The Passing Storm by Christine Nolfi
Chapter 32
On Sunday afternoon, Quinn was still holed up in his room.
Rae checked the time—one o’clock. She took a last sip of her coffee. They’d all slept in ridiculously late, but she was beginning to worry. She’d expected Quinn to make an appearance by now. It seemed he planned to stay in his room like a hermit.
I have to get him moving.Whether he wanted to discuss Friday’s traumatic events or not, she needed to give him time to prepare. His special visitor would arrive soon. He was a teenager—he’d want to clean up, make himself presentable.
At the sink, Connor began stacking the breakfast dishes in the dishwasher. The dog, tired of her master’s self-confinement, stuck close to Connor’s legs. If a stray bit of toast fell off the counter, Shelby wouldn’t miss it.
An hour ago, they’d left a tray outside Quinn’s bedroom. After long minutes, he slid it inside. Good thing too. If he’d declined the meal, the eager Shelby would’ve gladly chowed down on scrambled eggs, hash browns, and a double helping of sausage links.
Shutting the dishwasher, Connor shooed the dog away from his legs. “Ticktock, Rae.” He frowned at her.
“Dad, I can read a clock.”
“Plus you should give him an update,” he said, “about Mik.”
“I know.”
“He may need to talk first. About everything or nothing at all. Give him space to sort through his feelings out loud. It might take some time.”
“Dad—I know.” Rae sent a peevish glance. “This isn’t my first lap on the parenting highway.”
“Right.” Connor picked up a kitchen towel, dried his hands. His weathered brow creased. “I’ll do the man-to-man talking later this week. For now, the boy needs tender loving.”
“He does,” she agreed. Not that she was sure what to say.
Was it worth mentioning that Penny hadn’t even called? That the authorities believed she’d left town? Quinn’s had enough shocks this weekend. The news about Penny can hold until next week.
Rae doubted he’d welcome the other news. Regardless of Friday night’s events, Mik was Quinn’s father. The youth deserved an update on his condition. She wouldn’t feel right dodging that news until later.
On Mercy Hospital’s sixth floor, Mik wasn’t doing great. Under normal circumstances, the sheriff—who was the son of one of Connor’s friends on the geezer squad—wouldn’t run afoul of HIPAA rules. But with Penny missing, Quinn was next of kin. It hadn’t seemed out of place to share the details with Rae and Connor—in case Quinn wanted them.
The bullet had caused extensive damage to the bones in Mik’s right shoulder. He’d gone into surgery Friday night, within minutes of reaching the hospital. Another surgery was scheduled for tomorrow.
“Rae, what are you waiting for?” Connor speared her with a look. “You’re a mother. Go act like one.”
“Go pop a chocolate, Dad. You’re sassy when your sugar’s low.”
He chuckled. “You first.”
Rising, she went out. There was nothing to gain by stalling any longer. Holding her breath, she rapped on Quinn’s door.
Silence. She rapped again. “May I come in?”
More silence. She rested her forehead against the door’s cool wood, certain she shouldn’t just walk away. She heard a shuffling inside.
“You can come in.”
Quinn was seated on the floor—the T-shirt he’d just pulled on visibly inside out. A circle of opened textbooks surrounded him. Every last one from his book bag. He didn’t appear to be studying; more like he was skimming through the photos and the various diagrams.
Closing the door for privacy, she asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“Talking helps. Better than keeping your emotions bottled up.”
A foot away, the book bag sat like a gaping mouth. Grabbing it, Quinn turned it upside down. Shook out two pens and a packet of gum.
With care, he lined them up beside the textbooks. “Would my dad have killed me?”
Rae’s heart knocked around her ribcage. “I don’t know.”
“Why do people drink?”
“Not everyone does, Quinn. At least not to excess.”
“You don’t.”
“Not anymore.”
The remark took him aback. “You were a drinker?”
“That’s not what I meant,” she said, aware there was much she’d never tell him.
Which hurt: she’d love for him to know that Lark was more than his good friend. More than the guardian angel who’d swooped into his world last summer and stayed long enough to offer protection. Lark was in heaven now, but Rae had no doubt her sweet girl—Quinn’s little sister—would continue to look out for him.
Quinn waited for her to continue. At length, Rae said, “Listen, I only drank to excess once. I was your age. It’s not a mistake I’d ever repeat. Now that I’m older, I have a drink once in a while. Not often—it’s just not my thing.”
“I’m glad it’s not.”
“Want my advice?”
“Sure.”
“Consider staying away from booze. Your parents are alcoholics. It’s a disease that often runs in families. I’m not trying to scare you. If you imbibe—in the future, I mean—you might have the tendency to overindulge. It’s something to keep in mind.”
“You’re not scaring me.” Quinn shrugged. “I doubt I’ll ever drink.”
“Good choice.”
“Yeah.”
Rae hesitated. “Oh, I nearly forgot,” she lied. “Your friend Ava, from school? She’s coming over. Just to say hello.”
