The Passing Storm by Christine Nolfi

Chapter 8

Hurrying out of Rudy’s Tires, Rae climbed into her Honda Civic.

In the back seat, Kameko withdrew a sparkly wand from her backpack. As they pulled out of the lot, she waved it at the service technician beside Quinn’s truck. For his part, Quinn resembled a boy separated from a favorite toy. He stared forlornly out the passenger-side window.

Pulling onto Route 6, Rae merged with the afternoon traffic. “You’ll have your wheels back first thing tomorrow,” she assured him.

“You don’t mind driving me in?”

“It’s on my way to work.”

Quinn studied his hands. He began picking at a ragged nail. “How much were the tires?” He’d stayed with Kameko while Rae went inside.

“Not much. Rudy gave me a discount.” A lie. She’d purchased expensive, all-weather tires. Although Quinn was responsible, he was still a young driver. She’d sleep better knowing he was safe on Geauga County’s icy roads. “It’s not a big deal. Stop worrying about it.”

“I’ll pay you back.”

“Aren’t you planning on culinary school someday? Save your money.”

“Then let me do something in trade.”

“Fine. Work it out with my dad. But fair warning. His to-do list is a mile long.”

Kameko, bored, twitched in the car seat. “Can we play tag?” She bobbed the wand near Quinn’s ear.

From over his shoulder, he grinned. “When we get to the house? I guess.” The grin fading, he cleared his throat. “I still have to make a stop. It’s important.”

Unease centered in Rae. After the conversation with Kameko regarding Lark and heaven, her emotions were too close to the surface—barely skin-deep. She wasn’t prepared for new surprises. The day was unusual enough. If not for babysitting duty, she’d gladly don boots once she returned home to hike the farm until her emotions settled.

“Are we picking up more of your belongings?” She reminded herself that the Galeckis were still vacationing in Atlanta. Whatever else today offered, there’d be no confrontation.

“I cleared out my stuff last weekend, but I do need to stop on my parents’ street.” Quinn rubbed his lips together. He looked embarrassed, although she couldn’t imagine why. “It’ll only take five minutes.”

Accepting the cryptic response, Rae followed his directions to a residential area northeast of Chardon Square—a poorer area of town, with the houses standing in tight rows. Before the garage of a cramped white dwelling, a garbage can was overturned. The contents spilled across the snow. Farther down, a black shutter hung askew on a faded-blue house.

Curiosity edged past her unease. Which place belonged to Mik and Penny? She slowed the car to a crawl.

Her knowledge of the Galeckis’ current life was restricted to rumors about Mik’s testy behavior at Marks Auto and the drunken fights Penny waged with other women in local bars. Penny was reputed to have a work history involving multiple firings. She never held a job for long. Before their son entered Rae’s life, her interest in the couple’s personal life had been nonexistent. Quinn’s eyes, pinned on the road, gave no indication which dwelling was his childhood home.

At his feet, his book bag groaned with textbooks. Hoisting it onto his lap, he rummaged around inside. The crinkling of plastic, and he stuffed a bag into his parka. A stealth move, and tension pinged through Rae. What was in the bag? Was the kid dealing drugs?

Immediately she discarded the thought.

Each morning, Quinn made the bed in her guest room with military precision. He cleaned every dish he used—and most of Connor’s too. At bedtime, he brushed his teeth for a good two minutes, then wiped down the bathroom sink. Last night, he found the glass cleaner in the cupboard below and polished the mirror.

Stalking his movements wasn’t admirable, but he was bunking at her place.

Halfway down the street, he instructed her to pull over.

Cold air rushed in when Quinn opened his door. “Be right back.” His eyes lifting, he began stepping out. “Shit.” He pulled his foot back inside.

With her wand, Kameko bonked him on the head. “Bad word!”

“Sorry.”

The wind ruffling his hair, he shut the door. Frowning, he peered through the windshield. He sighed. Rubbed his hands down his jeans and sighed again.

While he worked out the mystery dilemma, Rae assessed his jeans. Tears were forming in the worn fabric at his knees. He needed sturdier jeans to carry him through the rest of winter. His parka, the cuffs tattered and the collar fraying, had also seen better days. At least he’d added a fresh strip of duct tape to his left boot to keep the sole in place.

