A surprising logic underpinned his friendship with Lark. There was more to it, of course. Since reading the PD’s report last October, Rae had resisted the truth: destiny had played a role. Her late daughter and Quinn were kindred souls. If they’d grown up in a large city, odds were they never would’ve met and discovered their natural affinity. In Chardon, with a population in the thousands—not the tens of thousands—they’d been given a few brief months to learn just how much they had in common.
The circumstance was both heartening and unsettling. Heartening mostly, Rae decided—Lark had left an indelible mark on her bashful friend. The confidence inherited from her grandmother Hester, the streak of bravado—Lark had possessed the same fire, the same generous spirit. She’d warmed everyone caught in her orbit.
Perhaps Quinn, most of all.
From the driveway, an engine rumbled before cutting off. Quinn, pulling his truck in from the road.
The soft padding of footfalls down the hallway. Two voices, mixing briefly. A door clicking shut.
The moon slipped behind the clouds.
“He’s all set.”
Shadows enveloped the studio. Her father waded through them.
“He’s in the guest bedroom?” she asked.
“Camped out with his homework. Doubt he’ll get very far with the trig. The kid looks exhausted.” Connor arched a brow. She was seated on the floor beside Kameko’s plastic tables and lovingly tended plants. “Do you want a chair?” He flicked on a lamp. “My joints hurt just looking at you.”
“I’m fine.” She eyed the bottle of Johnnie Walker and the two glasses he carried. “You’re breaking out the Scotch?” Other than holidays, they rarely imbibed.
“We both need a drink.”
He peered over his shoulder. His uneasy gaze landed on Lark’s wooden desk and office chair, which they’d pushed up against the wall. Rae had purchased the chair one short week before the funeral. The chair—and a gift card for supplies from Yuna’s Craft Emporium—had been a fumbling attempt to forge a cease-fire with her daughter.
“It’s okay, Dad. Grab the chair.”
“You don’t think she’ll care?”
She’ll care, as if Lark were still roosting in her bedroom, painting her toenails three shades of green and breaking the family bylaws with late-night Zoom chats with her girlfriends. Laughing like a donkey near midnight. Laughing harder when her grandfather revved past the bounds of arthritis and sprinted down the hallway to pound on her door. Leaving butterscotch candies on his love-worn edition of The Complete Shakespeare the next morning to apologize for her antics. Lark skipping down the farm’s long, curving driveway to the school bus as the driver blared the horn.
“Lark’s in heaven,” Rae said. “Get the chair—she won’t mind. We can’t talk in the living room. Our voices might carry.” They’d had enough trouble persuading Quinn to spend the night. Despite the frigid temps, he’d been serious about sleeping in his truck.
Connor fetched the chair. She filled both glasses with Scotch.
She took a generous sip. “Did he call his parents?” Fire sluiced down her throat, and she grimaced.
“No need. They left tonight. Vacation in Atlanta.”
“They threw Quinn out, then left on vacation?”
“According to Quinn, his parents got a nice payout on a lottery ticket—they tossed the kid a birthday card with fifty bucks inside, then told him to move out.”
“How long are they gone?”
“Ten days. They’re visiting a fellow mechanic who retired to Atlanta. The man worked with Mik Galecki at the auto dealership. It’s anyone’s guess how they sobered up enough to walk through airport security.”
“The assholes.”
Connor withered her with a look. “Language.” He brushed the sparse hair from his forehead. “Why is cruelty easy for some people? I’ve heard rumors about Quinn’s parents same as everybody. Lots of nasty scuttlebutt. Still, I never thought they’d stoop to throwing their kid out. On his birthday, of all days.”
Rae latched her restless gaze on the wall of glass. Snowflakes pelted the ground outside. Dread came trundling up her gut as she recalled the one instance when she’d unintentionally tangled with Mik and Penny Galecki. Out of habit, she avoided the couple. The reasons were dark and complicated—and unknown to her father.
After a moment she said, “I’m not remotely surprised. Mik has a solid work history, but everyone knows his temper is unpredictable. Throwing wrenches at the younger mechanics, giving them a hard time—I heard he’s not allowed near the dealership’s clients now because he’s so testy.” Mik was the lead mechanic at Marks Auto Dealership, a muscular bear of a man. “Penny isn’t much better. She can’t hold down a job for more than ten minutes.”