. We’ll have the place to ourselves.” He brushed his mouth across hers. Frowning, he cleared his throat. “Unless you’d rather go home. Totally your call.”
The decision was easy. On tiptoe, she nipped at his ear.
On the way to the foyer, Griffin made a detour away from his parents and their guests, who were laughing in the living room. She stayed close behind as he walked through the family room in a beeline to the liquor cabinet. They’d only sneaked into his father’s booze twice before and weren’t sure what they liked. Scanning the options, Griffin chose a bottle of whiskey.
“To celebrate,” he said.
“Great thinking.” Rae hid the bottle under her coat. She smiled mischievously. “Don’t keep me waiting. If you do, I’m drinking this bad boy alone.”
Security lights illuminated the empty post office.
Driving around back, Rae frowned. Griffin couldn’t have meant she should park near the lights. Far to the left, a row of small businesses in a long brick building were closed for the night. They were tucked far enough back from Cherry Street to lend privacy. Griffin would have no trouble spotting her car in the empty lot.
For a night in March, the temps were surprisingly warm. Rae opened the driver-side window. In the glare of headlights, she could see that the strip of grass before the shuttered businesses was already greening, as if, two months ago, the freak blizzard hadn’t covered Chardon in heavy drifts of snow.
The minutes ticked by. Rae cut the engine and doused the headlights. Where was Griffin? Unzipping her coat, she glanced at the bottle they’d taken from Everett’s liquor cabinet. Knob Creek. Opening it, she took a swig. The alcohol burned going down her throat, and she coughed.
She took another swig, pleased at how quickly the booze relaxed her. The bitter taste was no picnic, but the lazy sensation flowing through her veins was fantastic. The frisson of anxiety she’d carried around since the White Hurricane miraculously began to dissolve.
Griffin, hurry up.
Taking a third, larger gulp, Rae pondered the reasons for the delay. Had Griffin meant that they should meet behind the drugstore on Cherry Street? Now she wasn’t sure. Or maybe he was having trouble sneaking out of the house. A possibility if Winnie returned to the kitchen to prepare more snacks for her guests. Or Sally, catching him on the stairwell, was interrogating him about going out at ten o’clock on a school night.
Sally was only two years older than Griffin; a minor detail. Sometimes she gave him a hard time.
Then Rae hit upon the reason for the delay: Griffin was stopping at the twenty-four-hour drugstore at the other end of town. He was buying condoms. The prospect made her both anxious and excited.
The liquor was already making her feel loose and free, and another swig seemed unwise. She took one anyway. Then she got out to sit on the hood of her car. From somewhere far off, the wail of guitars reached her ears. From a bar nearby? She didn’t know, or care. Mostly because the moon drew her attention; it was a bobblehead in the sky. It wouldn’t sit still. Lying back, she laughed.
Time slowed to a luxurious crawl. She’d nearly dozed off when two voices—angry—came out of nowhere.
“This is my night out with the guys, Penny. Did you leave Quinn alone in the apartment?”
“Stop yelling at me!”
“How many times are you going to pull this stunt? You’re my wife, and I’m telling you to go home.”
“I’m going back to the tavern. Quinn’s fine. I dropped him with the neighbors.”
“You’re lying. Do you want my boss’s wife to keep nosing around in our business? If another complaint goes in to those damn social workers, Winnie Marks will be back to hinting I should put my son up for adoption.”
“Tell your boss and his high-and-mighty wife to stay out of our business. I told you I left Quinn with friends, and he’s fine.”
Rae lolled her head to the side. “Both of you, shut up! Can’t you see I’m sleeping here?”
As she sat up, a sickening rush of stars cascaded across her vision. Whoa. When they cleared, she managed to focus on the approaching couple. Late twenties or early thirties. A beefy man with a woman who barely reached his shoulders. The woman’s close-cropped hair was dyed a freakish shade of blonde that was nearly white. In the moonlight, it was hard to make out the tattoo on her neck. A pitchfork?
The man seemed familiar. Blinking slowly, Rae couldn’t recall why.
The woman was faster on the uptake. “Mik, look who it is. Isn’t she the girl who’s dating your boss’s son?”
