The Passing Storm(72)
Shelby barked.
The sound broke the sweet interlude.
Connor reached them. “The lights look great, don’t they?” He caught a whiff of the tenderness passing between his daughter and their young houseguest. “This looks like a Kodak moment. Aw, Rae—your nose is all runny. You’re not going to cry, are you?”
“Too late,” Quinn said. “She’s already gone there.” He regarded them both with confusion. “What’s a Kodak moment?”
They ate a ridiculous amount of Italian food. Quinn’s dog, doing her part, sampled veal and sausage and greedily accepted a bowl of ravioli. Rae wasn’t sure if red sauce was healthy for a dog, so she rinsed the pasta first.
As they were finishing up, Shelby flopped down in the center of the kitchen and dozed on her back. Her paws twitched. She resembled a beached whale with fur.
“Well, I’m done.” Connor gestured at the empty platters strewn across the table. “You two clean up. My knees are on fire. I need to soak these old bones in Epsom salts.”
Wrinkling his nose, Quinn leaned toward Rae. “What’s he talking about?” he whispered.
“Soaking in a bath.”
“Got it,” he murmured as Connor shuffled past. “Sleep tight.”
Connor gave a thumbs-up.
When he was gone, they shared a companionable silence. Their first. Privately, Rae wondered why she hadn’t displayed physical affection weeks ago. She was a mother; she understood the power of touch. Children needed words of encouragement, but they thrived most when they were supplied with the basic human need of the shelter of an adult’s arms.
Granted, Quinn wasn’t a child. Legally, he’d reached adulthood. Yet she doubted he’d received much nurturing. When was the last time Mik or Penny had hugged him? Their disheartening abuses were painful to consider, a dark terrain Rae preferred not to visit. Were there other, kinder moments?
Quinn said, “Do you mind helping me clean up?”
A trace of nerves rimmed the comment. He was already ferrying dishes to the sink.
Rae scraped back her chair. “Do you have homework? I can take care of this.”
Opening the dishwasher, he darted a glance. “It’s Friday, Rae. I have all weekend to study.” He peered out the window at the darkness. “Connor says we’ll get snow tonight. We won’t be able to work on the rest of the lights.”
“Are you scheduled at the craft emporium tomorrow?”
“Yeah.” Moving past, he fetched more dishes. “I meant on Sunday. That’s when I was hoping to work on the lights. It’ll look cool, once we finish.” A spoon skittered off the platter he carried.
When he returned to the sink, she stared at him pointedly. “Quinn, what’s the matter? Five minutes ago, you were perfectly relaxed. Now you seem nervous.”
“I am.” Setting the platter on the counter, he inhaled a deep breath. “Can I ask you something?”
“Always and anytime. I’m here for you. I hope you know that by now.”
His gaze dropped to his feet. Which kicked in her mothering instincts as she neared.
“There’s nothing you can tell me about Lark that will upset me,” she said evenly.
“That’s not true. You were really mad when I told you about Griffin.”
“And I was wrong.”
“You were?”
“I shouldn’t have lit out of the house the way I did. Quinn, even grown-ups misbehave at one time or another. I’m not talking about the really bad things grown-ups can do, like getting drunk, or—” Rae ground to a halt. Emotion welled up quickly. Finding her footing, she pressed her hand to his cheek. “Or when they behave really badly, like when they hurt a child. That should never happen.”
When her hand fell away, Quinn’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat.
“I’m talking about regular-variety, dumb stuff,” she added. “Grown-ups should know to think before they react. Most of the time we do. The point I’m trying to make is that you can tell me anything, and not worry that I’ll get mad or upset. I want you to confide in me. You are a fine young man, and I’m on your side.”
“What we need to talk about . . . it’s about the night Lark died. I guess you know why I went over to the Thomersons’. I knew I probably wouldn’t see Lark, but she needed moral support.”
“I know,” she murmured, “my daughter had been thinking about skipping the party.” It was easy to imagine Quinn pacing outside Katherine’s elegant property, sending Lark comforting text messages.
“Yeah, but there’s something else.”
“Go on.”
“Rae, the police got it wrong. I don’t mean they messed up their conclusions exactly. Or maybe that is what I mean.” He blew out a frustrated breath. “I’m not sure.”
Shock held Rae transfixed. What did the police get wrong?
The dog rolled onto her side. She yipped in her sleep.
A diversion, and Quinn took it readily. He skirted past her, clearly needing distance before continuing. Lowering to his knees, he began stroking his dog. Long, even strokes. Calming Shelby as she slept. Calming himself.
“You know about the first part,” he said, “when I climbed over the wall surrounding Mrs. Thomerson’s pool. The police got that right. I climbed over in a hurry. I tore my jeans on those prickly bushes.”