There were mistakes a wise man didn’t repeat.
The snow had let up. Only a smattering of white flitted through the night air.
“Would you like another cup of tea?” Griffin asked. He was hoping to keep her near for another hour or two, just to talk.
“That would be great.”
Deciding to have some himself, Griffin made two cups. By the time he returned to the living room, Rae had smoothed down her wild hair. Her posture—straight, nearly rigid—slowed his pace.
When he set the cups down, Rae pulled in a breath. “I want to tell you something.” She inhaled another breath, clearly steadying herself. “Griffin, I’ve never told anyone what I’m about to share. I sure didn’t think I’d discuss this with you. Before Quinn came into my life, I’d done a good job forgetting. Oh, that’s not the right word. Not forgetting—burying it. One of those memories you resist, because it tears you up too much. With everything that’s happened—between you and Lark, and with Quinn, his parents—I think you need to know. In case what happened back then has more bearing on the present than I’d like to believe.”
Protectively, Griffin placed his hand on her knee. The reassuring gesture eased the tension on her features. Lowering her hand on top, she held his fingers tight. Seeking assurance that he’d anchor them both before she carried them out to rough seas.
The silence wound out.
Then Rae led him into the past.
Chapter 29
MARCH
Two months after the White Hurricane
Red ink blazed across the envelope: FINAL NOTICE.
Rae dropped her book bag to the floor. Snatching the envelope from the kitchen table, she read quickly.
According to the notice, her father hadn’t paid the electric bill since December—one month before her mother’s death in January. By nature, her father was forgetful. But this was negligent. Was she supposed to do homework by candlelight?
A more distressing thought surfaced. If the electric bill had gone unpaid for months on end, what other bills were past due? Connor no longer visited the grocery store with any frequency. He left Rae to fend for herself. For weeks she’d been doing all the laundry and the general housekeeping, tackling the chores in the evenings before digging into homework. Keeping up with housework was exhausting for a high school senior preparing for her final exams, and Rae had begun to give up on the effort. How to manage household bills was even more daunting. She had only the slimmest understanding of home mortgages, health insurance, and similar obligations that adults were supposed to manage. She’d been accepted to Ohio University in Athens. Her college career would begin soon.
Rae’s stomach lurched. Has Dad paid my tuition?
With dismay, she scanned the countertops. Dirty dishes were everywhere. The mess had gone unnoticed because she’d begun avoiding the house. Lately Rae was practically living with Griffin and his family. She stayed there most evenings until after dinner. Clinging to the normalcy of the Marks household. A better alternative than dealing with her father’s erratic behavior and inscrutable silences. Sometimes he talked to himself in mumbled, disjointed sentences. One day in February, she came home from school to discover the farm’s livestock missing. The chickens, the goats—even the dairy cow was gone from the barn. Her father had sold them all. Then he’d closed himself inside her mother’s art studio for long hours and refused to answer when Rae knocked.
The house resembled a psychiatric ward, with Connor the only patient.
And Rae—left without a functioning parent to guide her through the crushing loss—was beginning to despise him.
Her temper flaring, she spied a heap of bills stuffed behind the toaster. A messy stack of neglected responsibility.
“Dad!”
Grabbing a handful, she stalked down the hallway. His bedroom was dark. On the side of the bed, his silhouette was a curved bow.
Rae turned on a lamp. “When did you last pay the bills?” She waved the envelopes before him. “Dad, you have to snap out of it! I’m sad too, but I’m not shirking my duties. Mom wouldn’t want that. My heart’s broken just like yours, but I never skip classes.”
Silence.
“What’s next? A final notice from the bank? Do you expect us to live on the street?”
Still no reaction. A pungent, unclean odor rose from Connor’s rumpled clothes.
Disgusted, Rae stepped away. “I’m ashamed of you. The least you can do is clean yourself up. Where’s your self-respect?”
The difference between typical grief and serious depression is canyon-wide. Rae didn’t understand. Until the White Hurricane, she’d been reared in a stable home with two loving parents. The sorrow engulfing her father was incomprehensible.