The Passing Storm by Christine Nolfi
Chapter 7
True to her father’s prediction, Quinn accepted the invitation to stay.
The arrangement pleased Connor, which the teen instinctively grasped. Rae’s emotions were mixed. Much as she wished to help Quinn, he brought to mind the daughter she’d lost, and the tangled threads of a past buried long ago.
On Sunday, when he left the farm to collect more of his belongings from his parents’ house, Rae felt a jolt of inappropriate relief. The reaction was small-minded and selfish. No matter the ghosts Quinn awoke in her memories, he was a boy in need. She resolved to do better. Later, when his truck rumbled into the driveway, Rae donned an expression of false cheer. Greeting him at the door, she gave him a house key.
On Monday, she left for work early and stayed late. She returned home past seven o’clock. She found Connor forgoing his normal TV regimen to help Quinn with homework. Dinner had been made and rested neatly wrapped on the stove.
Braised chicken with a side of rice noodles tossed with sautéed vegetables. A delicious meal.
As Rae delayed leaving the Witt Agency on Tuesday, she wondered what new surprises awaited her at home. Another beautifully prepared meal? Her father, brushing up on his math skills to help Quinn with his trig? They shared a natural affinity, and their instant rapport was heartwarming to behold. From the bits and pieces Connor had shared with her over the years, Rae knew he’d once been insecure and bashful like Quinn. The self-assured, opinionated man he’d become didn’t fully take shape until Hester’s death and Lark’s birth forced him to muster inner resources she doubted her father had known he possessed. The strength he displayed clearly appealed to Quinn, and their interactions were seamless, comfortable.
Why couldn’t she get with the program? Every time she interacted with Quinn, she caught herself using her most distant—and formal—business voice. The one reserved for frantic clients experiencing personal or property loss.
Her boss stuck her head into Rae’s office. “Working late two nights in a row?”
Slightly older than Rae’s father, Evelyn Witt sported permanent smile lines and a calm demeanor no matter the crisis. Tall, willowy, and single, she’d spent the better part of her professional career building the Witt Agency. Rae adored her.
“Oh, I’m leaving soon.” Rae closed the file on her computer. “I just wanted to review the next part of the training protocol for the new employees.”
“It’s nearly eight o’clock.” Evelyn pursed her lips. “Is there a problem with our new hires?”
“Not at all. They’re doing great.”
“How’s everything at home?”
A diplomatic question, the subtext easy to detect. How are you and Connor managing since your daughter’s passing?
In the months since Lark’s death, Evelyn had posed similar questions, a delicate gauging of Rae’s emotional state. For a woman who’d never stepped off the career track for marriage or children, her sensitivity to the cataclysmic loss in Rae’s life was reassuring.
“We’re doing fine, Evelyn. Really.” Although she’d never confided in her mentor, Rae found herself adding, “We have a . . . houseguest. I’m not sure how long he’s staying with us.”
“A friend of your dad’s?”
“No. He’s a local boy, a senior at the high school. He needed somewhere to stay until he graduates.”
“And you’ve taken him in?” When Rae nodded, the kindness that came easily for Evelyn flowed across her features. Entering the small office, she sat in the chair tucked against the wall. “Well, then. I suppose you’re having a full-circle moment.”
“What do you mean?”
The question was barely out when Rae chuckled with understanding. The autumn after she’d graduated from high school, she’d been waddling through the grocery store, miserable in the third trimester of her pregnancy when Evelyn—whom she’d never met before—walked up and offered her business card. If you’re looking for a job after the baby comes, please let me know. I’m sure we can work something out. When Rae called several months after Lark’s birth, Evelyn started her out part-time, as an assistant to the insurance agents.
During her first week on the job, Rae had discovered the reason for the charitable deed: a mixed-media collage by Hester Langdon hung on the wall of Evelyn’s brightly colored office.
“I guess it’s my turn to help out a kid in need,” Rae agreed, “but I’m floundering. He was friends with Lark . . . actually, he was the boy that found her that night. Quinn Galecki.”
