The Passing Storm by Christine Nolfi
Chapter 3
February sailed in on flirtatiously sunny skies.
The warming temperatures only managed to lower Rae’s spirits. She was tired of shoveling snow and wearing enough layers for life on the tundra, but she dreaded the upcoming spring. Then summer, which would serve as a reminder of the loss she had yet to process.
Across the farm’s snowy acres, brilliant sunshine revealed patches of green pasture. In town, the brick walkways on Chardon Square were suddenly freed from beneath layers of crunchy ice. Children played in the wide center green while their parents ducked in and out of storefronts.
But Ohio weather is notoriously fickle. By the second week of February, temperatures again plummeted.
On Saturday morning, Rae unpacked groceries as a new round of snow blanketed Geauga County. The forecast called for another three inches by nightfall. If Quinn resumed his unsanctioned visits, his footprints would go undetected.
For the time being, he was staying away. His absence made her hopeful that impulsively confronting him at Yuna’s shop—awkward as it had been—was altering his behavior. Nothing more was cleaned inside the barn. New trinkets hadn’t been attached to the stalls, and Rae felt confident about putting in extra hours at work. The Witt Agency was hiring two new employees for lead generation. As office manager, Rae had been tasked with training them.
Amid reviewing the training protocol, she tackled a more personal issue. Yuna’s remark about Connor’s lack of a social life bothered her, and Rae had been working on recharging the friendships he’d put in limbo months ago. The effort was working. As for her own social life, she was still too raw. She had no intention of reviving it anytime soon.
From the living room, her father’s smartphone rang.
Connor picked up. A round of hearty laughter followed.
Affection for her father put a smile on her lips. All week long, he’d been in high spirits. At Rae’s urging, he went bowling on Tuesday with the men he affectionately referred to as the geriatric squad. Several of his friends came over for lunch on Thursday. Afterward, he called the office twice—once to ask Rae to pick up furniture polish on the way home, then later to announce he’d found his dog-eared copy of Moby Dick in a nest of dust bunnies underneath his bed. Connor read late into the night. On Friday, he capped off a full week by finding a new Amazon series to binge-watch.
Not once did Quinn enter the conversation. Rae couldn’t help but feel relief.
Rustling through the grocery bag, she placed lettuce and snow peas on the counter. In lieu of a typical weekend shop, she’d spent more time in the fresh produce area than the snack aisle. Resuming the old habit proved more difficult than expected, and she’d felt jittery and anxious while making her selections. She made it back to the car—the groceries spilling across the back seat as she hoisted them inside—before completely breaking down. Burying her face against the steering wheel, she’d sobbed for long minutes.
Connor wandered into the kitchen. “That was Aunt Gracie on the phone. Call her when you have a sec.”
Connor’s sister, Gracie, and her husband were retired, living in Miami. “Is she okay?” Rae placed fresh bunches of spinach and grapes beside the lettuce.
“She’s fine. She wants you to fly down.”
“I can’t schedule a vacation. Not until later this year.” In October her boss, Evelyn Witt, had been more than gracious when she insisted Rae take extended leave. Four weeks, with pay. “If you’d like to visit Aunt Gracie, bring a friend. Any of your homeboys will jump at the chance. Just let me book the flights—an early departure. I’ll drop you at the airport before heading to work.”
An avocado rolled past the lettuce. “What’s with the rabbit food?” Connor wrinkled his nose.
“I found some of her recipes. Last night, when I made the grocery list.”
A heaviness fell down upon the room. It came faster and thicker than the snowflakes ticking against the windowpane. Keeping her emotions in check, Rae folded the first grocery bag and began unpacking the next one. The welcome, mindless chore of sorting and putting away.
Her father swept trembling fingers across his receding hairline. “She wrote the recipes down?”
“On cardstock.”
“I thought she made them up—flashes of inspiration as she cooked.” Connor grimaced. “Not that I was inspired by all the vegetables she tossed into her concoctions.”
“She was looking out for you, Dad.”
“Why did she write them down on cardstock?”
“To make them pretty. They look more like an art project than recipes.” A familiar misery welled inside Rae. “You know how creative she was. Experimenting with different mediums, always trying something new. We should frame them.”
“Where did you find them?”
Rae nodded toward the cabinetry beside the six-burner stove. “In a bottom drawer, next to the cookie cutters.” The sadness pooling between them became oppressive. Hoping to lighten the mood, she added, “Remember Mom’s butter cookies? They were heavenly.”
“Your mother was a baking machine. Every Sunday afternoon, she’d roll out a new batch. There’s nothing better than a warm butter cookie, right from the oven. All that sweetness melting in your mouth.”
“Once a month, she made a double batch of the dough to keep in the freezer. I used to sneak into it when she wasn’t looking.”
Her father smiled. “Me too.”