“Her name’s Rae. She hangs around the service desk whenever Daddy makes the little shit work. The boss treats her like his favorite pet. Weird, if you ask me.”
The woman neared. She chuckled as Rae, scrambling off the hood, nearly lost her balance.
“Are you a princess, Rae?”
“Of course not.” The words slurred, and she clamped her mouth shut.
The woman smirked. “Why does the boss man like you? You’re not much to look at.”
The insult stung. “Because I’m a perfect marksman,” she tossed back, taking care to enunciate every syllable. A stupid thing to say, but nothing else came to mind.
“You’re . . . what?”
“A perfect shot,” Rae said, dimly aware that the whiskey was giving her confidence. Although she was dizzy, she managed to point at the post office. “See over there? From where you’re standing, I can hit a target that far away.”
“Bullshit.”
Griffin, where are you?
“I don’t care if you believe me. I’m the best marksman in the county.”
The man—she remembered now, he was a mechanic at Marks Auto—strode past his wife.
“Marksman? You’re no man. Not with those bodacious titties.” He laughed at his own joke. “You’ve sure got a bod.”
His wife whacked him on the chest. “Shut up, Mik.” The sexual innuendo didn’t sit well with her, and she backed Rae up against the car. “What are you doing out this late, little girl? Is Griffin on his way to meet you?” Chuckling, the woman surveyed the empty lot. “I guess if you’re a kid in high school, anyplace will do.”
Humiliation collided with Rae’s bravado. “Lady, why don’t you listen to your husband and get home to your kid?”
Through her drunken haze, Rae sensed she’d gone too far. The woman—Penny—was no one to mess with. Rae hadn’t meant to provoke her.
Penny was, she now realized, also drunk. So was her husband. A sliver of fear dove through Rae. She was woefully unprepared to deal with grown-ups who were under the influence. Griffin’s parents only drank socially. Her father hardly drank at all. Before her mother’s death, her parents drank a glass of Scotch on special occasions, but that was about it.
“Where do you get off, telling me what to do?” Penny demanded. “You’re worried about my kid? You go home and take care of him.”
“I don’t even know him.”
“Yeah? Well, he’s more work than he’s worth. The little brat can’t do anything for himself.” She pivoted suddenly, toward her husband. “Why don’t you go home and deal with Quinn? I sure didn’t want a kid.”
The remark shivered anger down her husband’s spine.
“I’m going back to the tavern,” she added. “I need to have some fun.”
The anger put something fierce in Mik’s eyes. “You said Quinn’s staying with a neighbor. Did you leave my son alone in the apartment?”
“Who cares if I did?”
“I care, you lazy bitch!”
“He’s in bed. He’s asleep.”
A fearsome charge passed between the couple. The electricity snapping between them was veering toward overload. Rae wanted to get away before the argument went too far. After too many swigs of whiskey, she didn’t trust her feet.
The world spun as she sank onto the hood of her car.
“Get home, Penny. Now. If you don’t, I swear I’ll beat you to within an inch of your life.”
“I’m not scared of you.”
For a woman fifty pounds lighter than her husband, Penny did seem fearless. A metallic taste coated Rae’s mouth, and she couldn’t look away.
“I’m not telling you again.”
“Good. Because you’re not the boss of me.”
For proof, Penny swung a fist at Mik’s jaw. Nimble and quick, she landed the punch.
Before he could react, she’d sprinted away into the night.
Blood oozed from the corner of his mouth. Blinking slowly, he held his jaw. He looked comical then, swaying on his feet.
Rae found herself grinning. He really doesn’t know what hit him.
The thought, combined with the shock of physical violence, brought laughter gurgling up her throat. An inappropriate reaction.
A terrible miscalculation. For the rest of her life, she’d question why she didn’t scramble inside the car instead.
She blurted, “I guess wifey got in the last word.”
Anger surged across Mik’s face. “Who gave you permission to disrespect my wife?” Catching Rae by the shoulders, he stripped off her coat. She was about to scream when he clamped a hand across her mouth.
He shoved her into the car.