“Good heavens, that can’t be easy. How is Connor handling this?”
“Better than I am. No one will ever replace his granddaughter’s place in his heart, but he’s really taken to Quinn. And the feeling is mutual.” Embarrassed suddenly, Rae laughed. “It’ll all work out, right?”
“In time, I’m sure it will.” Evelyn rose, nodded at the door. “I was closing up. Would you like to walk out together?” A playful light entered her soft brown eyes. “Or would you prefer to hide out at the office alone for another hour or so?”
On Wednesdays, the Witt Agency closed at four o’clock. Dashing across Chardon’s snow-bedecked center green, Rae looked forward to meeting Yuna at Dixon’s wine and dessert café for an hour of girl talk. Yuna wasn’t yet apprised of Quinn’s new living arrangements. The surprising turn of events would lead to good-natured teasing. Something along the lines of how Rae’s brash exterior hid the sweeter qualities of her chewy, nougat center.
She was scanning the dessert menu when her phone buzzed.
“I have to cancel,” Yuna said in a rush. “Kameko’s babysitter is down with a cold, and the high school called off cheerleading practice. The coach is also out sick. Want to guess where the cheerleaders are hanging out? We’re already busy—I don’t need a bunch of girls rooting through merchandise without making a purchase. If that’s not bad enough, a delivery arrived early. Twenty boxes.” A pregnant pause, then, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
It was hard keeping up. “Tell you what?”
“About Quinn moving in with you and your dad. I’m proud you’ve grown a brain. I’m also peeved you didn’t share the news.”
“Hey, I was planning to fill you in when we met up today for an afternoon snack.” Rae frowned. “Wait. How did you find out? Quinn doesn’t work for you until next weekend.” The conscientious teen had shared his work schedule with Connor.
“Your new houseguest told me. Quinn’s unpacking the delivery as we speak. He’s the one kid on the planet who picks up when his boss calls with an emergency.” Another pause, this one more tentative. “So . . . Quinn said it’s okay for Kameko to stay at your place this afternoon. Seeing as how my babysitter is down for the count. He’s good with kids.”
The remark’s subtext stung. Rae wasn’t first choice for stand-in babysitter.
“No worries, Yuna. We’ll take good care of Kameko.” A competitive note colored her voice. “Both of us.”
“I owe you one, girlfriend.” A clattering in the background, followed by wild giggling—Kameko’s. “It’s mayhem over here.”
Rae slid out of the booth. “On my way.”
All manner of chaos was raining down on Yuna’s Craft Emporium. The gaggle of cheerleaders talked at a deafening volume, clattering through jars of trinkets for jewelry making, their jaws moving faster than their hands. They blithely ignored the trinkets skittering across the floor.
Behind them, two women argued over the last stalk of silk iris in stock. On the other side of the craft emporium, trembling Mrs. Ogilvy—her gaze frantic behind thick bifocals—attempted to escape the waves of quilting fabric gripping her ankles. She’d unwisely pulled the bolt down from a shelf without assistance.
At the cash register, customers formed an impatient line. Both of Yuna’s employees were preoccupied. The tall brunette raced to Mrs. Ogilvy’s rescue. The slender college student sprinted to the back of the shop, where a toddler was lobbing balls of yarn over his head. The colorful projectiles flew past his mother. Oblivious, she flipped through a book on knitting.
Kameko banged into Rae’s knees. “Tag—you’re it!”
Pivoting, the five-year-old launched off the toes of her sneakers. She dove beneath a table, a length of toilet paper fluttering out from beneath her dress. It rendered the high-dexterity move less impressive.
Rae peered beneath the table. “Come out, please. I’m not crawling in after you.”
“No.”
“We can’t play in your mommy’s store. There’s too much stuff we could knock over. When we get to my house, you can run around nonstop.”
“I want to play now.”