“Pity neither one of us pitched in with the cutting out and baking. Mom could’ve used the help. Why didn’t she ever get after us? I tried to help a few times. I couldn’t get the hang of rolling out the dough before it melted.”
“You’ve always been more like me. Too impatient. I guess that’s why neither one of us has much knack in the kitchen.”
“That doesn’t mean we can’t learn.” Rae layered her voice with false cheer. “The recipes I found aren’t complicated. I’m sure we can follow them.”
“What if we don’t want to follow them?”
“Dad, I get it. Gluten-free breads and tofu stir-fries aren’t my thing either, but our diets need an overhaul. Your blood pressure isn’t great, and I’m afraid to look at my butt. This summer I’d like to wear a swimsuit without total humiliation.”
“Fine. Eat rabbit food while you’re down visiting Gracie.”
“I’m not going to Florida.” Her father reached for the potato chips, the only item she’d purchased from the snack aisle. Playfully Rae slapped his hand away. “Stop pulling me off point. We used to eat the stuff she cooked. Some of it was rabbit food, but we didn’t complain. She knew we were both seriously inept when it came to respect for the food pyramid. And her meals were nutritious. Look at us! We’re turning into pudge-muffins.”
Grunting, her father patted his belly. “Speak for yourself. My extra padding comes off every spring. If you’re giving up bad habits, why punish me? At the risk of being indelicate, there’s only so much roughage a man my age can take. I didn’t have the heart to tell her. Not when she went all out with those recipes.”
“Gosh, you’re whiny. Do you need coffee? I’ll brew a pot.” A caffeine jolt usually made him more pleasant.
“I’ll tell you what I need. Reconsider the trip to Florida. You should go.” Her father sat down at the table. “I promised Gracie I’d lobby hard. Use every ploy in the parenting guilt-book to make you see reason.”
“Why is everyone meddling in my life? First Yuna, and now you. And Gracie, but you put the idea in her head.”
“We worry about you.”
“I wish you wouldn’t.”
“You don’t sleep. You prowl every night.”
“If you hear me, you’re not sleeping either.”
“I’m not pulling down fifty hours on the job. A change of scenery will do you good.”
“I don’t need a vacation!”
“Qui n’avance pas, recule.”
A French proverb, one of Connor’s favorites. Who does not move forward, recedes. The proverb meant that life offers us the choice to evolve and accept the changes that inevitably come. Resist those changes, and we devolve into something less—a mere shadow of our true potential.
Weary, Rae leaned against the counter. Why did he expect her to heal? Her life was irrevocably diminished.
“You’re missing the bigger point, Dad. I’ve never moved forward in the right way. I’ve done everything out of order. The ‘carefree twenties’ people talk about, finding your soul mate or taking a gap year for self-discovery? My twenties were hard and demanding—and wonderful. There’s nothing I’d change about those years. Even on the days it felt like I was walking on hot coals.”
“You hardly dated. Young adults are supposed to have fun. Even the ones with lots of grown-up responsibilities.”
“I won’t pretend I wasn’t lonely. The men never stuck around.”
“You never gave any of them a hint they should stick around. You have more defenses than a porcupine.”
The amusing retort made her laugh, even though her heart ached. “Yeah? Well, my defense mechanism is more torqued up now. I’m only thirty-three, but I’ve dealt with more troubles than lots of women twice my age. I’m road weary. If I didn’t have thick skin, I’d crawl into bed and never stop crying. But I don’t see how that would solve anything.”
“Take some advice, Rae. No one gets through life without dealing with the bad stuff. Death or betrayal, or a financial hit you don’t see coming. I’ve had a few of those . . . I expect you remember. I wasn’t myself after we lost your mother, and you grew up too fast. When I consider everything I put you through, I’m ashamed. Right down to my bones. I’m also grateful. You had good reason to hate me, but you never did. I love you for that.”
“I know, Dad. I love you too.”
“Here’s something you don’t know. In the seventies, before I met your mother, I went in big for the drug scene. You name it, I tried it at least once. Turned my body into a chemical factory. The only drug I steered clear of was heroin. I was reckless, but not a complete idiot. Anyway, I fell hard for a girl who liked smoking pot and sleeping with my friends. Peace, love, and rock and roll—that girl went in big for spreading the love around. Luckily, she didn’t give me the run of unspeakable diseases.”
“You . . . what?” Rae’s jaw fell open.
Never before had they discussed his youthful indiscretions. Her introverted, well-read father was once a wild child?
In an act of contrition, Connor lifted his palms. “Back then, I was just plain stupid.” A casual gesture, but she saw the price he paid in sharing deeply held secrets. “I thought if I pretended my girlfriend was faithful, eventually I’d be right. There’s nothing more destructive than self-delusion. When she dumped me, it felt like the world ending.”
“But you got over her,” Rae supplied, wishing he’d end the conversation.
