The Passing Storm(44)

On the third tree, a cord hung limply. Connor reached up and hooked it back into place. “Forgive me, Hester.” He regarded the moon riding above the cloudless night. “You spent weeks mapping out your twinkly lights. You never got a chance to finish, but they sure were pretty. I’m a shit for letting your inspiration go to seed.”

“Language.” Rae patted his back. “Mom understands. Life got in the way.”

“Your mother put a lot of thought into the design. All those different hues. Like fireflies leading from the house to the barn. All that trouble, and for what? We should’ve noticed they were falling apart. If Hester were here, she’d pitch a fit.”

In silent agreement, Rae winced. Her mother’s temper hadn’t flared often. Only when her art was the point of contention. She’d imposed strict rules governing when her family was permitted inside the studio. The only time Rae broke the rule—out of boredom on a lazy summer day—she’d touched a sculptural collage in progress. Her mother had blown sky-high.

If they couldn’t get around to repairing the lights, Hester would’ve preferred they were taken down.

“Sorry, Mom.” Rae sent an apologetic glance at the moon. “We screwed up.”

From the back deck, Quinn said, “We should fix them.” He kept flipping the switch, as if repeated attempts would produce a better outcome. “We’ve got lots of supplies in the basement. More than enough. Connor, do you know how they’re supposed to go up? If you don’t, let’s wing it.”

“There’s no need—I have my wife’s schematic. She was a perfectionist. The design is as detailed as an architectural rendering.” Connor chuckled. “Hester was also big on overkill. It’s a wonder she didn’t sketch in leaves on the trees.”

Quinn hurried down the steps. “Where’s the schematic?”

“In my nightstand.”

“That’s great! Maybe when we finish, I can bring a friend over to see them.”

Friend? What friend? Rae exchanged a curious glance with her father. Not once since moving in had the boy mentioned anyone from school.

“Who is he?” she asked, happy to learn her daughter hadn’t been his only companion. Given all the stress in his life, he could use a buddy.

“Not a guy . . . Ava. We’re not really friends. Not yet anyway. She’s in eleventh grade. Sometimes she says hi when I see her between classes. She’s always nice when she sees me.”

The explanation seemed to test the limits of Quinn’s ability to discuss the issue, and he blushed to his hairline. From the looks of it, he had a serious crush on a girl at school. It was such a sweetly normal dilemma that Rae nearly laughed out loud.

Connor looked equally pleased. “You like Ava?” he asked bluntly.

Quinn’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. He managed to nod.

“What are you waiting for? Ask her out!”

“Oh, I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

Rae swatted her father. “Dad, what is it with you today?” Encouraging her to try a dating site, and now badgering their clearly embarrassed houseguest about asking out a girl at school—maybe Connor was the one who needed to kick-start his romantic life. A notion that did make her laugh out loud as she added, “He didn’t ask your advice on how to handle the situation. And Quinn, if she’s greeting you in the hallways, that constitutes friendship in my book. Do you ever stop when you see Ava, just to share small talk? I’m sure she’d enjoy talking to you.”

“It’s too hard, at school. You know . . . finding a way to strike up a conversation. There’s not much time between classes.”

“What about at the coffee shop on Chardon Square?” After school, the place was usually filled with teenagers—especially the older kids. College students too. “If you see Ava hanging out there, it might be easier to chat. Less pressure, and you don’t have to worry about running late for your next class.”

He brightened. “That’s what I’ve been thinking. Maybe I’ll run into her at the coffee shop, and it’ll make everything simpler.”

Connor rolled his eyes. “Don’t overthink your strategy, Quinn. It’ll just make you more nervous when you do talk to her. Trust me on this. When I was your age, I was just as bashful. Seeing a pretty girl . . . why, my first impulse was to run in the opposite direction.”

The disclosure spilled relief across his features. “Tell me about it!” He studied Connor with interest. “You were bashful once? Man, I never would’ve guessed.”

“I grew out of it. Meeting Rae’s mother helped. Having the right woman at my side was more good fortune than I deserved. Hester was the love of my life.”

For a fleeting moment, sadness flickered in her father’s gaze. Rae understood the parts he was leaving out: Connor hadn’t fully come into his own until after her mother’s death, when Lark was born. When he’d needed to take control of his depression and help Rae manage their lives. The worst of times break some people; her father, however, found his inner strength. He went on medication to ease the darkest periods of depression and threw himself wholeheartedly into helping raise his granddaughter.

Letting the subject go, Connor sniffed the air. “Winter is wrapping up. I doubt we’ll have more snow.”