On bended knee, she studied Kameko’s flushed cheeks and overly bright eyes. “How many juice boxes have you torn through?” The sugar would explain her buzzy rebellion, and too much liquid, the toilet paper trailing out of her tights. “I’m guessing you’ve exceeded the daily limit.”
Chortling, Kameko scampered out of reach. One of the cheerleaders, cackling like a hyena, shouted encouragement.
Her compatriots joined in. Rae, tossing her dignity aside, dropped onto all fours. Ducking beneath the table, she latched on to an ankle. “Game over, bean sprout. We’re taking a stroll to the bathroom.” She dragged her quarry out. “You have unfinished business.”
“No, no, no!”
Rae slung the child over her shoulder. Tiny fists pounded her back, a series of teeny wasp’s stings. A high-pitched shriek followed. It vibrated through Rae’s molars like a jackhammer.
“Jeez, Kameko—enough! We can’t play in the store, and we are going to the bathroom.”
The flailing halted. “Someone, save me!”
The cheerleaders’ laughter swallowed the plea.
The wasp’s stings resumed. They were accompanied by the added bonus of thrashing legs. Kameko’s feet whipped past Rae’s nose. She clamped down on the child’s yellow sneakers. What the kid lacked in size, she made up for in fury.
An unhappy situation for a stand-in babysitter, especially a subpar one. Rae turned in a desperate circle. Where was Yuna?
She spotted her at the back of the shop. Palms raised, Yuna was fending off complaints from a disgruntled customer. The fashionably dressed blonde—loaded down with a basket of art supplies—wagged an impatient hand toward the line at the cash register. She got in Yuna’s face, her complaints rising in pitch. Yuna looked ready to weep.
Rae’s nostrils flared. Her tolerance for bullies was precisely zero.
She charged forward. At the sudden movement, Kameko dug pointy elbows into her neck. Her cherub’s face bobbing, she tried to assess what the fuss was about.
The blonde was better clued in. Sensing danger, she whirled around. Her startled gaze shot from Rae’s wriggling prey to the fluttering tail of toilet paper.
Rae skidded to a halt. “Is there a problem?”
The woman angled her neck. “What business is it of yours?”
“Don’t press my buttons, lady. You want service? Wait your turn like everyone else.”
Yuna’s mouth lifted in a watery smile. “Rae, it’s all right.” She was ready to weep.
“No, it’s not.” On her shoulder, Kameko stilled. No doubt Rae’s defense of her beleaguered mother pleased her. “Lady, get in line. I’m not letting you hassle my friend.”
“Well, I can’t wait. I have an appointment.”
“Which you’ll miss, unless you stop complaining.”
An impasse, and the woman tottered on her heels.
“Did you hear me?” Rae stepped closer—a vivid, animated presence. “Get moving!”
The woman’s jaw loosened. Snapping it shut, she rushed to the back of the line.
At her fast retreat, Kameko released a grateful breath. She patted Rae’s back.
Yuna gripped her skull. “Bestie, you’re a lifesaver.” She flashed a warning finger at her daughter. “Stop running around and behave for Auntie Rae.” She sprinted to the cash register.
In the bathroom, Kameko let Rae peel down her tights and remove the offending toilet paper. They both washed their hands.
“Auntie Rae, why was the lady shouting at Mommy?”
“Some people get impatient, bean sprout.”
“What’s ‘impatient’?”
“They don’t like taking turns. They always want to be first.”
“That’s silly.” Kameko bounced on her toes. Growing still, she glanced longingly at the bathroom stall. “Can I go again?”
“Don’t let me stop you.” Rae hesitated. “Do you need help?” At five, Kameko juggled babyish behavior with fierce independence.
“I’m okay.” The stall banged shut. Humming punctuated the short interlude. Then she said, “Quinn told Mommy I can stay with him and Mr. Connor.”
“And me,” Rae offered. More juice boxes were out of the question, and she searched for an activity sure to raise her ranking in the child’s affections. “Want to water the houseplants? We’ll feed them too.”
“You didn’t kill them?”