Quinn’s brows climbed his forehead. “She is?” Beneath the purplish bruises, spots of red warmed his cheeks.
The entire town knew about the incident. “Griffin’s bringing her over,” Rae explained. “They’ll be here soon.”
During Friday night’s melee of PD and paramedics descending on the farm, Quinn had lost his phone. Griffin and Connor had both scoured the acreage between the house and the barn, to no avail. When Quinn didn’t pick up calls yesterday, the resourceful Ava remembered that Rae worked for the woman living next door to her on North Street—Evelyn Witt.
Evelyn gave her Rae’s number.
Suddenly Quinn appeared crestfallen. “Rae, I don’t want Ava to see me like this. All banged up. I look really bad.”
Concealing all the cuts and bruises was an impossibility. That didn’t mean they couldn’t mask some of the damage.
“There’s something we can try, if you’re feeling adventurous.” Rae tipped her head to the side. “I have liquid foundation, the kind women put on their skin to conceal things like blemishes. Want to try it?”
“Is there any dinner left?” With newfound energy, Quinn scraped back his chair and went to the counter. “I could go for seconds.”
After the visit with Ava, he was definitely feeling better. He wasn’t going to school tomorrow, but Rae doubted he’d spend the day hiding in his room either.
He lifted the slow cooker’s glass lid. “Mind if I finish the stew?”
Connor glanced at Rae and Griffin. Then at the boy. “We have a guest, Quinn. Shouldn’t we ask if he wants the last of the stew? Especially since he made the great eats?”
“Oh.”
Griffin wiped his mouth, then tossed the napkin into his bowl. “Chow down, kid. It’s all yours.”
“Thanks!”
Rae savored a last spoonful and pushed her bowl away. “We have a guest and another great cook. Who knows? Maybe I’ll get out of kitchen duty the rest of my natural-born life. Why learn, when I’ll never catch up?” Thinking of something else, she gave Griffin a curious look. “Walk me through how you pulled off a great meal with everything else you accomplished today. You met your parents for church services this morning, put in an hour at work, then picked up Quinn’s girlfriend—”
The slow cooker’s glass lid clattered down. “My friend. Don’t jinx me, Rae. I’m not sure Ava likes me that way.”
Connor snorted. “There were enough pheromones spiking the living room to knock me out cold. Trust me. That girl likes you.”
Quinn went red.
Rae shushed her father. “May I finish? I’m trying to ask when our talented guest had time to make dinner. Which was fantastic.” She let her eyes linger on Griffin too long.
He took the steamy appraisal as an invitation to play footsie beneath the table. Again.
“No mystery,” he told her. “I threw everything in the slow cooker before I met my parents at services this morning.”
“You’re amazing.”
“I know.” He slid his empty bowl toward hers. “I cooked. You clean up.” He turned to her father. “What are your thoughts on watching the Cavs? Game’s on soon.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Carrying the bowls to the sink, Rae darted a glance. “Griffin, it’s starting to feel like you’ve moved in permanently. What if I don’t want to watch the Cavs? You have your own house—I’ve seen it. A nice, cozy place right next door to Yuna’s. Feel free to visit your home if I’m in the mood for a movie.”
“I think I’ll put my place up for sale,” he teased.
“Hey. Totally not a tortoise response. Slow down!”
His eyes flashed. “Make me,” he murmured in a way that made her breathless.
Quinn flipped open the dishwasher. “I don’t mind if Griffin moves in.” Clearly, he wasn’t well versed in adult flirtation. He thought Griffin was serious. “Can we vote?” he added, lifting his hand. “What do you say, Connor? Are you with me?”
“Well, son . . . responsible adults don’t move in with each other willy-nilly. If they’re in love, they get married first.” Clearing his throat, Connor grinned with pure mischief. “Now, don’t get me wrong. I hope there’s an election soon on the matter, because I’ll gladly cast my vote.”
Playing along, Griffin raised his hand. Then he leveled Rae with a heated glance. She caught herself sighing.
The doorbell rang.
Embarrassed, she pivoted away. “I’ll get it,” she said.
On the front stoop, Griffin’s sister and his niece both looked nervous.
Sally offered an apologetic smile. “We’re sorry to barge in like this.”
“It’s fine,” Rae assured her.
Relief crested in Sally’s eyes. “My brother mentioned you wanted to speak with Jackie later this week and, well, my daughter wanted to drop by anyway. She insisted, in fact. Not to stay, of course. We don’t want to intrude.” The relief melted beneath the anxiety bringing her nervous hands to her waist. “There’s something else, however. I hope you don’t mind if we take care of that first.”
Turning, Sally cast a pointed look at the driver of the other car. A silver BMW that Rae hadn’t noticed.
Katherine.
Startled, Rae glanced at the passenger side. Katherine had arrived by herself—her daughter, Stella, wasn’t in the car.