The Passing Storm(28)

Yuna brushed gentle fingers across the furrow deepening in Rae’s brow. “They had a lot in common,” she said. “They were good for each other.”

“How much did you know about their friendship?”

The question lowered Yuna’s eyes. Putting her on the spot wasn’t fair. Yet after the conversation with Quinn, it was clear Lark had kept too much hidden from view.

Guilt seared Rae. A child does not come naturally to deception. The art is learned through example.

Like mother, like daughter.

Running from the thought, she cut a slice of banana bread. She set the plate before Yuna, a peace offering. “After you hired Quinn last autumn,” she prodded, “did he mention Lark?”

“All the time.”

“I understand why you didn’t tell me. Quinn was trespassing on my property.”

“He was.”

“And I’d become obsessed with his behavior. As if he’d committed a crime. Making him the central focus helped me avoid thinking about the accident, and how I’d lost my precious daughter.” The familiar grief welled as she opened the silverware drawer. Placing a fork beside the plate, she briefly caught Yuna’s gaze. “I never gave you the chance to speak up. I’m not even sure why you’ve put up with my behavior.”

“Simple. Because I love you, Rae.”

“I love you too.”

“You hold yourself to a high standard. Which I admire. But you have been through a hard time.”

“That doesn’t justify making Quinn an easy target. I’m ashamed of myself.”

“Don’t be. The police report backed up your worst suspicions. The PD shouldn’t have assumed the kids were dating. They jumped to conclusions.” Seating herself at the table, Yuna poked at the banana bread with her fork. The weight of her thoughts curved her spine. “If it’s any comfort, my husband thought I’d let you down. After I hired Quinn, we argued constantly.”

“Why were you arguing with Kipp?”

“Quinn would come into work and talk nonstop about his friendship with Lark. No doubt he was having trouble dealing with the loss. Talking about her seemed to help. All the late-night Zoom chats, and how they were sneaking around together after school.”

Yet another revelation in a day rife with them. “Lark was skipping her after-school activities?” She’d had no idea.

“And sometimes they secretly got together before the new school year began.”

“Quinn told us about how he’d struck up a friendship with my daughter . . . but he left a lot out.” More details than she’d imagined.

“Even if you hadn’t been furious about him roaming your property, I wouldn’t have told you everything I knew. We’re best friends, but I felt a responsibility to Quinn too.” Anguished, Yuna looked up quickly. “How do you break a confidence if you’re the only adult a boy can trust?”

Her desire to protect the lonely youth put something sweet in Rae’s chest. A brighter emotion to sit beside the grief.

“You don’t,” she said. “A child’s trust is sacred. You did the right thing.”

A muddy silence fell between them.

As it lengthened, she imagined Quinn trudging across Chardon Square last fall, his grief fresh over Lark’s death. The safe haven that the craft emporium represented. Yuna’s welcoming smile as she ushered him in; the tea kettle whistling as she prepared hot chocolate in the stockroom’s makeshift kitchen, where she kept treats for her staff. Did her kindness release the burden of memories Quinn yearned to share?

He’d unburdened himself with the knowledge that someone was actually listening.

Now Rae wondered: What other secrets did Quinn place in Yuna’s care?

Apprehension carried her to the table. “Lark was the only person Quinn relied on, until you hired him. He knew he could trust you. What else did he talk about, aside from my daughter?” Taking Yuna’s hand, she squeezed her cold fingers. “It’s okay. Tell me. I care about Quinn too. His safety is my primary concern.”

A flicker of relief crossed Yuna’s features, an indication that she did want to talk this out. Then apprehension colored her words as she confided, “He came into work one day with a bruise on his arm. A handprint. It was large, turning purple—I couldn’t pretend I hadn’t seen. There was no choice but to ask him about it.”

“You mean, his dad . . . ?”

A tremor shook Yuna. Shot through Rae too. What other cruelty had Quinn endured at the hands of his father?

Yuna said, “The Galeckis were drinking, per the usual. When they began fighting, Quinn tried to break it up. Mik backhanded him. Then he dragged Quinn to his bedroom. Ordered him to stay inside.”

The description chilled Rae. “Quinn stayed in his room while Mik and Penny . . . abused each other?”

“That’s what he used to do. Frankly, I’m worried Quinn spent most of his childhood cowering in his bedroom while his parents fought. Not anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

Yuna’s eyes flashed. “Last spring, your ingenious daughter came up with a solution. Whenever his parents fought, she told Quinn to lock his bedroom door and turn on the music. Then climb out his bedroom window.” Dispensing with the fork, Yuna tore off a chunk of banana bread. She chewed with gusto, the anger in her gaze melding with a sudden flash of triumph. “Quinn never stayed out past midnight, and the Galeckis were none the wiser.”