The Passing Storm(75)
“Want to watch a movie?”
Flinching, she looked up. Her father padded to the couch. Connor wore flannel pajamas with a green plaid robe sashed tightly around his waist.
Despite the tension balled up inside her, Rae dredged up a smile. “I thought you’d gone to bed.”
“I might sleep on the couch . . . if I can fall asleep. I’ve got a fire in my belly, and I’m not talking about ambition.”
“Too much dinner tonight?” she asked, glad to engage in a reassuringly normal chat.
“Why’d you let me eat all that Italian food?”
“Too much garlic never agrees with you.” Grabbing the throw, she pressed it around his knees. “I should’ve remembered.”
“Too much everything. My insides are on fire.” He glanced toward the hallway. “Where’s Quinn? I thought he was out here, watching TV with you.”
“He went to his room. Best guess, he’s studying.” At least she hoped he was. Quinn also needed a reassuringly normal task, something to take his mind off tonight’s disturbing conversation.
“I wonder if he’d like to play cards.”
“What?” Blinking, Rae focused her attention on her father.
“I might be more comfortable sitting at the kitchen table.”
“If the indigestion’s bad, it’ll help to sit in a straight-back chair. Should I get something for your stomach?”
“I pop too many pills. I should know better, eating all that spicy food.”
“What’s done is done.”
“Why don’t we play a few hands of poker? I’ll turn on Hester’s twinkly lights—we can see them from the kitchen. I’m sure I can persuade Quinn to join us. It’ll keep me occupied, until my stomach settles down.”
Rae found she wasn’t listening. With a start, she came to a decision. It was after nine o’clock, but this couldn’t wait. She needed to speak with Griffin immediately. He’d talk to his niece and put Rae’s worries to rest. He’ll confirm nothing untoward happened to Lark.
“What do you say?” Connor looked at her expectantly. “Are you up to a game of poker?”
“Dad, I’m going out. I need to get the ball rolling on this, or I’ll never sleep. I need to know for sure—I do know for sure,” she added breathlessly, hopeful and sick-hearted all in the same instance. “There’s a perfectly innocent explanation, even if it doesn’t look that way. But I need confirmation. The rock-solid kind.”
“What are you babbling about?”
“I won’t be gone long.” She started for the foyer, then stopped when she noticed his hand pressed to his tummy. He did look uncomfortable. “Would you like ginger tea to settle your stomach? It’ll help. I’ll make you a cup, before I go.”
Connor pulled the throw off his lap. “I’ll make it myself. It’ll do me good to move around.” With mild exasperation he watched her pull on her coat. “What’s the hurry? You look . . . agitated.”
“That’s putting it mildly.”
“What did I miss?” He watched her fingers dart up the coat, buttoning quickly. “Are you going to Yuna’s?”
“Not exactly,” she said.
If the Cleveland Cavaliers had materialized on his front porch, Griffin couldn’t have been more surprised. Not even if they’d piled inside the house to raid the fridge for brewskis.
Arms crossed, fists tucked into the armpits of her coat, Rae attempted a smile.
Griffin didn’t step out to join her. He did open the door a fraction more. Her appearance rendered him mute.
A minor setback. Rae, predictably, grabbed the conversational reins.
“Winter’s back.” She cocked her head at the snow, falling in sloppy patches across his yard. “I guess my dad is right. Spring is still a way off. What I’d give for short sleeves and hot weather. Did it snow much in Boston?”
“Sometimes,” he replied, dragging his voice out of hiding.
“I’ve never been on the East Coast. Well, either coast. Come to think of it, I’ve never been much of anywhere. Vacationing in Cincinnati probably doesn’t count.”
“You should visit.”
She studied him with intense, nervous interest. “Where?”
“The coast. Either one. They’re both nice.”
“Do you have a preference?”
Griffin blinked. What is this strange phenomenon? Rae was making . . . small talk. An art she’d never practiced, much less mastered. He was considering lending an assist when her green eyes rounded.
“Oh crap,” she blurted. “It’s Friday.”
“Yes.”
“Friday night.”
“An astute observation.”
“Popping by like this is rude. Completely.” She glanced at her car, disappearing beneath a layer of white. Her sheepish gaze swung back to him. “Barging in on a Friday night—date night. Totally my bad.”
Amused, Griffin leaned against the door jamb. “I thought Saturday was date night.”
“I’m not sure.” Rae shrugged.
“Don’t you date?” Prying was impolite, but she had appeared at his place uninvited.