She was pondering online shopping when he said, “I’ll go around back. That’s the best move. You know, because he’s home. He won’t notice if I sneak around the side of the garage.” Wrapping up the puzzling monologue, he gave her a look of apology. “Do you mind parking near the end of the street? We can’t stay here. If he sees us, we’re toast.”

“Quinn, what’s going on? Who are you worried will see you?”

The words were barely out when Rae’s attention strayed to the gray house to her right. A beige sedan was parked in the driveway. Past the sedan, a frightfully thin dog paced behind a chain-link fence.

The dog was part terrier, with a pointed snout and sleek haunches that seemed undersized for its long, curling tail. With a start, she recalled her conversation with Quinn when she found him beneath the dreaded tree on the day he’d turned eighteen. The snow spilling from his shoulders. His nervous chatter about the neighbors on the street. Including a bit about a woman who’d left her grumpy husband last year.

The woman left her dog behind.

Indignation broke past Rae’s self-control. “You’re worried Mr. Grouchy Pants will catch you feeding his dog?” The temps were below freezing, the sun dipping below the rooftops.

“His name is Mr. Cox. And, yeah, he’s grumpy.” Quinn rolled his shoulders. He was an edgy bantamweight, scared to enter the ring. “I don’t like tangling with him.”

“No problem. Let me. Giving you a hard time for feeding his dog—I’ll give him a piece of my mind.”

“What?”

A better idea surfaced. A deliciously perfect solution. Yanking the keys from the ignition, she got out.

“Auntie Rae!” Kameko’s wand battered the window.

“Shhh!”Quickly, she unstrapped the child from the car seat. “No talking, bean sprout. We have to be quiet.”

Clueing in to her intentions, Quinn leaped from the car. He darted around the hood.

“Rae, we can’t just walk up the drive and feed Shelby.” He took Kameko’s free hand, his worried gaze landing on the front stoop. “Mr. Cox isn’t usually home this early. If he catches us, he’ll come out. You don’t want to see his temper.”

“Like I care if he has a temper. I have one too. A big one.”

Kameko dropped her voice to a whisper. “You do,” she agreed. Her eyes sparkled. “See? I’m being quiet as mice.”

Quinn patted her head. “Good job.” He leaned toward Rae, his expression surprisingly mature. “Get back in the car. I can’t let you give Mr. Cox a piece of your mind. If he blows his stack, I’ll . . .”

“You’ll what?”

“I’ll have to defend you.”

A gallant impulse, and she nearly laughed. Which would injure Quinn’s budding manhood, so she composed herself instead.

“I appreciate the gesture, but I don’t need your help. I’m not scared of your grumpy neighbor.” A more upsetting thought intruded. “If he’s home, why isn’t the dog inside? Who leaves a dog outside in February?”

Despair slumped Quinn’s shoulders. “Mr. Grumpy Pants.”

“Well, that settles it.”

“Settles what?”

“Whether I’m in the mood to be a Good Samaritan or a horse thief. Ride on, cowboy.” She thrust out her hand. “Give me the bag. I’ll feed the dog. Her name is Shelby?”

“Yes, and I’ll feed her.”

When they walked up the driveway, Shelby yipped. A small, soft noise—the dog was edgier than Quinn. Tail wagging, she trotted closer to the fence.

Quinn opened the plastic bag. Crouching down, he went nose-to-nose with the mutt. A private greeting between man and dog, and the way he steered his kibble-laden fingers through the chain link was heartbreaking and sweet, the patient endeavor of a loyal friend. Shelby gobbled up every crumb. Mud flecked the dog’s fur; she was shivering from the cold.

Rae took a gander at the fenced-in backyard. It was depressingly empty. No shrubs, no trees. There wasn’t a doghouse for shelter. A water bowl hugged the fence, a glazing of ice on top.

Her temper flared. “Saddle up, cowpokes. We’re doing this.”

Quinn looked up. “What are we doing?”

Ignoring the query, she released Kameko’s hand. Stepping back, she studied the fence. Five feet tall or thereabouts. I’ve got this.

“I’m going over,” she informed him. “Let’s call this a rescue operation.”

Rae carried more pounds than she liked, but she was strong. Luckily, she also preferred sensible flats. With ease she climbed over, dropping down on the other side. The obedient dog sat at attention, her tail thumping the ground.

