The Passing Storm(32)

“About what?”

Brow arching, he leveled her with a glance. None of your business.

“Ah. I see,” she said brightly. She’d always taken pride in the close relationship between her two children. Changing the subject, she asked, “Did you land the winery?”

“The one in Geneva? Not yet. They’re waiting for another quote from an outfit in Shaker Heights. I should have an answer by next week.” He hesitated. “Am I interrupting?”

“Of course not. Come see what we’re doing.” She waved him closer. “Your father and Trenton are still at the dealership. We’ll eat at six thirty.”

“Beef bourguignon?” He’d caught the mouthwatering scent on his way upstairs.

“Compliments of your sister. She’s in the kitchen, finishing up.”

Cartons surrounded the table. Inside were neatly organized white packets of photos. The more recent additions Winnie had downloaded and made into glossies. She despised the ephemeral nature of selfies and social media; every month or two, she ordered physical copies of the best snaps from her phone. Winnie also loved crafts, everything from needlework and quilting to paint-by-number pictures she completed and then stored away.

Apparently, she was now devising a new project to occupy her granddaughter. Since Lark’s funeral, she’d led Jackie through a variety of crafts. Winnie held the unshakable belief that with enough busywork, her granddaughter would regain her sunny temperament.

Sidestepping the boxes, Griffin appraised his niece. Jackie was bent over a leather album, a group of photos by her elbow. Her disturbingly chopped hair stuck up every which way. Faint shadows rimmed her eyes. Her skin was unnaturally pale, as if she hadn’t glimpsed sunlight in days.

When he rested his palm on her shoulder, she barely stirred. “How are you, kiddo?”

“Okay, I guess.”

“Did you go to school today?”

“Grandma let me stay with her.”

“I was glad for the company,” Winnie put in. Her instinct to protect her only grandchild was fierce.

“Mom, she can’t keep skipping school. Tenth grade begins soon. The coursework gets harder.”

“How you exaggerate. It’s only February. Jackie won’t finish this term for another four months.”

Jackie’s eyes lifted. “I’ll go to school tomorrow, Uncle Griffin. I’ll keep up with the work.”

“I have your word?”

“Sure.” Putting the debate to rest, she nodded at the images before her. “Which one do you like? I can’t decide.”

From the looks of it, she was filling the album in chronological order, from her birth to the present day. Griffin sifted through the photos, taken when she was in elementary school. Jackie posing in a purple mermaid costume for Halloween. Playing basketball with a group of other girls. His niece seated on the front lawn before the Thomerson mansion, her arm slung around Stella Thomerson’s neck.

In the background, Lark was a flash of movement, cartwheeling across the field of green.

“This one.” Taking care to keep pity from his voice, Griffin handed over the photo. On closer inspection, he saw that many of the photos caught Lark in the background—moving, laughing, spinning in circles. None featured her in the foreground.

His mother said, “You’ll get an album too, Griffin. Jackie is making one for each of us.”

“Sounds like a big project.”

“It’ll give us something to do until the weather thaws. This endless winter—what I’d give to see daffodils springing up in my flower beds.”

“Me too,” Jackie said. “I’m tired of all the snow.”

Winnie gave her a quick hug. “We’ll muddle through, dearest heart.” Drawing back, she withdrew a packet from the carton at her feet. She sent Griffin a mischievous glance. “Care to waltz down memory lane?”

“Is that an actual or a metaphorical question?”

“Actual. This box contains your visual history, all thirty-three years.”

“What about Sally?”

“Oh, I have all her photographs in another box—everything from her first baby pictures to a recent anniversary photo with Trenton. Pulling together your sister’s visual heritage was easy, but I am missing a chunk from your twenties. Before we get started on your album, let me skim through your smartphone. We should include a few snaps of Boston.”

“Whenever you’d like.”

After college, Griffin had started his career as an account executive at a graphics firm in Boston. He’d intended to put down roots on that coast. The money was good, and he dated a girl at the firm. When the relationship didn’t pan out, his parents began dropping hints about the business possibilities back home. Geauga County was thriving.

Two years ago, his father made an unexpected offer. The deed to the two-story brick building across the street from Marks Auto would transfer to Griffin if he cut ties in Boston and returned to Ohio. The building now housed Design Mark. The move had been a good one, and Griffin enjoyed being his own boss. With a staff of seven, he was building a client list across the Great Lakes region.

Opening the packet, Winnie spread the photos out. “Oh, Griffin—look. This was taken when you set Bubbles free. Weren’t you the cutest thing?”