In Rae’s book, it was. She loved Italian. “I thought he was into all things French,” she joked.
“When he cooks. Quinn’s ready to branch out, and we’re celebrating.”
“What’s the occasion?”
“We’ve got half the lights strung. Actually, a little more than that—we stopped about a third of an acre from the house. Then we went ahead and started work on the lights near the barn. To get an idea of what the final result will look like. It’s something to see, Rae. Hurry on home.”
Clearing the traffic on the square, Rae accelerated. “Oh, Dad—that’s wonderful!” Bringing her late mother’s last artistic creation to life meant a lot to him.
Moisture gathered in her eyes.
It means a lot to me too.
A light drizzle pelted the windshield. Turning into the farm’s winding driveway, Rae sighed. There was little chance the recent, unseasonably warm temps would continue. The maple tree on the front lawn was still without buds; the slate walkway leading to the front steps wore a sheen of dampness. Like many people in northeast Ohio, she watched Canada’s weather in March. Lake Erie was the shallowest of the Great Lakes, and late-winter storms that blew southward often brought more unwanted snow.
No wonder Connor was using every spare minute to work on Hester’s design. He’d been grousing all week: his earlier prediction was off. Winter hadn’t finished pummeling the town just yet.
There was no one in the house. From out back, Shelby’s rapid-fire barking cut off suddenly. The dog was in the middle of a game of fetch, Rae mused, placing her purse and briefcase on the couch. As she wended her way through the kitchen and then the mudroom, the raucous barking resumed.
Streaking past the barn, Shelby caught a tennis ball. Rae stepped outside.
And gasped.
The trees seemed adorned with thousands of colorful fireflies. The tiny bulbs, in a variety of shapes, emitted light at different levels—some with sharp brilliance, others with a deeper, milder glow. Rae’s thoughts tripped back to the summer before her mother died. The countless days Hester spent working and reworking her design, throwing out one schematic and then another; her eyes flashing when Rae or Connor teased that she was obsessing over a silly lighting display. Who cared how they strung it all up?
Now the reason for Hester’s diligence was breathtaking to behold. On the trees nearest the house, swirling waves of purple found their counterpoint in moon-shaped swatches of gold. The fifth tree away stood in contrast, blazing in shades of blue. Half an acre past, the barn stood untouched, still shedding paint chips, but it was easy to imagine the structure brought back to life with a new coat of red paint. The trees midway across the expanse were dark, but the majestic oak and the two shorter maples near the barn were ablaze in shades of silver, green, and a surprisingly compatible rose-tinted hue.
She watched her father walk toward the barn. Connor paused. Shelby dropped the ball at his feet. Scooping it up, he tossed it toward the pasture.
Quinn appeared from behind the third tree. “Rae!”
She hadn’t noticed him, fiddling with the lighting winding around the trunk.
Approaching, he smiled. “What do you think?”
“Oh, Quinn . . . this is the most . . .”
“The most . . . what?”
Anticipating a compliment, he rocked back on his heels. Quinn didn’t have much experience with confidence, or ego-boosting moments. He was eager to learn.
Rae glanced at the steel-colored clouds. Icy bits of rain pelted her face. She didn’t care.
Mom, are you seeing this? It’s beautiful!
Puzzlement stole Quinn’s bravado. “Are you . . . crying?”
Overcome, Rae pressed a palm to her mouth. Lark, are you with Grandma? Are you seeing this, baby girl? Aren’t the lights pretty?
“Wow. You are crying.” Blushing, he looked away. “I didn’t know you were a crier. I mean, you’re kind of tough for a lady. No—that’s not what I meant. I just didn’t think you did the weepy thing. At least not often.”
His knowledge of pure joy was limited. Or nonexistent.
Eyes welling, Rae pulled him into her arms.
“You sweet, beautiful young man.” She landed a smacking kiss on his lightly stubbled cheek. He wasn’t sure how to react, and she laughed through her tears. Without giving him time to figure it out, she cupped his face and kissed his other, blushing cheek. “Quinn, this is the best gift—ever! Thank you. Really. The last months have been so hard, I’ve been so down—” She broke off, laughing again. Then she was crying, harder now, as she hugged him mightily. “You are simply the best. I love you.”