“Your farm,” Yuna said. “One of my neighbors is planning to sell her bungalow. Three bedrooms, with a yard that doesn’t require a tractor to mow. There’s a nice fireplace in the living room. And a fabulous kitchen, in case you or your dad ever learn to cook.”
The suggestion of change was unwelcome. Rae had experienced too many shocks, too much loss. For months she’d been walking on shifting sands. Longer, if she was honest. Since the last of her teen years, when she’d learned to keep secrets. Throughout her twenties, when those secrets led to unforeseen complications. And now, into the dark, incomprehensible decade of her thirties.
With agitated movements, she unbuttoned her coat. “Mind telling me what’s up with the hard sell?” But she didn’t remove the garment—the conversation’s unexpected turn made her wonder if she should go. “I’m not here to discuss real estate.”
“Who gave you the right to set the agenda for all our crazy talks? They happen constantly, in case you haven’t noticed.” Yuna paused in her swiveling to cast a pointed look. “Give it some thought, Rae. If you move into town, we’ll be neighbors. You can bug me in the evenings. After I’ve finished my workday and tucked Kameko into bed.”
“You know I can’t move.”
“No, I don’t. It’s a free country.” With irritation, Yuna shook the black silk of her hair. The glossy strands danced across her shoulders. “You can live wherever you want.”
“Dad has owned the property since before I was born.” Asking him to leave was out of the question. The dense forest and the rolling acres were etched with memories—for both of them. Only one of those memories was too ghastly to revisit. The rest were sweet and good, and Rae couldn’t bear to leave them behind.
“Your father will adapt. You both will.”
Heartache tightened Rae’s throat. “Stop changing the subject.” Her anger flared, a protective shield. She was safe behind it. “Can we get back on point? Quinn’s getting careless with the trespassing. Or bold.”
“Quinn has lots of interesting qualities. ‘Bold’ isn’t one of them.”
“You may want to revise your opinion.” Rae dug into her coat pocket. “I found this.”
She withdrew a silk daisy like the ones on sale in the front of the store. Artistic flourishes had transformed the silk flower. Gold paint rimmed the petals. Glitter frosted the leaves. Glass beads were strung down the plastic stem. The beads rattled as she shook the offensive object before handing it over.
Yuna twirled the stem between her fingertips. “Give the kid credit. He does nice work.”
“His talent is beside the point. I found it inside the barn.”
“Wait. Since when does Quinn sneak into the barn?”
Uncertainty washed Rae’s stomach with acid. She didn’t check the barn regularly. This morning she’d only walked through after finding Quinn’s footprints near the building.
“You’re not sure if he’s gone inside before today?” Yuna pressed.
“I’m not. He doesn’t have to worry about expanding his reconnaissance—or startling animals in the barn. We sold them off right after the White Hurricane.”
The famous blizzard sixteen years ago remained a grim footnote in Geauga County’s history. The unprecedented winter storm was a harrowing experience for everyone who lived through it. For Rae and her father, the White Hurricane was especially tragic—the first in a series of events to irrevocably change their lives.
Yuna’s brows lifted. “Where was the flower?”
“Tied with florist’s wire to one of the stalls. There’s so much junk in the barn, it would’ve been easy to miss. Quinn must’ve stopped at my place before coming in to work for you.”
“He didn’t have school today.”
“So I gathered, from our brief conversation. I left the house early with Dad. We were gone for hours. I’m sure Quinn assumed I’d never notice the flower. Well, he was wrong.” Pausing, she lifted her accusing gaze. “Hit me with the truth, girlfriend. Are you encouraging him?”
“Of course not!”
“Are you sure? Because I want him to stop inserting himself into my life. I get that he’s coming onto my property because he has a lot to sort out. Too much, for a kid his age. He has lousy parents, the kind too selfish to help steer him through the loss. I get that, Yuna—I do. But I can’t make it my problem.”