The Passing Storm(29)

Love for her daughter edged past Rae’s worry. “Ten points for Lark.”

“She deserves a gold medal.” Tearing off another chunk of bread, Yuna eagerly stuffed it into her mouth. She stared heavenward, mumbling, “We love you, baby.”

“When you found the handprint on his arm . . . after Quinn snuck out of his parents’ house, where did he go?”

“To the movies. He didn’t come back home until the lights were off in his parents’ bedroom.”

“The poor kid.”

“Before we lost your daughter . . . you do know where he’d crash.”

The pieces tumbled into place. “My house.”

“Right.”

“All the times Connor stalked down the hallway to silence Lark’s wild cackling—Quinn was in the bedroom with her. He climbed in through her bedroom window. The house never quieted down until midnight.”

The curfew that Lark, ever sensible, set for Quinn. She would’ve ensured he drove home before he was too sleepy to get behind the wheel.

From the living room, Kameko’s laughter rang out. Barking followed. Someone applauded—Connor or Quinn.

Yuna said, “So tell me about the dog. Quinn never mentioned having a pet.”

“He didn’t, until this afternoon.”

“Gosh, Rae. Free room and board, plus a new dog. You’re vying for Woman of the Year. When did you visit the humane society?”

“I didn’t.” She explained about Mr. Cox’s maltreatment of Shelby and the seventy-five dollars she’d paid to save the dog. Wrapping up, she added, “Rescuing Shelby was a real emotional boost. There’s too much ugliness in the world. It’s not every day you get to make a difference.”

“You do look good. The first time in months.”

“And now I’m wondering . . .”

“What?”

Deep in thought, she rose. On the counter, the coffee she’d poured had grown cold. Rinsing out the cups, Rae unlocked yet another secret.

“C’mon.” She gestured toward the hallway. “I have a hunch. There’s something we need to check out.”

They retreated down the hallway, away from the barking and the scampering of feet. Kameko chasing the dog or the other way around; a heavier thud, probably Quinn, hopping up from the couch to join in. If they were teaching Shelby new tricks, hopefully the living room’s furnishings would survive the lesson.

At the door to Lark’s bedroom, Rae asked, “Last year, when Quinn and Lark first took one of your classes together, did they seem to connect fast?”

Yuna nodded. “I’m not sure why, though. Quinn never explained.”

“I know the reason.” Playfully she flicked Yuna’s nose, drawing a laugh. “Quinn told my daughter about Shelby’s plight, and they bonded instantly. Last year—when Mr. Cox’s wife walked out.”

“She left the dog behind?”

“Exactly. Now I’m wondering if a timid kid like Quinn would’ve braved his neighbor’s wrath to feed a starving dog. I’m sure he wanted to. I’m not convinced he would’ve mustered up the courage on his own.”

Understanding lit Yuna’s features. “Or was he inspired by a teenager with more bravado?”

They found the answer inside a bedroom painted spring green. An outlandish border of hand-painted, neon-yellow daisies banded the ceiling. The bed was still rumpled. Just as Lark had left it in October, before leaving for the slumber party at Stella Thomerson’s house.

The faintest hint of orange blossoms floated in the air. Rae swallowed down her grief. She chose instead to celebrate her daughter’s ingenuity. It had bolstered Quinn when his homelife was a war zone—and lent him the courage to feed a starving dog.

And, surely, the means to feed Shelby.

Plastic storage containers were stacked beside Lark’s chest of drawers. They contained all manner of art supplies. The second container down, however, wore a film of dark splotches across the rim. Fingerprints.

Wedging the container out, Rae placed it on the floor.

Ten pounds of dog food met her gaze. There was also a selfie. Appraising the photo, Rae’s breath caught—her daughter, crouched before the chain-link fence. At her side, the image of Quinn was cut off; only a sliver of his jeans and his worn boots were visible.

On the other side of the fence, the dog poked her nose through the chain link to nuzzle Lark’s ear.





Chapter 10


Shelby’s tail thumped the floor, an anxious metronome as Quinn walked past.

Climbing into bed, he drew the sheet to his chin. Next came the blanket. The plush fabric was a sensory delight as he pulled it over his chest. Each night he performed the same ritual, folding the comforter across his waist and smoothing out the wrinkles. There were four pillows on the queen-size bed; he chose a different one each night. All four were marvels, fat and airy. Not one smelled of mold.

Shelby followed his every move with alert, eager devotion. A luxurious silence enveloped the house.

“C’mon, girl,” he whispered.

With canine befuddlement she dipped her head.

“It’s okay. We’re safe.” He patted the mattress. “Jump up.”

Snuggling with a human, in a human’s bed, was an indulgence beyond the dog’s experience. Hindquarters quivering, she approached. Her damp nose snuffled across Quinn’s knuckles. Whining, she trotted back to the center of the rug.