I love you, baby girl.
Eyes closed, Rae swallowed down a sob. The heartache nearly overwhelmed her, but she clung to the other part of Jackie’s story: Quinn overheard the sharp words between Stella and Lark, but Stella, thankfully, had gone back inside. She’d done no harm.
Sorrow is contagious like a virus. When Rae sensed Jackie’s close appraisal, she pushed the grief aside. She gave Jackie’s hand a quick squeeze. The relief trembling across the girl’s mouth was the sweetest reward.
Rae brightened her voice, saying, “Are we ready? May I choose my favorites now?”
“Go ahead.” Jackie paused, the soft skin between her brows puckering. “My mom says I shouldn’t ask those questions. The ones bugging me. She says it’s not polite.”
The unspoken questions hung between them: Was Lark telling the truth? Was my uncle her father?
Leaving the questions floating between them, Rae selected the chubby-baby-in-swimsuit pic. A definite keeper for the first page of the album. Which photo of Lark as a newborn was her favorite? She couldn’t decide.
With a cryptic smile, Rae made another selection. “Your mother’s right,” she said at last. “It’s best not to ask.”
Chapter 35
Near dusk on a warm Sunday in April, Rae literally stumbled over the talented Hester Langdon’s final surprise. The two large boxes of lights were hidden beneath a rumpled drop cloth in the basement, near a hodgepodge of paint rollers and brushes.
The lighting wasn’t from Germany, like the rest. The shipping label read Mexico City. Wedging off the lid on the first box, Rae gasped. The errand that had brought her into the basement was forgotten. Hoisting both boxes in her arms, she hurried out of the basement.
“I thought you went downstairs to grab paintbrushes for the trim work,” Yuna said. “What is that?”
After the day’s work, no one had the energy to make dinner; Yuna was throwing together sandwiches and bowls of chopped carrot sticks. Griffin, Connor, Quinn, and Kipp were taking turns scraping the barn and pressure washing the surface. Griffin had rented industrial sprayers to add a new coat of red paint.
Rae set the boxes on the counter. “Forget about the paintbrushes. You’ve got to see this.” She rustled through the tissue to withdraw a large globe of thin azure glass. Then another, in a sea-green hue. Doing a quick calculation, Rae guessed there were twenty globes in each box.
“They’re part of your late mother’s project?” Yuna lifted out a gorgeous purple light. “Why weren’t they with the others?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe they were a last-minute addition to Mom’s design. Somehow, the boxes got separated from the others. Maybe when my dad packed everything away, after the White Hurricane.”
The sound of their excitement brought Kameko into the kitchen. Shelby, aware the five-year-old kept treats in her pockets, was hot on her tail.
“Mommy, let me see!” In big-girl fashion, the child pushed a chair to the counter. She climbed on top. “Can I hold one?”
“Better not, sweetheart. They’re fragile. Here. You can look while I hold one. Isn’t it pretty?”
“It is!”
At Kameko’s feet, the dog gave an elaborate sigh. Lowering her head to the chair’s seat, she trained her eager canine attention on her biggest admirer. A familiar signal, and Kameko withdrew a biscuit from her pocket.
Rae arched a brow. “How many treats have you given her today?” With all the activity surrounding the barn refurb, none of the adults had been keeping count.
“Oh, I don’t know. A lot?”
“Why don’t you cut her off now?”
“But this one’s blueberry and salmon. It’s her favorite!”
Stacking the sandwiches on a paper plate, Yuna sighed. “My bad.”
Rae chuckled. “Don’t worry about it.”
Recently Yuna had discovered a doggie bakery in Beachwood where she’d spend “girl time” with her daughter, letting her choose new taste sensations for Shelby.
Rae tousled the child’s glossy black hair. “Kameko, this is similar to your juice box obsession—Shelby doesn’t know how to refuse the goodies. Keep it up, and we’ll never get her to eat dinner.” Thanks to constant loving, the once-starving dog was beginning to pack on too much pudge around her middle.
“Oh, all right.” The rest of the biscuits clattered onto the counter. Then she pointed at the nearest box. “What’s that, Auntie Rae?”
A neatly folded sheet nested beside the wads of tissue paper. A schematic.