Quinn palmed his forehead. “I’m not sure if you’re crazy, or you’ve just become my personal hero.”

“I vote for the latter.” She reached out to him. “Let’s wrap this up. Give me the bag.”

Alarm streaked his features as he handed over the remainder of the kibble. Rae dumped it on the snow. Even during a rescue operation, there was time to feed a starving dog.

Shelby made quick work of the meal.

“Good girl.” Rae smoothed her hand down the dog’s back. The shivering beast smelled oily and damp. Shelby was good-natured, and Rae encouraged her closer; the dog dipped her snout and snuffled in search of more food. Rae hoisted her into her arms.

At the ready, Quinn hung over the fence. After they transferred the dog, she climbed back over. They put Shelby and the joyous Kameko in the back seat, then got in.

“Auntie Rae, are we stealing her?” Kameko ruffled the dog’s ears. “Can I keep her?”

“Yes. No,” Rae said, wading into a moral dilemma. She flipped the car’s heat to high.

The glee faded from Quinn’s eyes. “We are stealing her. There’ll be repercussions.”

“Don’t be a pessimist.” She preferred to believe they’d hightail it out of Dodge without problems.

“Rae, get real. What are we supposed to do if Mr. Cox sees us somewhere with his dog? It’s not like Chardon’s a big town. And two wrongs don’t make a right.”

“Good point.” Another decision confronted her, this one thornier. She got back out. “Stay here.”

Ascending the front steps, she donned her game face. Ringing the doorbell was the sensible choice. Her temper, however, was past simmer.

She pounded instead.

Mr. Cox flung open the door. “What are you, a lunatic?” He wore a ratty bathrobe and a dour expression. “Why are you pounding on my door?”

A bottle of beer dangled from his fingers. In the background, a sports channel blared. The despicable Mr. Cox was a barrel-chested man. The calves peeking out from beneath his robe were hairier than his neglected mutt.

On the positive side, he was a good head shorter than Rae. An advantage if reasoning failed.

She said, “I’m taking the dog.”

“What dog? My dog?” He took a swig of his beer. “Get off my steps, lady.”

“Fine. I’m leaving—with Shelby.”

Ire flashed across his face. His attention swung to the curb and Rae’s car. In the back seat, Kameko—hugging the dog—was chortling.

Cox pushed open the door.

Rae shoved him back. “I’ll pay. Is fifty enough? It’ll keep you in brewskis for a month.” When he stared at her, dumbfounded, she added, “You’re not coming outside and scaring the kids. Try it, and I’m taking you down. And I don’t mean ‘taking you down to the police station for animal endangerment.’ I’m taking you down personally. I hope you’re ready to face-plant, because I’m an ace at self-defense. And seeing how you’ve treated the dog, I’m clean out of patience.”

“Cool down, lady. Who said anything about scaring the kids?”

“Do we have a deal?”

Greed lit his eyes. “Do you have seventy-five? Cash, no checks.”

“Done.”

She dashed to the car for her purse.

When they got to the house, Rae left a disgruntled Kameko in her father’s care. The five-year-old seemed aware that there was more high drama afoot and was visibly upset she’d miss out on the fun. After Connor steered her toward the living room, Rae fetched the watering can from beneath the kitchen sink. Then she ushered Quinn and the dog into the guest bathroom.

“What are we doing now?” Quinn asked her.

Rae waved her hand before her nose. “This really can’t wait. I’ve smelled garbage cans with a nicer stink than this dog.”

“We’re giving Shelby a bath?”

“Assuming she’ll let us.” Rae turned on the faucet.

While she fetched shampoo from the cupboard, Quinn tugged off his boots. He rolled his jeans up on his shins. With devoted eyes Shelby watched, her tail nervously thumping the floor. The soft, cooing sound he made was sweet and unexpected. The dog quieted. Gently he picked her up and placed her in the water.

Rae eyed his malnourished companion. “Don’t let her jump out, okay?” A slippery, skittish dog could harm herself.

Perched on the edge of the bathtub, he gave a hasty thumbs-up. There was no telling how the muddy dog would react to an impromptu bath and grooming.

Their concerns were quickly put to rest. Leaning against Quinn’s knees, Shelby lapped at the rising water. After she drank her fill, she licked the side of his face.

He laughed. “I guess she’s into bath time.”

