The Passing Storm(18)

“I wish I knew. They don’t view him like a son, that’s for sure. More like someone they can kick around. That’s my basic takeaway from our conversation tonight.”

“What else did you discuss? You were in the living room for a long time.”

“His homelife for a few minutes. Seemed like too hard a topic. I didn’t want to press. School, a little. Mostly we talked about Lark. He misses her something awful. I believe our bold girl was his only real friend.” Considering, her father took a sip of his drink. “Until Quinn started yammering on about her, I hadn’t noticed how much we avoid talking about Lark. Treating anything related to her as off-limits. What’s wrong with us?”

“It’s only been a few months. We’re still in shock.”

“We’re doing a lousy job of honoring her memory.”

A distinct possibility, and Rae’s shoulders sagged. The grief over losing her beloved daughter was vast, an ocean of uncharted depths she could easily drown in.

“Don’t underestimate the shock,” she insisted. “I dropped her off at a slumber party the weekend before Halloween. Three hours later, the police called. I was texting Lark, worried when she didn’t respond. It’s sheer luck I heard the landline. You’d fallen asleep in front of the TV. Everything happened so quickly . . .”

“We lost your mother the same way, when you were in high school. Too fast. There wasn’t time to prepare.”

Her mother’s death sixteen years ago had been an upheaval. An earthquake severing Rae’s childhood from the hard changes that came like successive blows.

So many hard, scarring blows. The fog of depression falling over her father after the White Hurricane took her mother. Rae’s acts of defiance, with their unforeseen consequences. The humiliation she felt, just a few months later, when she graduated from high school without Connor in attendance and her pregnancy still a secret. How the startling changes to her body, later that summer, forced her to reveal the pregnancy to her father. Connor’s anger surfacing from the depths of his depression when she refused to name the man responsible for her condition.

You’re not having this baby alone, Rae! We both know who’s the father—don’t try to stop me from making him own up for what he’s done.

Dad—no. This is my baby. Don’t you dare interfere.

The arguments didn’t last long: Rae threatened to leave Ohio. If Connor followed through on his plan to seek out the culprit, she’d go. He didn’t want to lose his daughter, or the unexpected grandchild growing heavy in her belly.

Then Lark’s birth, near the end of that year. The gloom from Hester’s death broken by a newborn’s cries. The demands of the tiny, wriggling life galvanized Connor, who regained his emotional footing. He became less introverted and fiercely devoted to his daughter and new grandchild. And Rae found new meaning in her shattered life.

“It was hard when we lost Mom,” Rae said, “but at least she enjoyed a long life. Not long enough, but she had us, and years of touring galleries.”

“Your mother still had time left to live.”

“I didn’t believe I’d survive losing her. Then I got Lark.”

“She made everything worthwhile.”

“Yes, but she wasn’t here long before she was taken from me. Dad, I lost my child,” Rae said, the bitterness thick in her voice. “I hate everyone who took her away from me. Her stupid little girlfriends and Katherine Thomerson—I hate the whole dreadful series of events.”

“The anger’s not healthy, Rae. It’s tearing you up.” Gentling the criticism, her father rested his palm on her shoulder. His tenderness nearly pulled a sob from her throat. She was swallowing it down when he added, “You have to get past it. Lark’s death was an accident. A rotten, heartbreaking accident. No one’s to blame.”

“I can’t change how I feel. Why did Katherine leave the house after the slumber party began?”

“She wasn’t gone long. It’s not like she let Stella invite her friends over and then left for hours.”

“Running an errand was stupid and self-centered. She left a house full of adolescent girls racing around. Lark never should’ve died. What’s safer than a sleepover with a bunch of girls staying up late, giggling? Only my daughter ended the night in the morgue. Not that I’ve let myself off the hook. Far from it.”

Disapproval thinned her father’s mouth. “We’ve been over this too many times. We both knew Lark wanted to skip the party. She wouldn’t give the reason. A falling-out with one of the other girls, or an argument—she wouldn’t explain.”

“I encouraged her to attend. You didn’t.”

Broken, she recalled the text Lark sent minutes before her death. A cry for help.

An accusation.

Should’ve stayed home.

On her shoulder, Connor’s fingers tightened. “What about grief counseling? I can make a few calls.”

“For you, maybe. Not for me. I’m getting through this in my own way. I’m not ready to deal with the sorrow. Only in small doses. Let too much in, and I’ll never find my way out.” Rae laughed, the sound hollow even to her own ears. “I’m sure of one thing. Having Quinn staying in our guest bedroom is Lark’s final payback. Her way of getting in the last word.”