The Passing Storm(60)
“No, she’s not.” Griffin couldn’t halt the urgency in his voice. “It won’t matter.”
“She doesn’t know Mik any better than I do!”
“Forget logic, Yuna. It doesn’t apply to broken people.”
“Why should Mik care at all? He should be grateful Quinn has somewhere nice to stay, free room and board in a house with adults who really like him—no, more than that. Rae and Connor are invested in his welfare. They want to help him succeed in life, in all the ways that matter. It’s like he’s become a member of their family.”
Yuna cut off suddenly. Her gaze darkened with fear as it clung to his, seeking reassurance, needing a guarantee impossible to give.
“Griffin, be straight with me. Do you think Mik poses a danger to Rae?”
Unease stole into Griffin’s bones.
Yes.
Deftly, he hid the unease behind a look of reassurance. “No harm will come to Rae,” he promised. “Just keep me informed.”
Chapter 22
A long, hot shower was normally a weekend luxury.
Rae didn’t care. She took her time washing her long reddish-gold hair, savoring the therapeutic pounding of water droplets on her back.
Would more headaches spoil the new week?
Rae was tired of feeling like a criminal. She’d spent the better part of last week sprinting down the alley behind the Witt Agency for quick visits to Yuna’s shop, or to grab lunch at a nearby restaurant. An indignity, to be sure. There’d been no better option to avoid the flurry of obscenities pitched from Penny’s car each time she drove by.
At least Penny couldn’t dump more trash in front of the Witt Agency. Her days of risk-free vandalism were over. The nearby shop owners and businesses were now keeping an eye out. With tax season approaching, several of the overworked employees at the accounting firm were arriving for work at dawn. Later in the day, the owners of the antique shop took turns patrolling the street.
If Quinn’s mother planned more foolishness, she’d have to haul herself from bed before sunup. There was little chance a woman into late-night partying could pull off an early-bird routine.
Confident the new workweek would prove calmer, Rae took her time dressing and drying her hair. Out of habit, she reached for a scrunchie—usually she pulled her unruly tresses into a loose ponytail for the office. Tossing the scrunchie aside, she let her hair tumble past her shoulders. She felt good. There’d be no public shaming this week.
At just past seven thirty, she left her bedroom with a bounce in her step. An early start today—her boss, Evelyn, was back from vacation. Rae planned to catch up on paperwork before their ten o’clock meeting. Connor’s bedroom door was still closed; his rumbling snores drifted out as she walked past.
Quinn was at the kitchen table, staring off into space. His book bag leaned against the chair, zipped up and ready for the school day. Shelby, nosing around her food bowl, gobbled down the last chunks of kibble.
Rae turned on the coffeepot. “Aren’t you having breakfast?” There wasn’t even a glass of juice before him.
“I’m not hungry.”
“You’re sure? I can make toast.”
“Don’t bother.”
Normally Quinn ate a hearty breakfast. If Connor woke early, lending Quinn an excuse to whip up a meal, a dozen eggs and half a pound of bacon could disappear from the fridge. Not to mention half a bag of potatoes, and most of the pancake mix. A teenager’s pride is a fragile thing, and Connor—grizzled and time tested like an old-fashioned stopwatch—was a skilled thespian. Playing his role convincingly, he pretended to need a large breakfast to start the day.
It was all the encouragement Quinn required to begin grabbing skillets and cooking supplies.
Once the platters were filled and Connor changed his mind—complaining about how he hated to see all the good eats go to waste—Quinn dug in. He’d consume enough calories to put the average person into a food coma.
He never skipped breakfast altogether. “You look tired,” Rae said, concerned. “Did you get enough sleep?” Sometimes he stayed up late studying.
“I’m okay.” He gave her a cursory glance. “Your hair looks nice.”
Giving her head a playful shake, she hoped to draw a smile. “We all need to let our hair down sometimes.” When no reaction was forthcoming, she ditched the humor. “Any tests this week?” she asked.
“Nothing major.” He watched Shelby trot out of the kitchen, no doubt to doze on his still-warm bed. “Just a few quizzes.”
“That’s good.”
He pulled out his car keys. “I guess.” He stuffed them back into his coat pocket.
On the parenting highway, his indecision signaled distress. Was there something he needed to discuss? He was also back to his old trick of avoiding eye contact. Another bad sign.
Worried, Rae turned off the coffeepot. Filling her travel mug, she searched for a new conversation starter. Whatever troubled him, he appeared in no hurry to open up. Leaving for work wasn’t an option until she got to the bottom of it. How to proceed was the real issue. They didn’t have a natural rapport. Without Connor to provide the essential chemistry, many of their interactions were stilted or brief.
“Should I pick up dinner on my way home?” Opening the fridge, she pretended to hunt for a breakfast option. “Do you want pizza tonight? Or I can bring home Thai. You liked it, the last time.”