The Passing Storm(34)
“I go to public school,” Jackie countered. “No one picks on me.”
“It’s different now, kiddo. Those jobs disappeared. Then Grandpa opened the dealership and created new jobs. No one remembers the factory now, or those other businesses.”
“When kids gave you a hard time . . . Rae stuck up for you?”
“And she stuck up for your mother. I first met Rae with her dukes up, in the middle of the playground. Two girls were hassling Sally, and she intervened. Told them they’d both get a fat lip if they didn’t back off.” Despite his discomfiture with the conversation’s turn, Griffin caught himself smiling. “After that, I sat beside Rae in every class. From second grade all the way through high school.”
“In high school, Rae was your girlfriend. Right?”
Discussing their earlier camaraderie was simpler. “We were friends, mostly. We’d been friends for a long time by then.” The passion that flared between them near the end of their junior year had been a mistake.
Jackie’s gaze was a searchlight trained on his face. “But Rae became your girlfriend,” she persisted. “Until you went to college. Wasn’t she?”
He nodded.
It was a reprieve when his curious niece switched topics. “When you were a kid, before you were friends with Rae, why did she stick up for Mom? Kids don’t usually defend someone they don’t know.”
“That’s simple,” Winnie put in. “Rae knew what it was like to be different. Her family wasn’t prosperous like ours, but she also stuck out like a sore thumb. She dressed like a farmer—the poor dear was utterly lacking in fashion sense. People thought her parents were hippies, growing heaven-knows-what on their farm and serenading the pigs. The strangest couple. From a mile off, you could hear music blaring from the barn. Rae’s father would tell anyone willing to listen the musical preferences of his pigs and goats. He’s still a bit of an odd sort.” This was too harsh, given the family’s recent loss. Swiftly Winnie backpedaled. “It doesn’t matter now. We must keep the Langdons in our prayers. They’re undergoing a difficult time.”
The oblique reference to Lark’s death stole the glimmer in Jackie’s eyes. She stared blankly at the table.
The gloom ebbing around her brought Griffin to a decision. He needed his older sister’s counsel on a private matter, but asking Sally for advice would have to wait.
He pulled up a chair. “We have an hour before dinner.” A curtain of grief shrouded his niece, and he spiked his voice with enthusiasm. “If I dig out my baby pictures, do you promise not to laugh? Let’s get started on my album.”
The curtain parted briefly. “All right,” Jackie agreed.
Chapter 12
The white Colonial was dark. Cutting the engine, Griffin surveyed the other houses on his street. All were aglow, the parents inside helping their children finish homework or watching TV. The older couples, he imagined, were quietly chatting or spending a few solitary hours reading.
Griffin liked being single. He liked it less at night. There was no one to share his day with, or to cuddle with on the couch. He missed intimacy, of course, but not the heavy expectations. At times, he was convinced he’d never find a woman he clicked with on all levels—intellectually, physically, and emotionally.
Maybe he should get a dog. A lumbering husky or an energetic retriever to greet him at the end of the day. His office was only ten minutes away—he’d drop in at lunchtime for a quick game of fetch.
The night was still young. On the drive back from his parents’ house, the Cavaliers had beaten the Pelicans in the game’s final seconds. Before dinner and after, there hadn’t been a way to catch his sister alone. He considered calling Sally but dismissed the idea. A difficult conversation was best handled in person.
He was skimming email on his laptop when she appeared at the living room’s threshold. For a tall woman, Sally possessed the stealth of a cat.
“Don’t you knock?” he teased, glad to see her. He set the laptop aside.
“Since when does anyone in the Marks family knock? Dad insists we have keys to each other’s houses. One of his many quirks.”
“We should rebel.”
“You first.” Sally laughed. “I’m used to Dad handing down edicts from on high. He’s been doing it all my life. All your life too.”
Opening the liquor cabinet, she assessed the bottles on the wine rack. Selecting a merlot, she eyed him questioningly. He nodded.
As Sally poured, he said, “Is this surprise visit of the psychic variety? Your timing is perfect. I need your advice.”
With affection she studied him. Physically they were similar. The same bland Marks features and generous height. Still, his sister was by far more attractive. Sally’s innate kindness shone through. Her common sense was unfailing. She was better at facing problems head-on. Even during the Boston years, Griffin had solicited her advice long-distance.
“I can’t speak to my psychic abilities, but there are two reasons why I’m here.” She handed him a glass. “For starters, I needed to drop off paperwork at Yuna’s house.”
“For the June event in Chardon Square?” His sister enjoyed social activities, working on the school’s PTO and for local organizations.