He chuckled. “You first.”
Rising, she went out. There was nothing to gain by stalling any longer. Holding her breath, she rapped on Quinn’s door.
Silence. She rapped again. “May I come in?”
More silence. She rested her forehead against the door’s cool wood, certain she shouldn’t just walk away. She heard a shuffling inside.
“You can come in.”
Quinn was seated on the floor—the T-shirt he’d just pulled on visibly inside out. A circle of opened textbooks surrounded him. Every last one from his book bag. He didn’t appear to be studying; more like he was skimming through the photos and the various diagrams.
Closing the door for privacy, she asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“Talking helps. Better than keeping your emotions bottled up.”
A foot away, the book bag sat like a gaping mouth. Grabbing it, Quinn turned it upside down. Shook out two pens and a packet of gum.
With care, he lined them up beside the textbooks. “Would my dad have killed me?”
Rae’s heart knocked around her ribcage. “I don’t know.”
“Why do people drink?”
“Not everyone does, Quinn. At least not to excess.”
“You don’t.”
“Not anymore.”
The remark took him aback. “You were a drinker?”
“That’s not what I meant,” she said, aware there was much she’d never tell him.
Which hurt: she’d love for him to know that Lark was more than his good friend. More than the guardian angel who’d swooped into his world last summer and stayed long enough to offer protection. Lark was in heaven now, but Rae had no doubt her sweet girl—Quinn’s little sister—would continue to look out for him.
Quinn waited for her to continue. At length, Rae said, “Listen, I only drank to excess once. I was your age. It’s not a mistake I’d ever repeat. Now that I’m older, I have a drink once in a while. Not often—it’s just not my thing.”
“I’m glad it’s not.”
“Want my advice?”
“Sure.”
“Consider staying away from booze. Your parents are alcoholics. It’s a disease that often runs in families. I’m not trying to scare you. If you imbibe—in the future, I mean—you might have the tendency to overindulge. It’s something to keep in mind.”
“You’re not scaring me.” Quinn shrugged. “I doubt I’ll ever drink.”
“Good choice.”
“Yeah.”
Rae hesitated. “Oh, I nearly forgot,” she lied. “Your friend Ava, from school? She’s coming over. Just to say hello.”
Quinn’s brows climbed his forehead. “She is?” Beneath the purplish bruises, spots of red warmed his cheeks.
The entire town knew about the incident. “Griffin’s bringing her over,” Rae explained. “They’ll be here soon.”
During Friday night’s melee of PD and paramedics descending on the farm, Quinn had lost his phone. Griffin and Connor had both scoured the acreage between the house and the barn, to no avail. When Quinn didn’t pick up calls yesterday, the resourceful Ava remembered that Rae worked for the woman living next door to her on North Street—Evelyn Witt.
Evelyn gave her Rae’s number.
Suddenly Quinn appeared crestfallen. “Rae, I don’t want Ava to see me like this. All banged up. I look really bad.”
Concealing all the cuts and bruises was an impossibility. That didn’t mean they couldn’t mask some of the damage.
“There’s something we can try, if you’re feeling adventurous.” Rae tipped her head to the side. “I have liquid foundation, the kind women put on their skin to conceal things like blemishes. Want to try it?”
“Is there any dinner left?” With newfound energy, Quinn scraped back his chair and went to the counter. “I could go for seconds.”
After the visit with Ava, he was definitely feeling better. He wasn’t going to school tomorrow, but Rae doubted he’d spend the day hiding in his room either.
He lifted the slow cooker’s glass lid. “Mind if I finish the stew?”
Connor glanced at Rae and Griffin. Then at the boy. “We have a guest, Quinn. Shouldn’t we ask if he wants the last of the stew? Especially since he made the great eats?”
“Oh.”
Griffin wiped his mouth, then tossed the napkin into his bowl. “Chow down, kid. It’s all yours.”