The Passing Storm by Christine Nolfi
Chapter 9
After the revelations about Lark, Quinn seemed determined to correct any missteps he’d made.
Despite Rae’s assurances he’d done nothing wrong, he insisted on making dinner, whipping up a vegetable frittata and a side of hash browns. Kameko—announcing Quinn would sit beside her—daintily helped set the table. She folded the napkins into perfect triangles while Rae fetched the dishes. The excitable Shelby trotted back and forth, her snout capturing the marvelous scents raining down from the stove.
When Quinn brought the platters to the table, the malnourished dog wisely lingered near Kameko. In the space of an hour, she’d become the mutt’s greatest admirer.
The adults feigned indifference as most of the food mysteriously dropped from her plate. Her furry coconspirator made short work of it.
Dinner ended with a spontaneous round of applause for their ingenious chef. The praise took Quinn off guard.
Amid the clapping he rose from his chair. The familiar blush crept across his skin as he took a stiff bow. Yet even a kid with little experience with praise learns fast. Rummaging through the cupboards, Quinn announced he’d bake something for dessert.
While he placed ingredients on the counter, Rae noticed his dog rooting around inside his book bag. Beneath the heavy textbooks, a handful of dog food was scattered across the bottom of the bag. Shelby—tongue lolling and ears cocked—seemed agreeable to another meal. Rae chopped up small chunks of cheese. Connor fetched the peanut butter. The dog plowed through the savory mixture.
By the time the doorbell rang, and Rae ushered Yuna inside, a celebratory air had filled the living room.
On the floor, Kameko—having stolen one of Connor’s athletic socks from the laundry basket—played tug-of-war with Shelby. Her peals of laughter resounded through the room. From the couch, Connor cheered her on. Quinn did the same, in between polishing off mouthfuls of the leftover hash browns that had been growing cold on the coffee table.
Taking in the lively scene, Yuna said, “I’ll give you credit, Rae. When you make a change, you don’t settle for half measures.”
“You know me. Go big or go home.” Rae helped her out of her coat. “I thought your hubby was picking up Kameko. Did Chardon’s dedicated mayor get hung up?”
“His meeting started late. I won’t see Kipp until later tonight.” More laughter rang out. Yuna glanced affectionately at her daughter. Kameko rolled onto her belly and nuzzled Shelby’s neck. “Is the dog Quinn’s? She has a sweet temperament.”
“Can we discuss Shelby in a sec? There’s something I need to tell you.” Rae plunged forward before second thoughts intruded. “I’ve changed my mind about Night on the Square.”
“You’ll help with the fundraiser?” Yuna smiled broadly. “What made you reconsider?”
There was no simple explanation. Rescuing Shelby from Mr. Cox had brightened Rae’s outlook. Quinn’s revelations about Lark were less cheerful news. Still, he’d lent insight into Lark’s secret hopes and wishes. Rae was grateful for the knowledge. Together, the two events seemed a turning point: Rae often felt immobilized by grief, but her life was moving forward.
In fits and starts.
She was no longer stuck in place. Even if her verve for life slumbered beneath frosty layers of sorrow, she was beginning to feel, well, hopeful.
None of which she could describe at the moment. Kameko leaped up, and her eager playmate barked. Connor balled up the sock and pitched it neatly. Child and dog raced after.
Rae said, “It’s not right to bail on the June event. I made you a promise, Yuna. Count me in as your second-in-command.” She inhaled a fortifying breath. “I do have one condition.”
With expectation, Yuna stared at her.
“I’m not attending the committee meetings. I’ll do the PR legwork and report to you directly.”
“You’re not ready to see Katherine Thomerson or Sally Harrow?”
“It’s too soon.” The women were a stark reminder of Lark’s death. Rae didn’t trust herself to keep it together if forced to spend any amount of time with either woman. “I’ll keep you posted if I change my mind.”
“That’s fine.” Yuna followed her into the kitchen. “Thanks for reconsidering. We have a million tasks ahead of us. I’d be lost without your help.”
“Let’s get started this week.” Rae began to add something else. Instead, she frowned. “Don’t you teach a class tonight? Kameko’s more than welcome to stay. I’ll drop her off later.”
“The knitting class is canceled. There must be a bug going around. Two of the women are down with colds.” The sweet fragrance of cinnamon wafted through the air, and Yuna spied the loaf of banana bread cooling on the stove. “Since when do you bake?”
“Since never. Quinn made the bread.”
“Did he use one of . . . ?”
“Lark’s recipes? He did.” Rae smiled with reassurance. “It’s all right. With Quinn around, my daughter is no longer a taboo subject. He talks about her all the time.” She declined to add that he was also a surprising repository for Lark’s hidden longings, which highlighted Rae’s failures as a parent. She hadn’t supplied what Lark needed most—the truth about her father.
