“No.”
“No?” Griffin polished his tone to a brittle sheen. “May I ask why?”
“Like you don’t know.”
“Okay, I know. I’d still like to come in. I need to apologize.”
“You’re wasting your time.”
“Let me be the judge.” His irritation flared. “Back up, man. I’m coming in to talk to my sister.”
“No way.” Trenton cast a nervous glance behind him. “If I let you in, she’ll strip my ego naked and dip it in bleach. I’m not that strong. Go away.”
The door clicked shut.
The rejection deflated Griffin, and he trudged back to his car. He returned to Design Mark to stew in a broth of self-pity and remorse.
The self-pity was especially hazardous. It led him down the blind roads and rocky paths to that last, unfortunate year at Chardon High. A smarter man would avoid such a journey. He wouldn’t poke around the undergrowth of his memories to examine the most painful events.
But the sting of Sally’s darts was still fresh.
And so, Griffin paced the empty halls of Design Mark with the memory of his former self dogging his heels. The sweaty dope whose only redeeming quality—a full head of hair—was now in full retreat. The awkward boy who’d been hopelessly in love with Rae Langdon.
Griffin meant what he’d told Sally: he bore Rae no ill will. Since moving back to Ohio, he’d only glimpsed her from a distance—not once making the attempt to approach and strike up conversation. Besides, she’d been a girl when she’d broken his heart. What sense was there in despising the woman she’d become?
We are each many people in a lifetime. We slip through versions of ourselves, no more staying in place than a fast-moving river. Rae wasn’t the girl she’d once been. Nor was he, thankfully, still an inept teenager. The harm they’d done to each other long ago seemed like the errors of two people Griffin didn’t know at all.
At dinnertime on Sunday, Griffin ended the pity party. He abandoned the office. He went home, took a shower, and made a salad for dinner. Trenton was correct—Sally needed to cool down. There was no sense putting in more calls. Griffin could, however, act on the advice she’d offered the day he’d shown her the lacquered box.
Ask Yuna to return the keepsake to its rightful owner. With luck, she’d agree to handle delivery. Toting the thing next door, however, was presumptuous.
Odds weren’t great that Yuna would jump at the chance to get involved. Why would she? Lark had taken the box from Rae’s attic without her mother’s consent. Rae didn’t know it was missing. How the thing had landed in Griffin’s possession—and the thorny implications—were sure to upset Rae.
Set on a course of action, Griffin pulled out his smartphone. He snapped a photo of the precious object.
A boxwood hedge separated the yards. With grim resignation, he walked around. He was still working out what to say when the door swung open to reveal . . . no one.
He looked down.
His favorite mini human was dressed in flannel pajamas. “Mommy threw up—twice!” Kameko pinched her nose dramatically. “Smelly!”
Griffin aped her expression of disgust. “Yuck.”
“Want to come in?”
Not on your life. “If she’s sick, I should come back later.”
Latching on to his wrist, Kameko made a pouty face. “Don’t go! Mommy’s not sick.”
“But you said—”
“The baby is mean when Mommy smells burgers. Me and Daddy like burgers.” Her face fell. “We can’t eat them anymore. The baby won’t let us.”
Baby? What baby? He wondered if his arrival had disturbed the child’s fantasy play.
Toys were strewn across the living room. A cornucopia of plastic animals and talking books. There wasn’t a doll in sight.
“He jumps on Mommy’s tummy. Like this.” Kameko hopped up and down to demonstrate. Then her expression grew earnest. “Griffin, do you make burgers?”
“Sure. Sometimes.”
“I’ll come over and eat one. Maybe tomorrow. Don’t tell the teeny baby.”
“Good plan,” he murmured, following her to the kitchen.
Did she mean her mother was pregnant? It would explain the teeny baby’s unpleasant behavior, not to mention Yuna’s distress. He’d lived next door long enough for Kipp to regale him with tales of Yuna’s morning sickness when she’d been pregnant with Kameko. Each story came with a colorful and amusingly gruesome title. “Life with the Hurl Master” or Griffin’s personal favorite, “Vicious Stops on the Vomit Train.” The stories were never told when Yuna was within earshot.