“Are you even listening to me? What’s the matter with you?”
Her attention swept the room, taking in the tangle of clothes strewn across the carpeting and Hester’s pitiful funeral wreath propped against the wall. When had he taken it from the cemetery? The roses had gone limp, blackened from frost. Withered petals were scattered beneath.
“Fine. Just sit there.” Her voice breaking, she latched on to her anger. “Where’s the damn checkbook?”
Her father blinked, yet his eyes remained unfocused. “Language.”
“Go to hell, Dad. If you won’t take care of us, I don’t have much choice.”
In a fury, Rae approached the dresser to search for the checkbook. She cracked open drawers, then slammed them shut. The checkbook wasn’t hidden amid the rumpled clothes, and she expelled a frustrated growl. At the sound of her anger her father crawled into bed, shoes and all. When he pulled the blanket over his head, tears scalded her eyes.
Stalking out, she brushed them away. Anger was safer. She refused to fall apart like her dad. Instead she dredged up the pithy nuggets of wisdom Griffin’s mother offered on a daily basis.
Hester isn’t gone. She’ll always live inside you, Rae. Even when it’s difficult, find the joy in living. Prepare for college. Don’t fall behind in your studies. Your mother would expect nothing less from you.
Her homework forgotten, Rae stepped into the art studio. The tang of paint clung to the air. She found the checkbook beneath a sheaf of bank statements on the table before the studio’s wall of glass. There were also three checks from art galleries—a tidy sum. The money from Hester’s life insurance policy was already deposited in a savings account in Rae’s name. Hester, ever prudent, had set up the policy years earlier.
Clearing a space, Rae paid the bills. She filled out deposit slips and made a note to transfer funds from her savings account. By the time the last envelope was sealed, a headache pounded at her temples.
Lonely and frustrated, she picked up the phone.
Sally answered. “Hi, Rae. Hold on. I’ll get my brother.”
The phone clattered down. The sounds of soft music and adult laughter drifted through the line. Griffin’s parents entertaining guests. This afternoon Winnie had been preparing canapés when Rae and Griffin walked in from school.
“Hey, babe. What’s up?” Surprise laced the greeting; it was after nine o’clock.
“Griffin, I know it’s late. Can I come over for a little while? My dad’s being weird. I need to get out of here.”
“Sure.” Happiness replaced the surprise in Griffin’s voice. “I’ll be at the door waiting.”
When she arrived, the foyer chandelier threw sparkles of light across the walls. Frank Sinatra warbled from the living room. Griffin’s parents were drinking martinis with their guests.
The intrusion went unnoticed, and Griffin led her through the kitchen. They hurried down the stairwell to the basement.
Dust swirled in the air. An old couch sat against the concrete wall. A wooden crate stood in as a side table, with a CD player on top. There was also a beanbag chair that Sally had picked up somewhere, and the mini fridge Rae had given Griffin at Christmas, before the White Hurricane upended their lives. Although Winnie Marks had decorated every inch of the main living areas, her two children preferred the jumbled crash pad they’d created together.
“Do you want a Coke?” Griffin asked.
“No, thanks.” Rae flopped down on the couch. “I just need a breather. Twenty minutes, and I’ll let you get back to your studies.”
“Stay as long as you’d like.”
“Can I move in?” She let her head fall back on the cushion. “Commandeer one of the guest rooms?”
“It’ll get my dad’s vote.” Griffin sat down beside her. “He loves having the sharpshooter around.”
“I wish he’d stop calling me that.”
Griffin flicked her nose. “Me too. It makes me think twice whenever I say something that pisses you off.”
Despite her gloom, Rae laughed. “Then don’t piss me off.”
“Hey, I don’t do it on purpose. Your temper is unpredictable.” Griffin wrinkled his wide, oversize nose. Rae loved his nose, how the sheer heft was nearly as expressive as his eyes. She was about to tell him that when he added, “Sally’s convinced Dad loves you more than me. Her too.”
“Stop it. The great Everett Marks loves you best. That’s why he criticizes you, Griffin. He’s determined to mold you in his image.”