Regret slowed Rae’s movements as she poured coffee. “Quinn found Lark’s gluten-free flour in the freezer. He tossed a mashed avocado into the batter. Don’t tell my father. Connor hates avocados.”
“For Connor’s heart health?”
“Yes. Since Quinn moved in, we’re eating a more balanced diet.”
“When he has time, ask him to make Lark’s chocolate-zucchini bread. Two loaves. I’ll pay for one.” Yuna tipped her head to the side, her expression thoughtful. “Actually, the chocolate-zucchini bread is Quinn’s recipe. He gave it to Lark.”
Rae’s eyes misted. “I thought she found the recipe in one of my mother’s old cookbooks.”
“No, he gave it to her sometime last year.”
“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. All my assumptions about Quinn were mistaken. On the surface, he’s nothing like my daughter. Bashful, unsure. Underneath, it’s a different story.”
Yuna brushed gentle fingers across the furrow deepening in Rae’s brow. “They had a lot in common,” she said. “They were good for each other.”
“How much did you know about their friendship?”
The question lowered Yuna’s eyes. Putting her on the spot wasn’t fair. Yet after the conversation with Quinn, it was clear Lark had kept too much hidden from view.
Guilt seared Rae. A child does not come naturally to deception. The art is learned through example.
Like mother, like daughter.
Running from the thought, she cut a slice of banana bread. She set the plate before Yuna, a peace offering. “After you hired Quinn last autumn,” she prodded, “did he mention Lark?”
“All the time.”
“I understand why you didn’t tell me. Quinn was trespassing on my property.”
“He was.”
“And I’d become obsessed with his behavior. As if he’d committed a crime. Making him the central focus helped me avoid thinking about the accident, and how I’d lost my precious daughter.” The familiar grief welled as she opened the silverware drawer. Placing a fork beside the plate, she briefly caught Yuna’s gaze. “I never gave you the chance to speak up. I’m not even sure why you’ve put up with my behavior.”
“Simple. Because I love you, Rae.”
“I love you too.”
“You hold yourself to a high standard. Which I admire. But you have been through a hard time.”
“That doesn’t justify making Quinn an easy target. I’m ashamed of myself.”
“Don’t be. The police report backed up your worst suspicions. The PD shouldn’t have assumed the kids were dating. They jumped to conclusions.” Seating herself at the table, Yuna poked at the banana bread with her fork. The weight of her thoughts curved her spine. “If it’s any comfort, my husband thought I’d let you down. After I hired Quinn, we argued constantly.”
“Why were you arguing with Kipp?”
“Quinn would come into work and talk nonstop about his friendship with Lark. No doubt he was having trouble dealing with the loss. Talking about her seemed to help. All the late-night Zoom chats, and how they were sneaking around together after school.”
Yet another revelation in a day rife with them. “Lark was skipping her after-school activities?” She’d had no idea.
“And sometimes they secretly got together before the new school year began.”
“Quinn told us about how he’d struck up a friendship with my daughter . . . but he left a lot out.” More details than she’d imagined.
“Even if you hadn’t been furious about him roaming your property, I wouldn’t have told you everything I knew. We’re best friends, but I felt a responsibility to Quinn too.” Anguished, Yuna looked up quickly. “How do you break a confidence if you’re the only adult a boy can trust?”
Her desire to protect the lonely youth put something sweet in Rae’s chest. A brighter emotion to sit beside the grief.
“You don’t,” she said. “A child’s trust is sacred. You did the right thing.”
A muddy silence fell between them.
As it lengthened, she imagined Quinn trudging across Chardon Square last fall, his grief fresh over Lark’s death. The safe haven that the craft emporium represented. Yuna’s welcoming smile as she ushered him in; the tea kettle whistling as she prepared hot chocolate in the stockroom’s makeshift kitchen, where she kept treats for her staff. Did her kindness release the burden of memories Quinn yearned to share?
He’d unburdened himself with the knowledge that someone was actually listening.
Now Rae wondered: What other secrets did Quinn place in Yuna’s care?
Apprehension carried her to the table. “Lark was the only person Quinn relied on, until you hired him. He knew he could trust you. What else did he talk about, aside from my daughter?” Taking Yuna’s hand, she squeezed her cold fingers. “It’s okay. Tell me. I care about Quinn too. His safety is my primary concern.”
A flicker of relief crossed Yuna’s features, an indication that she did want to talk this out. Then apprehension colored her words as she confided, “He came into work one day with a bruise on his arm. A handprint. It was large, turning purple—I couldn’t pretend I hadn’t seen. There was no choice but to ask him about it.”
“You mean, his dad . . . ?”
A tremor shook Yuna. Shot through Rae too. What other cruelty had Quinn endured at the hands of his father?