“Thank goodness. I’d rather not chase a wet dog around the guest bathroom.”

Rae squirted a thick line of shampoo down Shelby’s back. Quinn helped work a frothy lather through the dog’s coat. The crisp scent of orange blossoms spiked the air.

“Was this Lark’s shampoo?” His expression grew wistful. “It’s familiar.”

His tone was gentle, soothing. As if to calm her, as he’d done with Shelby.

“The shampoo was Lark’s favorite,” she admitted, glad suddenly to venture into topics she’d avoided. Doing so brought a measure of relief as heartening as Quinn’s tender handling of the dog. “My daughter bought it online from a botanical site. One of her favorite places to shop.” Lark had been an adolescent detective, unearthing spa-quality products and making too many charges on Rae’s credit cards. “I’m nearly out of shampoo, and my dad’s brand is a no-go. Too spicy for a sweet girl like Shelby.”

“It’s nice.”

“I can’t bring myself to throw away her toiletries. Even her toothbrush and ten different types of body wash. It’s all beneath the sink. As if she might reappear one day and give me a hard time if I’ve thrown anything out.”

The reverie was too personal—why was she rambling on? Quinn missed Lark too. She didn’t want to burden him.

In a lighter tone, she added, “I hate to see the toiletries go to waste. Use whatever you like.”

“You don’t mind?”

“If Lark’s shampoo is okay for your dog, who cares if you splurge? She’d want you to.”

The offer seemed to please him. As did the phrase “your dog.” With a burst of joy, Quinn built the lather on Shelby’s back into foamy peaks. His soggy companion—standing agreeably in four inches of water, her belly full for perhaps the first time in months—watched him work with docile curiosity.

Leaning in, he lathered Shelby’s legs. “I’ve never had a pet before.” The dog’s sloppy pink tongue flicked out, grazing his cheek.

“Not true. You’ve been taking care of Shelby for months. In my book, she’s been your pet for a while.”

“How much does a vet cost? Can I wait until summer to take her? After graduation, I’ll work full-time.”

“You’ll need those wages to save up for culinary school. And, no, the vet can’t wait. Let’s set up a time when my dad can go with you. His schedule is looser than mine. Besides, I have a bad feeling Shelby’s overdue for a visit. Let me cover the cost.”

“Okay, but only if—”

“I know,” Rae said, cutting him off. She smiled. “You’ll swap work in trade.” Quinn’s desire not to take advantage was admirable, but there were more important concerns. Like giving him a chance to finish growing up. “Ask my dad for a list of chores you can tackle—and please space them out. You graduate from high school in June. Build in time to study for those final exams.”

“I will.”

“Good.”

“You’re really great, Rae.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“Really—I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.” Quinn reached for the watering can. He poured a gentle stream over Shelby’s head, taking care not to get shampoo in her eyes. “Watching you in action was amazing. Taking on Mr. Cox, rescuing Shelby . . . You’re a superhero.” He darted a bashful glance. “Totally awesome how you took charge of the situation.”

“Stop with the flattery. It’ll go to my head.”

“You are nice. Everyone on the street knew Mr. Cox didn’t treat Shelby right. They never got involved. You’re braver than anyone.”

“Hardly.”

“I wish Lark could’ve seen you in action. I bet she would’ve changed her opinion of you.”

The comment dropped between them, unchecked. An error, and clearly unintentional.

“Oh man. Rae, I didn’t mean . . .” Splotches of red crept up Quinn’s neck.

Struck deep, she briefly closed her eyes. Had Lark complained about her constantly? Described her as the worst sort of parent? Their relationship had been on shaky ground.

“Don’t apologize. You’re right. Lark didn’t have a high opinion of me. Not toward the end.” Weary, Rae let the water out of the tub. “Our debates were awfully heated.”

“About the things she wanted to know?”

At sea, Rae nodded. “About the facts she deserved to know. I kept them from her. A foolish decision, and now she’s gone. I’d give anything for the chance to set things right.”

“I’m sure you had good reason for not telling her about the guy.”

A starkly accurate remark—it floated in the air, unbound. They were speaking in generalities. Yet Quinn seemed cognizant of the facts. As if he was familiar with the painful topic that had damaged her relationship with her precious daughter.

The guy.

