The Passing Storm by Christine Nolfi

Chapter 35

Near dusk on a warm Sunday in April, Rae literally stumbled over the talented Hester Langdon’s final surprise. The two large boxes of lights were hidden beneath a rumpled drop cloth in the basement, near a hodgepodge of paint rollers and brushes.

The lighting wasn’t from Germany, like the rest. The shipping label read Mexico City. Wedging off the lid on the first box, Rae gasped. The errand that had brought her into the basement was forgotten. Hoisting both boxes in her arms, she hurried out of the basement.

“I thought you went downstairs to grab paintbrushes for the trim work,” Yuna said. “What is that?”

After the day’s work, no one had the energy to make dinner; Yuna was throwing together sandwiches and bowls of chopped carrot sticks. Griffin, Connor, Quinn, and Kipp were taking turns scraping the barn and pressure washing the surface. Griffin had rented industrial sprayers to add a new coat of red paint.

Rae set the boxes on the counter. “Forget about the paintbrushes. You’ve got to see this.” She rustled through the tissue to withdraw a large globe of thin azure glass. Then another, in a sea-green hue. Doing a quick calculation, Rae guessed there were twenty globes in each box.

“They’re part of your late mother’s project?” Yuna lifted out a gorgeous purple light. “Why weren’t they with the others?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe they were a last-minute addition to Mom’s design. Somehow, the boxes got separated from the others. Maybe when my dad packed everything away, after the White Hurricane.”

The sound of their excitement brought Kameko into the kitchen. Shelby, aware the five-year-old kept treats in her pockets, was hot on her tail.

“Mommy, let me see!” In big-girl fashion, the child pushed a chair to the counter. She climbed on top. “Can I hold one?”

“Better not, sweetheart. They’re fragile. Here. You can look while I hold one. Isn’t it pretty?”

“It is!”

At Kameko’s feet, the dog gave an elaborate sigh. Lowering her head to the chair’s seat, she trained her eager canine attention on her biggest admirer. A familiar signal, and Kameko withdrew a biscuit from her pocket.

Rae arched a brow. “How many treats have you given her today?” With all the activity surrounding the barn refurb, none of the adults had been keeping count.

“Oh, I don’t know. A lot?”

“Why don’t you cut her off now?”

“But this one’s blueberry and salmon. It’s her favorite!”

Stacking the sandwiches on a paper plate, Yuna sighed. “My bad.”

Rae chuckled. “Don’t worry about it.”

Recently Yuna had discovered a doggie bakery in Beachwood where she’d spend “girl time” with her daughter, letting her choose new taste sensations for Shelby.

Rae tousled the child’s glossy black hair. “Kameko, this is similar to your juice box obsession—Shelby doesn’t know how to refuse the goodies. Keep it up, and we’ll never get her to eat dinner.” Thanks to constant loving, the once-starving dog was beginning to pack on too much pudge around her middle.

“Oh, all right.” The rest of the biscuits clattered onto the counter. Then she pointed at the nearest box. “What’s that, Auntie Rae?”

A neatly folded sheet nested beside the wads of tissue paper. A schematic.

With excitement, Rae drew it out. Her mother’s neat cursive ran across a sketch of the trees nearest the house. From the looks of it, the globes were meant to attach to the lighting already in place. With her finger, Rae traced a smudged line of writing near the bottom of the page. Impossible to make out, except for three words in the middle of the sentence.

With a start, she read them. Griffin to hang . . .

“Be right back.” Hoisting the boxes into her arms, she hurried out back.

“Rae—wait! What is it?”

She was too excited to explain. During the last months, why hadn’t it once occurred to her that Griffin knew as much about Hester’s grand design as anyone? He and Rae had been tight in high school, best buds during the summer before their senior year—before they’d discovered the passion that would alter their relationship. Griffin had been over at the house constantly. He’d been fascinated by Hester’s new project, discussing the design with her whenever he and Rae stopped goofing off outside, or spent blistering-hot afternoons inside playing board games. And he’d been the one most excited about getting started on the project, overriding Hester’s objections that she’d hire a man in town to hang the lights. At seventeen, he’d needed absolutely no encouragement to climb the highest trees to handle the task.

Remembering, she quickened her pace. She peered at the barn, where her father stood discussing something with Yuna’s husband. Quinn was on a ladder, a steel hand scraper in his fist.

Rae spotted Griffin ambling toward her.

“Where’s the eats?” he called out. He joined her beside the third tree from the house. “I thought you and Yuna were bringing something out. We’re starving.” Frowning, he took the top box from her arms. “What’s all this?”

Together, they opened the boxes on the grass. “Griffin, look at this.” Unfolding the schematic, she pointed to her mother’s handwriting. “‘Griffin to hang’—do you remember this? It looks like my mother wanted you to put these up.”

“She did.” With a casual shrug, he pointed to the label. “These are the lights from Mexico—she ordered them after the ones from Germany. About two weeks later. It was right in the middle of all those doctor visits. Right around when we finished eleventh grade at Chardon High.”

“What doctor visits?” she demanded, misunderstanding him. “I was perfectly healthy in eleventh grade.”

He flicked her nose. “Not you,” he said, “your mother’s visits.” He studied her closely, nodding with satisfaction when she released a sudden breath. As her eyes began to blur, he kissed her lightly on the forehead. “It’s no big deal, Rae. You went through so much the year of the White Hurricane, some stuff got lost in your memories. It happens. Besides, everything was fine in the end.”

Slowly Rae came to her feet. She had forgotten—completely. What’s wrong with me?

Griffin nodded at the back deck. “Go on—turn on the lights. I know how these fit into place. Hester showed me.”

“You remember?” she asked, her voice catching. She swiped at her eyes.

“Like it was yesterday. And don’t cry. You should feel happy—your mother is thrilled we found the last parts of her design.” He teasingly glanced at the clouds racing across the sky. “Right, Hester?”

“Well, don’t keep me waiting,” Rae said, pulling herself together. “I’m eager to see the final result.”

Starting toward the deck, she wondered how she could’ve forgotten Hester’s breast cancer scare. It had seemed inconsequential to a teenager; her mother hadn’t even mentioned the tests until receiving an assurance from her gynecologist that the tumor was benign. The same night she’d told Rae, she’d gone into all-out creative mode, staying up late in the studio to begin plotting out the lighting design.

Griffin had just screwed the final globe into place as Rae returned to his side. The effect was beautiful, the larger bursts of illumination spilling color across the grass. A rainbow of hues, a celebration of light.

Considering, Griffin slung an arm across her shoulder. “Your mom had a saying, after the doctor gave her the all clear and she got excited about this project. Not a saying, come to think of it—it’s what she called this project, whenever we talked about it that summer. I can’t remember what it was.”

“I do,” Rae murmured, her heart lifting. “Hope lights the way.”

At last, she knew it was true.