Yuna said, “The Galeckis were drinking, per the usual. When they began fighting, Quinn tried to break it up. Mik backhanded him. Then he dragged Quinn to his bedroom. Ordered him to stay inside.”
The description chilled Rae. “Quinn stayed in his room while Mik and Penny . . . abused each other?”
“That’s what he used to do. Frankly, I’m worried Quinn spent most of his childhood cowering in his bedroom while his parents fought. Not anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
Yuna’s eyes flashed. “Last spring, your ingenious daughter came up with a solution. Whenever his parents fought, she told Quinn to lock his bedroom door and turn on the music. Then climb out his bedroom window.” Dispensing with the fork, Yuna tore off a chunk of banana bread. She chewed with gusto, the anger in her gaze melding with a sudden flash of triumph. “Quinn never stayed out past midnight, and the Galeckis were none the wiser.”
Love for her daughter edged past Rae’s worry. “Ten points for Lark.”
“She deserves a gold medal.” Tearing off another chunk of bread, Yuna eagerly stuffed it into her mouth. She stared heavenward, mumbling, “We love you, baby.”
“When you found the handprint on his arm . . . after Quinn snuck out of his parents’ house, where did he go?”
“To the movies. He didn’t come back home until the lights were off in his parents’ bedroom.”
“The poor kid.”
“Before we lost your daughter . . . you do know where he’d crash.”
The pieces tumbled into place. “My house.”
“Right.”
“All the times Connor stalked down the hallway to silence Lark’s wild cackling—Quinn was in the bedroom with her. He climbed in through her bedroom window. The house never quieted down until midnight.”
The curfew that Lark, ever sensible, set for Quinn. She would’ve ensured he drove home before he was too sleepy to get behind the wheel.
From the living room, Kameko’s laughter rang out. Barking followed. Someone applauded—Connor or Quinn.
Yuna said, “So tell me about the dog. Quinn never mentioned having a pet.”
“He didn’t, until this afternoon.”
“Gosh, Rae. Free room and board, plus a new dog. You’re vying for Woman of the Year. When did you visit the humane society?”
“I didn’t.” She explained about Mr. Cox’s maltreatment of Shelby and the seventy-five dollars she’d paid to save the dog. Wrapping up, she added, “Rescuing Shelby was a real emotional boost. There’s too much ugliness in the world. It’s not every day you get to make a difference.”
“You do look good. The first time in months.”
“And now I’m wondering . . .”
“What?”
Deep in thought, she rose. On the counter, the coffee she’d poured had grown cold. Rinsing out the cups, Rae unlocked yet another secret.
“C’mon.” She gestured toward the hallway. “I have a hunch. There’s something we need to check out.”
They retreated down the hallway, away from the barking and the scampering of feet. Kameko chasing the dog or the other way around; a heavier thud, probably Quinn, hopping up from the couch to join in. If they were teaching Shelby new tricks, hopefully the living room’s furnishings would survive the lesson.
At the door to Lark’s bedroom, Rae asked, “Last year, when Quinn and Lark first took one of your classes together, did they seem to connect fast?”
Yuna nodded. “I’m not sure why, though. Quinn never explained.”
“I know the reason.” Playfully she flicked Yuna’s nose, drawing a laugh. “Quinn told my daughter about Shelby’s plight, and they bonded instantly. Last year—when Mr. Cox’s wife walked out.”
“She left the dog behind?”
“Exactly. Now I’m wondering if a timid kid like Quinn would’ve braved his neighbor’s wrath to feed a starving dog. I’m sure he wanted to. I’m not convinced he would’ve mustered up the courage on his own.”
Understanding lit Yuna’s features. “Or was he inspired by a teenager with more bravado?”
They found the answer inside a bedroom painted spring green. An outlandish border of hand-painted, neon-yellow daisies banded the ceiling. The bed was still rumpled. Just as Lark had left it in October, before leaving for the slumber party at Stella Thomerson’s house.
The faintest hint of orange blossoms floated in the air. Rae swallowed down her grief. She chose instead to celebrate her daughter’s ingenuity. It had bolstered Quinn when his homelife was a war zone—and lent him the courage to feed a starving dog.
And, surely, the means to feed Shelby.
Plastic storage containers were stacked beside Lark’s chest of drawers. They contained all manner of art supplies. The second container down, however, wore a film of dark splotches across the rim. Fingerprints.
Wedging the container out, Rae placed it on the floor.
Ten pounds of dog food met her gaze. There was also a selfie. Appraising the photo, Rae’s breath caught—her daughter, crouched before the chain-link fence. At her side, the image of Quinn was cut off; only a sliver of his jeans and his worn boots were visible.
On the other side of the fence, the dog poked her nose through the chain link to nuzzle Lark’s ear.