“When your mother came on the scene, she knew how to fix everything. Hester screwed my head on straight. Gave my life purpose and taught me how to believe in myself. Those years were special. They were even better once we brought you into the world. We were so busy caring for the farm, and then your mother’s art career took off—that close to our forties, we weren’t sure she’d get pregnant.” Her father hesitated. “You were a little bitty thing when Grandma Langdon had a stroke. Do you remember your grandparents?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t.”
“The stroke happened the same month we got your grandfather’s diagnosis. Colon cancer, too far advanced for medical intervention. I didn’t understand loss—the genuine article that drops you to your knees—until my parents died. Two deaths in one season. The point being, I was middle-aged when they passed. I was strong enough to take it.”
Rae shut her eyes. Two deaths. Her losses, marked by different seasons. The last, too great to bear.
“I’m strong too,” she said. “You don’t have to worry about me.”
“You’re my child, Rae. I’d protect you from life’s hardships if I could. Don’t let grief make you old before you really start living.”
At two o’clock, Yuna sent a text. She was on her way over.
Rae had just hung up with her aunt. After she declined the invitation to visit Miami, Gracie didn’t press. She did extract Rae’s promise to call if she needed to talk.
The well-meaning overture left Rae more unsettled. Mostly because she didn’t know what to make of her father’s impassioned speech. Joining him in the living room, she stared unseeing at the TV. His advice had rattled her. Growing old quickly didn’t appeal. Who wanted that? Most days, Rae focused on staying numb. Or she let her temper at life’s irritations mask the unpredictable waves of acute sorrow.
Hope and expectation were absent from her life. Did the loss of those virtuous emotions mean she was growing old? Not in a measurable, physical way, but on a deeper level? There was no simple way to regain the verve for life.
A rap sounded at the door.
Yuna appeared in the foyer with her daughter. Shaking the snow from her hair, she shrugged out of her coat. Kameko slipped past, trailing snow into the living room. The five-year-old plopped to the ground and tugged off her boots.
Yuna hung up her coat. “This is pathetic.” Approaching, she glanced at the TV. “You’re both in front of the tube on a beautiful Saturday? Go outside and build a snowman!”
Connor popped a potato chip into his mouth. “Kameko, take your mother home. She wants to build a snowman.” After his speech in the kitchen, he’d made off with the bag of chips.
“Mommy can’t play outside. She has to go to work.”
“That’s right, sweetheart. We can’t stay long.” Yuna snatched the bag. “Pop quiz, Connor. What were your cholesterol numbers on your last blood test?”
“None of your business.”
“His numbers weren’t great,” Rae supplied. She began rising from the couch. Kameko stepped before her, thwarting the movement.
“I’m hot, Auntie Rae.”
A puffy snowsuit encased the pipsqueak. She resembled a helium balloon. Unzipping the garment, Rae helped her take a dainty step out.
Connor glared at Yuna. “Mind handing back my chips?”
Rae chuckled. “Give it up, Dad. You know she won’t.”
With a petulant shake of his head, Connor returned his attention to the TV.
Rae tossed the snowsuit aside. “This is a nice surprise. What’s the occasion?”
“Oh, nothing major. I must ask you something.”
“What?”
“It’s silly, really. This could’ve waited until next week.”
“Well, you’re here. What’s up?”
Yuna lowered her gaze. Frowning, she noticed the clumps of white melting into the carpet. Retracing her steps, she pulled her boots off in the foyer.
Kameko tugged on Rae’s sleeve. “Did you kill them?” she asked.
“Not yet,” Rae assured her.
The precocious child blinked suspicious eyes. “Show me.”
A trap, and Rae warily sought escape. Yuna’s judgments she could take—sometimes. Kameko was a more severe taskmaster.
“Can we schedule a tour with an appointment?” she asked the child. “They aren’t receiving guests today.”
“I’m a friend.”
“Yes, you are. A better friend than me, actually. But they’ve had a busy morning. You know—soaking up the sun in between snow showers. It’s best for everyone involved if you schedule an appointment.”
Imagination powered even the most skeptical child. Finally, Kameko accepted the ruse. “What’s an ‘appointment’?” she asked.
“Like when Mommy takes you to ballet class. You go when the teacher asks to see you. Not whenever you like.”
“They aren’t busy, like my teacher. Call them.” Kameko patted Rae’s bottom, searching for her phone. Small children also shunned the personal-boundary rule. “Tell them I’m visiting right away.”
Yuna flapped her arms. “Oh, for Pete’s sake, Rae. They’re plants, not socialites. Take her to the studio!”
Outside the A-frame pyramid of glass, snow fell in whirling sheets. The oak flooring gleamed from a recent mopping. Unlike the attached greenhouse, which was neglected like the barn, the studio held a hint of recent activity.
