“What’s ‘thriving’？”
Sorrow brushed across Rae’s lips unbidden, swift. She mustered the courage to breathe it in. “It means we’re taking good care of Lark’s houseplants.”
“Are we allowed to talk about Lark now? Mommy said we shouldn’t.”
A kindness—Yuna understood the dangerous terrain of grieving. Rae had yet to begin the journey in a meaningful way. But their unspoken agreement was forged by adults; Kameko had been affected too. Banishing Lark from conversation made no sense to her. From a five-year-old’s perspective, Lark had gone away. She wasn’t gone forever.
No wonder Kameko worried about Rae killing the plants. She’d killed off all mention of her daughter. A thoughtless choice. We breathe life into our memories by celebrating those loved ones in conversation.
Rae said, “We can talk about Lark whenever you want.”
Inside the stall, silence bloomed. At length Kameko said, “Why didn’t Lark take her plants when she went to heaven? She loved them.”
“She wanted you to take care of them.”
“Can I visit Lark? I miss her.”
The question pierced Rae. “I’m sorry, bean sprout. You can’t see Lark until you go to heaven. Not for a long, long time.”
The toilet flushed. “Can Daddy see Lark’s plants when he picks me up?”
“That’s a great idea.”
“Daddy likes plants. He grows pretty flowers for Mommy when the snow goes away.” From beneath the stall, Kameko’s feet shuffled about. Grunting, she tugged up her tights. “Can I play tag with Quinn? Or color pictures with Mr. Connor? Mommy said he’ll be happy to color pictures with me.”
“Whatever you’d like,” Rae said brightly, concealing the hurt. Even her father rated higher in Kameko’s affections than she did. “When is Daddy coming for you?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Kameko scampered to the sink. “Later?”
Under normal circumstances, Yuna wouldn’t ask Connor to aid in a babysitting intervention. With Quinn’s help, he’d manage. Which begged the question—why hadn’t she asked Rae instead?
The answer came immediately. This wasn’t really about Connor. Prior to her death, Lark was Yuna’s go-to babysitter in a pinch. Quinn wasn’t much older. A teenager was a livelier companion for a small child than any adult.
Rae turned on the tap. “It doesn’t matter when Daddy picks you up. We’ll have fun until he comes for you.”
Kameko took the paper towel Rae handed over and set it by the sink. She proceeded to flap her hands through the air. A game, and she was having fun. “What am I having for dinner? Can I have a snack too?”
“If we get out of your mother’s hair, you can have whatever you want.” Except juice boxes.
In the stockroom, most of the new merchandise was unpacked. Quinn was placing the last packages of floral wire on a shelf.
Rae glanced back at the shop, where Yuna swiftly rang up sales. “So . . .” She returned her attention to Quinn. “Looks like we’re both on babysitting patrol.”
“Should I have asked you first? I figured since you and Yuna are friends . . .”
“You did great. It was nice of you to bail her out.” The standoffish behavior wasn’t doing either of them any favors, and she lightened her tone. “Hey, do you mind if I take Kameko in my car? I keep her old car seat in the trunk.”
“Actually, that works better. There’s something I have to take care of.” Quinn seemed reluctant to elaborate. “Can I meet you back at the house?”
“Sure.”
Refusing to pry, she zipped Kameko into her snowsuit. Together, the trio went out.
A brisk wind blew across Chardon Square. Quinn’s truck was parked in front of the craft emporium. He was about to climb in when Rae stopped him.
The front tires were nearly bald. Leaving Kameko at the curb, she walked around the truck. The back tires were passable. Not much tread left, but they’d get through the winter.
“Change of plans, Quinn.” She pulled out her phone and dialed Rudy’s on Route 6. “We’re taking your truck in for new tires. The ones in front are shot.”
“I can’t afford new tires.”
“Well, I can.” He began to object, and she cut in. “No arguing. Follow me to Rudy’s and drive carefully.”
Chapter 8
Hurrying out of Rudy’s Tires, Rae climbed into her Honda Civic.
In the back seat, Kameko withdrew a sparkly wand from her backpack. As they pulled out of the lot, she waved it at the service technician beside Quinn’s truck. For his part, Quinn resembled a boy separated from a favorite toy. He stared forlornly out the passenger-side window.