The Passing Storm(12)

The innocent remark hit too close to home. “No, you’re not,” she agreed in a forced, neutral tone.

“If we got into a dustup, you could take me. Thanks for not kicking my ass.”

“Language.” Apparently, he assumed humor was the perfect icebreaker. “Swear words are unbecoming, even for a teenager.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Quinn gave a jaunty salute. A boy with deplorable parents, but Rae suddenly understood why so many adults in town liked him. There was something quirky and unusual about him. A softness blended with harder, more enduring qualities.

His features were too delicate. Tougher kids probably teased him. It didn’t help that his eyes were large, fringed with thick lashes. They sparked with intelligence and compassion—a higher emotion that most people didn’t cultivate until they were older, if at all. No wonder Yuna had put him on the craft emporium’s payroll. The act of a Good Samaritan, but she’d also glimpsed his better qualities.

A startling discovery: it was easier to hate the idea of a person than the genuine article.

“For the record, you didn’t scare me.” Rae led him away from the loathsome tree. “You were sitting where I found my mother, after the White Hurricane. It was a long time ago.” Needing to change the subject, she scanned the acres. “How did you get out here?”

He motioned toward the forest. “My truck is on the road.”

“Not a smart move with the low visibility. There’s more snow coming.”

“I parked on the berm.” Curiosity flitted through his eyes. “I’ve never heard of the White Hurricane. When did it happen?”

“Sixteen years ago.” She sighed. “I’d rather not discuss it.”

“No problem.” In a bid to appear nonchalant, he pulled up the collar on his parka. “I just don’t get why remembering a hurricane almost made you puke. None of my business.”

“That’s right.”

“Some people act weird in bad weather. Emily lives across the street from my parents, and storms make her pee. No joke. I was out grabbing the mail one day when lightning cracked the sky. There was Emily in her driveway, a yellow trickle going down her leg.”

“How old is she?”

“Around three, I guess.”

“Lots of toddlers are scared of bad weather.” Rae gave him a disapproving look. “You didn’t make fun of her, did you?”

“No!” Embarrassment flooded Quinn’s face. “I’d never tease a little kid. She’ll get her act together, eventually.”

“She will.” They’d reached a hilly section of the property, where the snow was deeper. Climbing at a careful pace, Rae added, “And to be clear, my upset stomach isn’t weather-related. It’s more complicated.”

“If you say so. Storms and such don’t bug me either. Most of the time, anyway.” He glanced back at the trail they’d left in the snow. “Was your mom sitting under the tree when the storm rolled in? The guy who moved in next door to my parents—he has more tattoos than you can count—he’s really into storms. Gets a high from watching them or something. He’ll sit on his front stoop with a six-pack in all sorts of weather. Lightning, hail, you name it.”

“Your neighbor sounds slightly . . . offbeat.”

“But he’s nice. Once, he gave me a ride on his Harley. Just around the block.” Quinn paused, and she wondered if he planned to describe all the neighbors on his street. As if she were a close friend eager for the details. A suspicion he confirmed by adding, “Want a real example of meanness? You should get a load of Mr. Cox. Yelling at kids for no reason and giving the newspaper lady a hard time. If the newspaper hits the snow instead of his driveway, he’s out there bellowing as she drives away. Mrs. Cox packed up and left him about a year ago. What I don’t get is . . . why’d she leave without taking Shelby?”

“Who’s Shelby?”

“Her rescue dog. Mrs. Cox adopted her from the humane society right around when I started high school. Real cute mutt. Mr. Cox leaves Shelby in the backyard all the time.”

“Oh, that’s sad.”

“Tell me about it. He only lets her in at night, probably to punish Mrs. Cox for leaving. Doesn’t make sense, though. She’s long gone.” A sudden burst of satisfaction lit Quinn’s face. “Everything’s cool now. I have Mr. Cox’s work schedule down. I sneak over to feed Shelby—he’s stingy with the kibble. I check her water bowl too.”

“You take care of the dog . . . without your neighbor catching on?” The ill-tempered Mr. Cox was cruel.

As for Quinn, he wasn’t merely quirky. He was also kind. Helpful too. Among his other good deeds, he’d changed the oil in the tractor Rae used in warm-weather months to mow the pasture when the grass reached knee-height. And he’d spruced up her father’s shop.

His positive attributes stood in stark contrast to his more serious misjudgments. An issue Rae planned to bring up before they parted ways.

“I hate when people are mean to animals,” he was saying. When she smiled in silent agreement, he deftly maneuvered back to the original topic. “The White Hurricane was sixteen years ago? Seems weird for a place like Ohio. I thought hurricanes only happened near the ocean, in places like Texas or Florida.”