“Give me a break. You watered them last weekend. I promise, they’re thriving.”
“What’s ‘thriving’?”
Sorrow brushed across Rae’s lips unbidden, swift. She mustered the courage to breathe it in. “It means we’re taking good care of Lark’s houseplants.”
“Are we allowed to talk about Lark now? Mommy said we shouldn’t.”
A kindness—Yuna understood the dangerous terrain of grieving. Rae had yet to begin the journey in a meaningful way. But their unspoken agreement was forged by adults; Kameko had been affected too. Banishing Lark from conversation made no sense to her. From a five-year-old’s perspective, Lark had gone away. She wasn’t gone forever.
No wonder Kameko worried about Rae killing the plants. She’d killed off all mention of her daughter. A thoughtless choice. We breathe life into our memories by celebrating those loved ones in conversation.
Rae said, “We can talk about Lark whenever you want.”
Inside the stall, silence bloomed. At length Kameko said, “Why didn’t Lark take her plants when she went to heaven? She loved them.”
“She wanted you to take care of them.”
“Can I visit Lark? I miss her.”
The question pierced Rae. “I’m sorry, bean sprout. You can’t see Lark until you go to heaven. Not for a long, long time.”
The toilet flushed. “Can Daddy see Lark’s plants when he picks me up?”
“That’s a great idea.”
“Daddy likes plants. He grows pretty flowers for Mommy when the snow goes away.” From beneath the stall, Kameko’s feet shuffled about. Grunting, she tugged up her tights. “Can I play tag with Quinn? Or color pictures with Mr. Connor? Mommy said he’ll be happy to color pictures with me.”
“Whatever you’d like,” Rae said brightly, concealing the hurt. Even her father rated higher in Kameko’s affections than she did. “When is Daddy coming for you?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Kameko scampered to the sink. “Later?”
Under normal circumstances, Yuna wouldn’t ask Connor to aid in a babysitting intervention. With Quinn’s help, he’d manage. Which begged the question—why hadn’t she asked Rae instead?
The answer came immediately. This wasn’t really about Connor. Prior to her death, Lark was Yuna’s go-to babysitter in a pinch. Quinn wasn’t much older. A teenager was a livelier companion for a small child than any adult.
Rae turned on the tap. “It doesn’t matter when Daddy picks you up. We’ll have fun until he comes for you.”
Kameko took the paper towel Rae handed over and set it by the sink. She proceeded to flap her hands through the air. A game, and she was having fun. “What am I having for dinner? Can I have a snack too?”
“If we get out of your mother’s hair, you can have whatever you want.” Except juice boxes.
In the stockroom, most of the new merchandise was unpacked. Quinn was placing the last packages of floral wire on a shelf.
Rae glanced back at the shop, where Yuna swiftly rang up sales. “So . . .” She returned her attention to Quinn. “Looks like we’re both on babysitting patrol.”
“Should I have asked you first? I figured since you and Yuna are friends . . .”
“You did great. It was nice of you to bail her out.” The standoffish behavior wasn’t doing either of them any favors, and she lightened her tone. “Hey, do you mind if I take Kameko in my car? I keep her old car seat in the trunk.”
“Actually, that works better. There’s something I have to take care of.” Quinn seemed reluctant to elaborate. “Can I meet you back at the house?”
“Sure.”
Refusing to pry, she zipped Kameko into her snowsuit. Together, the trio went out.
A brisk wind blew across Chardon Square. Quinn’s truck was parked in front of the craft emporium. He was about to climb in when Rae stopped him.
The front tires were nearly bald. Leaving Kameko at the curb, she walked around the truck. The back tires were passable. Not much tread left, but they’d get through the winter.
“Change of plans, Quinn.” She pulled out her phone and dialed Rudy’s on Route 6. “We’re taking your truck in for new tires. The ones in front are shot.”
“I can’t afford new tires.”
“Well, I can.” He began to object, and she cut in. “No arguing. Follow me to Rudy’s and drive carefully.”