At length, Rae said, “Why would Quinn lie about his parents throwing him out? I believed every word of it.”
“He’s young. Kids are prone to all sorts of foolishness.”
“Something doesn’t add up,” Rae insisted, angry and worried about what they were tangled up in. A disagreement between a teenage boy and his parents—two unpredictable adults whom no one in Chardon liked to cross. I don’t want to cross Mik and Penny either. She’d made that mistake once, back in high school. Not long after the White Hurricane.
Connor frowned. “What do you mean?”
“The day I found Quinn near the forest, he couldn’t have known we’d invite him to stay.”
“So he made up the story about his parents throwing him out while we were grilling him?”
“I don’t know. Would a teenager have the presence of mind to invent a story that elaborate under duress? It feels like a stretch. It’s not like he could’ve known we’d roll out the red carpet and move him into the spare bedroom.”
A puzzle, and Connor tapped his fingers against his glass. “You’re forgetting one thing.”
“Which is?”
“We didn’t know Quinn, but he knew all about us—from Lark. He knew we were good people. Caring. Not the sort to throw a teenager out. Especially if he didn’t want to go home.”
“He was planning to spend the night in his truck,” she recalled. That portion of Quinn’s tale seemed authentic. “Was he planning to run away while his parents were vacationing in Atlanta? Then he bumped into me near the forest, and inspiration struck?”
“Lots of teenagers dream about running away.” Sadness drifted through Connor’s eyes. “You did, at that age.”
The solemn observation pierced Rae. After the White Hurricane took Hester, Connor had seemed unreachable. Too depressed to recognize that he’d left Rae to singlehandedly keep their homelife from completely falling apart. She had wanted to run—to escape the sudden adult responsibilities she was too young to shoulder.
“Dad, that was different.” With gentle reassurance, she squeezed his hand. “I never would’ve run away after we lost Mom. Our lives were turned upside down . . . I was just scared.”
Pain skimmed across his features. “You had good reason. I let my depression get awfully bad. I should’ve—”
“Don’t.” Impulsively, Rae pressed a kiss to his forehead. “It was a long time ago. It no longer matters. Besides, we have more important concerns.” She glanced at the clock. “Quinn will be here any minute. I have no idea what we should say to him.”
“Let him talk first. Explain why he lied about his parents throwing him out. Maybe Quinn didn’t know he had options about where to live—the boy didn’t understand his rights until we met with Lloyd over at the bowling alley.” A member of the geezer squad, Lloyd Washington was a retired attorney.
“That’s true.”
“The kid assumed he was obligated to live with his parents until graduation. It’s an interesting loophole in Ohio law—parents must support a child until age nineteen if the child hasn’t yet finished high school. However, an eighteen-year-old can elect to move out.”
“Which I attempted to explain to Penny Galecki.” Rae swallowed down the metallic taste in her mouth. Even now, adrenaline from the encounter raced through her. “I really thought she’d hit me. The look in her eye was unnerving. Like there’s something missing inside.”
A muscle in Connor’s jaw twitched. “A spark of humanity,” he supplied. “I’m concerned Mik doesn’t have one either.”
“He doesn’t.”
“We should buy a gun. Remember when you and Griffin were young, and his dad took you hunting? Everett swore you were a natural. You’d breeze through the classes in firearm safety. Maybe I would too.”
Rae looked at him, aghast. Her father—who’d protested against the Vietnam War, a sworn pacifist—was implying they needed . . . protection from Penny and Mik Galecki?
A chill ran through her. That was the implication. Because they were dangerous. Impulsive. They were both heavy drinkers—and too much liquor brought out the worst in people. It made them unpredictable, prone to reckless behavior.
As I well know.
Shame crashed through Rae, bringing with it the dark memory from high school. She understood the awful mistakes one made when under the influence.
“We’re not bringing firearms into the house.” Taking a hasty sip of her tea, she focused her thoughts on the matter at hand. “I hate guns. And when I was in high school, I hated those hunting trips with Everett Marks. Griffin did too. We only tagged along to sneak in some alone time. Easy enough to do once Everett started tracking a deer.” Winding anxious fingers through her long hair, she noticed the jagged ends. She was in desperate need of a trim. A normal, ordinary thought, and it made her feel better. “We’ll look into a home security system, if you’d like.”