With dismay, Rae searched for an adequate response. She doubted one existed. How much did Quinn know about the substance of her arguments with Lark? Too much, apparently. The irony was remarkable, disturbing. Of all the people Lark might have confided in—any of her girlfriends, or Yuna or her grandfather—she’d chosen Quinn. The sweet, immature boy whom fate had guided into her life.

The last of the water gurgled down the drain. It lent Rae the perfect excuse to step back, giving Quinn room to finish with the dog. Her knees felt wobbly. Wiping the distress from her features, she leaned against the counter.

The air crackled with the emotional charge from unanswered questions. Quinn pretended not to notice. Hoisting Shelby from the tub, he set about drying her.

Rae tried to catch his gaze. “Quinn, did my daughter tell you why we were fighting?”

The flush on his neck bled into his cheeks.

“I’m not mad, just curious.”

Kneeling beside the dog, he risked a glance. “She told me everything.” With nervous movements, he fluffed Shelby’s fur. “About her dad, I mean. She thought it wasn’t fair, how you wouldn’t tell her who he was.”

“There was a reason for holding back the information. A very good reason.”

“Did Lark understand?”

Frustration surged through her. Lark had viewed her refusal to reveal the facts as a betrayal. Each attempt to make her understand failed miserably. Their conversations had followed a dismal trajectory. Lark’s demands for information about her father were followed by Rae’s evasive responses—clumsy attempts to shield her from the ugly truth. Then pleas for Lark to wait until she was older before demanding answers. Each debate ended in shouting.

Stop asking me to wait! Who is he, Mom? I have a right to know my father.

When her fury met with silence, Lark would storm out.

The memory left a bitter taste in Rae’s mouth. “None of my explanations held water with my daughter,” she said. “Lark was mature for her age. Still, she was only fourteen. Not old enough to hear . . . all of it. I know that sounds cruel—it’s natural for a child to want a full understanding of her parentage—but my first instinct was to protect her.”

“She didn’t see it that way.” Quinn instinctively took her side.

“Kids tend to oversimplify the choices adults make.” As he was doing now, sticking up for the friend he’d lost. He was also young, untested. Innocent to the murky choices grown-ups made in a world that wasn’t black and white. At a loss for a better way to explain, she added, “Life is complicated.”

“What if she wanted to know her dad because . . .” His voice trailing off, Quinn blushed to the roots of his hairline.

“Go on,” she prodded.

“Like, maybe she hoped you’d start dating her dad again.”

Rae’s mind reeled. “Is that what she thought?”

Quinn backpedaled fast. “I’m not sure. It’s just a guess.” Tossing aside the wet towel, he grabbed another. His dog flopped to the floor as the towel sped across her back. “Lark never gave me lots of details about her motives. She was awfully touchy whenever we talked about her dad. I do think, though . . . she hoped you and the guy would end up together.”

The irony was mind-boggling. Leave it to her daughter to romanticize the most difficult era of Rae’s life.

The shocking loss of her mother during the White Hurricane. Connor’s descent into depression. Rae’s corresponding fear that she’d virtually become an orphan. How her anger and confusion led to full-out rebellion.

A rebellion, she saw now with heartbreaking clarity, that led directly to her pregnancy.

None of which Lark knew. With nothing to go on, she’d romanticized the story.

Connor, Yuna—practically everyone in Chardon—finally came to a more practical conclusion. In her last months of high school, Rae was acting out. Taking risks. The pregnancy was the result of a one-night stand. Shame was reason enough not to list the man’s name on Lark’s birth certificate.

Sorrow wove through her as she asked, “Did Lark talk about her dad often?”

A tentative query. Quinn handled it with care.

Nodding, he said, “She told me she felt like half a person, not knowing who he was. She didn’t understand why you kept him a secret. Even if she couldn’t get you two back together, she didn’t see why she should lose out.”

“She wanted a relationship with him.”

Ducking his head, Quinn took his time drying the panting dog’s legs, coasting the towel across each paw. “She had a point, Rae. Even if grown-ups hate each other, their kid shouldn’t lose out. Don’t you agree?”

A knock on the door spared her from answering. In a fog, she found Kameko waiting with a bright smile.

The five-year-old swayed eagerly from side to side. “Is Shelby pretty now?” Her longing gaze fell on the dog. “Can she come out and play?”