Rae paused in the center of the generous space. Memories swept through her—some quite recent, too precious and poignant to bear contemplating. She latched on to the older memories from childhood, how she’d hopped up and down to glimpse the collages taking shape as her mother bent over the long art tables; how the damp, verdant scents from the smaller greenhouse were overtaken by the studio’s heavy pulse of metallic paints and bitter glue. The drafting table and the art supplies had been sold off long ago. The studio now felt empty and cold. Only a long wooden desk remained, shoved up against the wall.
Dust covered the table’s dark surface. The relic was too painful for either Rae or Connor to approach.
Ghosts from the past did not intimidate Kameko. Taking the lead, she dashed forward. Before the pyramid of glass, three plastic tables stood in a bright row with a houseplant on top of each one. The tables were blue, green, and pink: Rae had purchased the toy furniture at a New Year’s Day sale. Even if her verve for life was missing, she couldn’t resist lavishing gifts on her friend’s daughter.
A yellow pail sat beside the tables. A plastic trowel was thrust into the potting soil.
The child scooped up a shovelful of dirt. She threw Rae an accusing look.
“Auntie Rae, they’re hurting.” Kameko shook a layer of soil around the first plant, a yellowing ivy. She patted it down.
“I did water them, bean sprout.”
“When?”
“Last week. Or two weeks ago.” Between the new hires at work and concern over Quinn Galecki, she wasn’t sure.
“Did you feed them? Mommy says plants get hungry, just like little girls.”
“Those plant spikes? I thought I’d wait, let you do it.”
Yuna appeared with the toy watering can Rae kept beneath the kitchen sink. She handed it to her daughter. “Sweetheart, give them each a good soaking.” She’d also brought along baking sheets to set beneath the houseplants.
With Kameko suitably occupied, Rae steered Yuna out of earshot. “What’s going on? You’re here, you’ve got something to say . . . and I’m getting a bad vibe. Like, whatever it is, you don’t want to tell me.”
“I don’t want to upset you.”
“Great. That makes me feel better.”
Yuna scraped the glossy hair from her brow. “It’s about Night on the Square,” she said.
Each year the city hosted the June fundraiser; Rae and Yuna usually worked on a committee together. The adults-only event featured drinking and dancing in Chardon Square’s center green. Several local restaurants served appetizers and light desserts. As the mayor’s wife, Yuna often chaired the committee of her choice. This year’s event would fund upgrades for the high school technology department.
Rae cocked her head to the side. “I’m already signed up.” She’d done so months ago. “Are you nervous I’ll bail on you? I won’t. All my other commitments are in the trash bin, but I’ll help with the fundraiser. The event is important to you.”
“And I appreciate it, Rae. This year, we’re handling the publicity. I signed us up this morning.”
“Great. I’m ready whenever you are. Should I get design quotes for the graphics?” Searching for her lost verve, Rae added, “The new quick-print shop has opened on Cherry Street. Nice woman, from Shaker Heights. She’s having the Witt Agency handle the business insurance. Let’s have her bid on the flyers. Keep it local, if possible.”
“Sounds great.”
“Yeah? Then why do you look nervous?”
Yuna smiled, but the merriment didn’t reach her eyes. “Because I am.” She clasped Rae’s hand, as if to steady her. “The committee has new volunteers. A last-minute thing, and we could use the help. There’s extra money in this year’s budget for the event. Both of the women have the connections to further our reach.”
A terrible intuition drew Rae back. “Who volunteered?”
“Sally Harrow and Katherine Thomerson.”
The news kicked the air from Rae’s lungs. Sally’s daughter and Katherine’s were ninth graders at the high school and best friends. The girls were inseparable. Their mothers were part of the loose social group of women active in the PTA and local campaigns benefiting Geauga County. Rae wasn’t close to either woman; in the past, their interactions had been cordial at best. Since the tragedy last October, she’d been steering clear of Sally and Katherine, and their popular daughters.
“Rae, I’m sure they volunteered because, well, you’ve been avoiding them.”
“I’ve been avoiding everyone. Except you.” She watched Kameko stroke the spider plant like a favored pet, then kiss a wilting leaf. “And the bean sprout.”
“Which is totally understandable, but Sally and Katherine feel terrible. We all do. Avoiding them only makes this worse.”
The remark was absurd. From the onset, the situation was beyond repair. When the PD had called Rae that October night, she’d lost everything. Nothing could make it worse.
“I don’t care, Yuna. Keep them on the committee. I’ll stand aside.” A sea swell of emotion pitched through her. Suppressing it, she latched on to her sense of fair play, which ran deep. “I can probably find a way to deal with Sally. She’s a reminder I can do without, but she’d have the sense to give me space. I’ve never blamed her. But if you put me in a room with Katherine, I swear I won’t stop screaming.”
“Oh, Rae.” Pity laced Yuna’s voice. “Katherine isn’t at fault. Why do you keep blaming her? It was an accident.”