The Passing Storm(21)
An unhappy situation for a standin babysitter, especially a subpar one. Rae turned in a desperate circle. Where was Yuna?
She spotted her at the back of the shop. Palms raised, Yuna was fending off complaints from a disgruntled customer. The fashionably dressed blonde—loaded down with a basket of art supplies—wagged an impatient hand toward the line at the cash register. She got in Yuna’s face, her complaints rising in pitch. Yuna looked ready to weep.
Rae’s nostrils flared. Her tolerance for bullies was precisely zero.
She charged forward. At the sudden movement, Kameko dug pointy elbows into her neck. Her cherub’s face bobbing, she tried to assess what the fuss was about.
The blonde was better clued in. Sensing danger, she whirled around. Her startled gaze shot from Rae’s wriggling prey to the fluttering tail of toilet paper.
Rae skidded to a halt. “Is there a problem?”
The woman angled her neck. “What business is it of yours?”
“Don’t press my buttons, lady. You want service? Wait your turn like everyone else.”
Yuna’s mouth lifted in a watery smile. “Rae, it’s all right.” She was ready to weep.
“No, it’s not.” On her shoulder, Kameko stilled. No doubt Rae’s defense of her beleaguered mother pleased her. “Lady, get in line. I’m not letting you hassle my friend.”
“Well, I can’t wait. I have an appointment.”
“Which you’ll miss, unless you stop complaining.”
An impasse, and the woman tottered on her heels.
“Did you hear me?” Rae stepped closer—a vivid, animated presence. “Get moving!”
The woman’s jaw loosened. Snapping it shut, she rushed to the back of the line.
At her fast retreat, Kameko released a grateful breath. She patted Rae’s back.
Yuna gripped her skull. “Bestie, you’re a lifesaver.” She flashed a warning finger at her daughter. “Stop running around and behave for Auntie Rae.” She sprinted to the cash register.
In the bathroom, Kameko let Rae peel down her tights and remove the offending toilet paper. They both washed their hands.
“Auntie Rae, why was the lady shouting at Mommy?”
“Some people get impatient, bean sprout.”
“What’s ‘impatient’?”
“They don’t like taking turns. They always want to be first.”
“That’s silly.” Kameko bounced on her toes. Growing still, she glanced longingly at the bathroom stall. “Can I go again?”
“Don’t let me stop you.” Rae hesitated. “Do you need help?” At five, Kameko juggled babyish behavior with fierce independence.
“I’m okay.” The stall banged shut. Humming punctuated the short interlude. Then she said, “Quinn told Mommy I can stay with him and Mr. Connor.”
“And me,” Rae offered. More juice boxes were out of the question, and she searched for an activity sure to raise her ranking in the child’s affections. “Want to water the houseplants? We’ll feed them too.”
“You didn’t kill them?”
“Give me a break. You watered them last weekend. I promise, they’re thriving.”
“What’s ‘thriving’?”
Sorrow brushed across Rae’s lips unbidden, swift. She mustered the courage to breathe it in. “It means we’re taking good care of Lark’s houseplants.”
“Are we allowed to talk about Lark now? Mommy said we shouldn’t.”
A kindness—Yuna understood the dangerous terrain of grieving. Rae had yet to begin the journey in a meaningful way. But their unspoken agreement was forged by adults; Kameko had been affected too. Banishing Lark from conversation made no sense to her. From a five-year-old’s perspective, Lark had gone away. She wasn’t gone forever.
No wonder Kameko worried about Rae killing the plants. She’d killed off all mention of her daughter. A thoughtless choice. We breathe life into our memories by celebrating those loved ones in conversation.
Rae said, “We can talk about Lark whenever you want.”
Inside the stall, silence bloomed. At length Kameko said, “Why didn’t Lark take her plants when she went to heaven? She loved them.”
“She wanted you to take care of them.”
“Can I visit Lark? I miss her.”
The question pierced Rae. “I’m sorry, bean sprout. You can’t see Lark until you go to heaven. Not for a long, long time.”
The toilet flushed. “Can Daddy see Lark’s plants when he picks me up?”
“That’s a great idea.”
“Daddy likes plants. He grows pretty flowers for Mommy when the snow goes away.” From beneath the stall, Kameko’s feet shuffled about. Grunting, she tugged up her tights. “Can I play tag with Quinn? Or color pictures with Mr. Connor? Mommy said he’ll be happy to color pictures with me.”
“Whatever you’d like,” Rae said brightly, concealing the hurt. Even her father rated higher in Kameko’s affections than she did. “When is Daddy coming for you?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Kameko scampered to the sink. “Later?”
Under normal circumstances, Yuna wouldn’t ask Connor to aid in a babysitting intervention. With Quinn’s help, he’d manage. Which begged the question—why hadn’t she asked Rae instead?