The Passing Storm(35)

“I’m on the committee for Night on the Square. I promised Yuna I’d get information and bids from local restaurants. We’re discussing menu options.”

Yuna’s family lived next door. “She’s running the event?”

“Oh, you know how she is. Yuna prefers to keep everything democratic—Chardon’s original diplomat—but she’s in charge.”

“What’s the other reason for your visit?”

In response, she lovingly pressed her finger to his chest. As she’d done when he was five or fifteen.

“You tell me, baby brother. You weren’t yourself at dinner. You hardly spoke. What’s bothering you?”

The conversation was months overdue. Floundering, he wondered why he didn’t go to Sally immediately. Or later, once it became clear he was being drawn into a complicated situation.

There was no simple way to begin. At a loss, he said, “I knew Lark. We met not long before she died.”

Sally’s lips pursed. “How is that possible? You’ve done everything in your power to avoid Rae and her family.”

Only once did Griffin break the self-imposed rule; there was no reason to enlighten his sister. At Lark’s memorial service, Sally and her family sat in a pew near the front. He stood in the rear of the somber church, drowning in a sea of emotion he didn’t dare analyze. From his vantage point, only the fire-burst of Rae’s hair was visible in the crowd of mourners.

Dismissing the reverie, he said, “Believe me, I didn’t go out of my way to meet Rae’s daughter. Far from it.”

“Where did you meet?”

“At my firm.” When disbelief flooded his sister’s face, he calmly added, “Lark used to come by. Fairly often, toward the end. Please don’t quiz your daughter about the visits—I doubt Jackie knew anything about it. Lark always came in alone.”

The wineglass paused midway to his sister’s mouth. “Why was Lark popping into Design Mark? What interest did she have in the company?”

“She was researching the gig economy for a school report. She needed background on website design and the educational requirements for a career in graphic design. Or so she said.”

“And this was . . . ?”

“The visits began in early September. Lark ducked into my office when my assistant wasn’t at her desk. She launched into an introduction, as if I didn’t know who she was.”

“That’s gutsy.”

“You’re telling me. I didn’t have that much gumption until I began my career.”

Sally kicked off her shoes. “Having a paycheck on the line will teach anyone a thing or two about chutzpah. I’m glad you found yours.” She swung her feet onto the coffee table.

“It took practice to hone the skill set. But not for Lark. She was perfectly at ease. She breezed into my office like she owned the place.” Discussing this was difficult, and Griffin set his wineglass aside. “It seemed perfectly innocent. A kid doing research for school and needing information. In retrospect, she must’ve planned the whole thing out.”

“From a ninth grader’s perspective, website design is cool. All those big-screen monitors and the design programs—nirvana for an adolescent.”

“She was fascinated with the tech.”

Sally regarded him with concern. “What was it like, meeting Rae’s daughter?”

“Difficult,” he admitted. “Don’t get me wrong—I don’t bear Rae ill will. Whatever her reasons for breaking off our relationship back in high school, it no longer matters. Still, I didn’t relish having a face-to-face with her daughter.” At sea, he lowered his elbows to his knees. Rehashing old hurts wasn’t productive. He’d abandoned speculation about Rae’s motives years ago. “Seeing Lark in the flesh . . . I was struck by how much she resembled her grandmother Hester. The same doll face and light-blonde hair. The same fascination with art. Her personality was another matter.”

With understanding, Sally nodded. “She had Rae’s boldness, the same self-confidence.” She took a reflexive sip of her wine. “Why didn’t that trait come through from our parents? I mean, look at Mom and Dad. No one ever pushes them around. Why are we both . . . milquetoasts?”

A much-needed moment of levity, and Griffin smiled. “I can’t believe you’re asking. If either of us was born with confidence, Dad excised it with surgical precision.”

“Remember Dad’s grilling sessions?”

“I try not to.”

“Even over small decisions, we’d have to explain ourselves.” Sally gave a mock shiver. “I hated those sessions. Why couldn’t Dad let us wing it?”

“He’s too controlling. I grew up believing my first impulse was always the wrong one. A logical conclusion since the great and infallible Everett Marks was sure to question any choice I made.” Letting the topic go, Griffin succumbed to the pull of curiosity. “There’s something about Rae I don’t get,” he said, breezing past the instinct to protect his emotions.

“Which is?”

“How does a woman with enough guts to climb the Himalayas become the office manager for an insurance agency? It’s not a career I’d describe as colorful. When we were kids, Rae was fearless.”