“Quinn would come into work and talk nonstop about his friendship with Lark. No doubt he was having trouble dealing with the loss. Talking about her seemed to help. All the late-night Zoom chats, and how they were sneaking around together after school.”
Yet another revelation in a day rife with them. “Lark was skipping her after-school activities?” She’d had no idea.
“And sometimes they secretly got together before the new school year began.”
“Quinn told us about how he’d struck up a friendship with my daughter . . . but he left a lot out.” More details than she’d imagined.
“Even if you hadn’t been furious about him roaming your property, I wouldn’t have told you everything I knew. We’re best friends, but I felt a responsibility to Quinn too.” Anguished, Yuna looked up quickly. “How do you break a confidence if you’re the only adult a boy can trust?”
Her desire to protect the lonely youth put something sweet in Rae’s chest. A brighter emotion to sit beside the grief.
“You don’t,” she said. “A child’s trust is sacred. You did the right thing.”
A muddy silence fell between them.
As it lengthened, she imagined Quinn trudging across Chardon Square last fall, his grief fresh over Lark’s death. The safe haven that the craft emporium represented. Yuna’s welcoming smile as she ushered him in; the tea kettle whistling as she prepared hot chocolate in the stockroom’s makeshift kitchen, where she kept treats for her staff. Did her kindness release the burden of memories Quinn yearned to share?
He’d unburdened himself with the knowledge that someone was actually listening.
Now Rae wondered: What other secrets did Quinn place in Yuna’s care?
Apprehension carried her to the table. “Lark was the only person Quinn relied on, until you hired him. He knew he could trust you. What else did he talk about, aside from my daughter?” Taking Yuna’s hand, she squeezed her cold fingers. “It’s okay. Tell me. I care about Quinn too. His safety is my primary concern.”
A flicker of relief crossed Yuna’s features, an indication that she did want to talk this out. Then apprehension colored her words as she confided, “He came into work one day with a bruise on his arm. A handprint. It was large, turning purple—I couldn’t pretend I hadn’t seen. There was no choice but to ask him about it.”
“You mean, his dad . . . ?”
A tremor shook Yuna. Shot through Rae too. What other cruelty had Quinn endured at the hands of his father?
Yuna said, “The Galeckis were drinking, per the usual. When they began fighting, Quinn tried to break it up. Mik backhanded him. Then he dragged Quinn to his bedroom. Ordered him to stay inside.”
The description chilled Rae. “Quinn stayed in his room while Mik and Penny . . . abused each other?”
“That’s what he used to do. Frankly, I’m worried Quinn spent most of his childhood cowering in his bedroom while his parents fought. Not anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
Yuna’s eyes flashed. “Last spring, your ingenious daughter came up with a solution. Whenever his parents fought, she told Quinn to lock his bedroom door and turn on the music. Then climb out his bedroom window.” Dispensing with the fork, Yuna tore off a chunk of banana bread. She chewed with gusto, the anger in her gaze melding with a sudden flash of triumph. “Quinn never stayed out past midnight, and the Galeckis were none the wiser.”
Love for her daughter edged past Rae’s worry. “Ten points for Lark.”
“She deserves a gold medal.” Tearing off another chunk of bread, Yuna eagerly stuffed it into her mouth. She stared heavenward, mumbling, “We love you, baby.”
“When you found the handprint on his arm . . . after Quinn snuck out of his parents’ house, where did he go?”
“To the movies. He didn’t come back home until the lights were off in his parents’ bedroom.”
“The poor kid.”
“Before we lost your daughter . . . you do know where he’d crash.”
The pieces tumbled into place. “My house.”
“Right.”
“All the times Connor stalked down the hallway to silence Lark’s wild cackling—Quinn was in the bedroom with her. He climbed in through her bedroom window. The house never quieted down until midnight.”
The curfew that Lark, ever sensible, set for Quinn. She would’ve ensured he drove home before he was too sleepy to get behind the wheel.