The Passing Storm(25)

Their concerns were quickly put to rest. Leaning against Quinn’s knees, Shelby lapped at the rising water. After she drank her fill, she licked the side of his face.

He laughed. “I guess she’s into bath time.”

“Thank goodness. I’d rather not chase a wet dog around the guest bathroom.”

Rae squirted a thick line of shampoo down Shelby’s back. Quinn helped work a frothy lather through the dog’s coat. The crisp scent of orange blossoms spiked the air.

“Was this Lark’s shampoo?” His expression grew wistful. “It’s familiar.”

His tone was gentle, soothing. As if to calm her, as he’d done with Shelby.

“The shampoo was Lark’s favorite,” she admitted, glad suddenly to venture into topics she’d avoided. Doing so brought a measure of relief as heartening as Quinn’s tender handling of the dog. “My daughter bought it online from a botanical site. One of her favorite places to shop.” Lark had been an adolescent detective, unearthing spa-quality products and making too many charges on Rae’s credit cards. “I’m nearly out of shampoo, and my dad’s brand is a no-go. Too spicy for a sweet girl like Shelby.”

“It’s nice.”

“I can’t bring myself to throw away her toiletries. Even her toothbrush and ten different types of body wash. It’s all beneath the sink. As if she might reappear one day and give me a hard time if I’ve thrown anything out.”

The reverie was too personal—why was she rambling on? Quinn missed Lark too. She didn’t want to burden him.

In a lighter tone, she added, “I hate to see the toiletries go to waste. Use whatever you like.”

“You don’t mind?”

“If Lark’s shampoo is okay for your dog, who cares if you splurge? She’d want you to.”

The offer seemed to please him. As did the phrase “your dog.” With a burst of joy, Quinn built the lather on Shelby’s back into foamy peaks. His soggy companion—standing agreeably in four inches of water, her belly full for perhaps the first time in months—watched him work with docile curiosity.

Leaning in, he lathered Shelby’s legs. “I’ve never had a pet before.” The dog’s sloppy pink tongue flicked out, grazing his cheek.

“Not true. You’ve been taking care of Shelby for months. In my book, she’s been your pet for a while.”

“How much does a vet cost? Can I wait until summer to take her? After graduation, I’ll work full-time.”

“You’ll need those wages to save up for culinary school. And, no, the vet can’t wait. Let’s set up a time when my dad can go with you. His schedule is looser than mine. Besides, I have a bad feeling Shelby’s overdue for a visit. Let me cover the cost.”

“Okay, but only if—”

“I know,” Rae said, cutting him off. She smiled. “You’ll swap work in trade.” Quinn’s desire not to take advantage was admirable, but there were more important concerns. Like giving him a chance to finish growing up. “Ask my dad for a list of chores you can tackle—and please space them out. You graduate from high school in June. Build in time to study for those final exams.”

“I will.”

“Good.”

“You’re really great, Rae.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“Really—I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.” Quinn reached for the watering can. He poured a gentle stream over Shelby’s head, taking care not to get shampoo in her eyes. “Watching you in action was amazing. Taking on Mr. Cox, rescuing Shelby . . . You’re a superhero.” He darted a bashful glance. “Totally awesome how you took charge of the situation.”

“Stop with the flattery. It’ll go to my head.”

“You are nice. Everyone on the street knew Mr. Cox didn’t treat Shelby right. They never got involved. You’re braver than anyone.”

“Hardly.”

“I wish Lark could’ve seen you in action. I bet she would’ve changed her opinion of you.”

The comment dropped between them, unchecked. An error, and clearly unintentional.

“Oh man. Rae, I didn’t mean . . .” Splotches of red crept up Quinn’s neck.

Struck deep, she briefly closed her eyes. Had Lark complained about her constantly? Described her as the worst sort of parent? Their relationship had been on shaky ground.

“Don’t apologize. You’re right. Lark didn’t have a high opinion of me. Not toward the end.” Weary, Rae let the water out of the tub. “Our debates were awfully heated.”

“About the things she wanted to know?”

At sea, Rae nodded. “About the facts she deserved to know. I kept them from her. A foolish decision, and now she’s gone. I’d give anything for the chance to set things right.”

“I’m sure you had good reason for not telling her about the guy.”

A starkly accurate remark—it floated in the air, unbound. They were speaking in generalities. Yet Quinn seemed cognizant of the facts. As if he was familiar with the painful topic that had damaged her relationship with her precious daughter.

The guy.

With dismay, Rae searched for an adequate response. She doubted one existed. How much did Quinn know about the substance of her arguments with Lark? Too much, apparently. The irony was remarkable, disturbing. Of all the people Lark might have confided in—any of her girlfriends, or Yuna or her grandfather—she’d chosen Quinn. The sweet, immature boy whom fate had guided into her life.