The Passing Storm(19)
You have your secrets, Mom.
Surprise! I have a few of my own.
“Waging battle was never her intention, Rae. You do keep secrets. I’ve always respected your privacy. I held out hope you’d explain someday. Even if you didn’t, I thought you’d have the good sense to fill Lark in.”
“She asked the hard questions too soon. I wasn’t ready . . .”
“The decision was never yours. Lark decided when she was ready. She needed answers.”
There was no refuting the claim. A child without a father listed on her birth certificate would eventually have questions.
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?”