Fury (11 page)

              My dad nodded his head. “Sounds made for you.”

              “It kind of does, actually.”

              He plated his food and sat next to me. I tucked my legs up and leaned forward, resting my forearms on the corner of the table and drumming a beat on the tabletop with my fingers. My legs were too long and fit uncomfortably beneath the table. I had to arrange them in the same odd way I did when my mom made me sit for meals before she died. I hadn’t sat at that table for years.

              “It’s good to see you this early,” my dad offered up in a rare moment of emotion. My fingers stopped drumming.

              “You too, Dad,” I told him. “You know, I haven’t had a drop to drink in over two weeks.”

              He looked up at me. “I can tell,” he said in that gruff voice of his. He took a bite of eggs and swallowed. “It’s that Dyer girl.”

              I nodded my head in that same way my dad did and wondered if it was an inherited trait or a learned one.

              “She’s pretty spectacular.”

              “Love her?” he asked, shocking me.

              I choked on nothing, sitting up. “What?” I asked when I’d gathered myself.

              He bit into a slice of bacon. “Do you love her yet?”

              I furrowed my brows. “What on earth would make you think that?”

              “A man doesn’t quit the drinkin’ caused by one woman unless there’s another worth stopping for.”

              My eyes bugged wide. “Finley and I are just friends, Dad.”

              His fork stopped midway to his mouth. “No such thing,” he said. His fork found his mouth again.

              I laughed. “You’re outdated, old man.”

              “Bull corn,” he said, shocking me further. I was beginning to wonder if I knew my dad at all. “Men are still men, boy. That God-given drive’s always gonna be there.”

              I shook my head at him and sat back, unfolding my legs and stretching them out. “I promise you, we’re just friends.”

              “I don’t believe a word. You’re just foolin’ yourself.”

              He had no idea what he was talking about. I knew what Finley was to me.

              “I’m not jokin’, Dad. She’s the best friend I’ve ever had.”

              “You don’t think your mama and I weren’t best friends? Boy, she was my matchless friend. Nobody could touch that ever. Still can’t.”

              Talking about my mom made me ill feeling. “You mean you were friends before you started dating?”

              “No, I just meant that’s how it should be. Your wife should be your best friend. Always.”

My brows narrowed at him.

              “I don’t think of Fin like that, though.”

              “Why not?” he asked, leaning back in his chair. It squeaked with age. He picked up his coffee cup and took a sip.

              “’Cause,” I offered weakly. “Trust me, we just don’t.”

              “Is she a pretty girl?”

              I rolled my eyes in answer.

              “Well, is she?”

              Admitting this wouldn’t help my case any but I wasn’t going to lie. “Yes, she’s drop-dead, actually.”

              “Well, now,” he said, a small grin laid across his lips, “what’s the issue then?”             

              I let it lie. There was no explaining what Finley meant to me. He didn’t understand that I couldn’t cheapen how I felt about her with letting something like an attraction take precedence.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

              I glanced up at my clock and noted the time.
Finley should be landing within fifteen minutes
. I never asked her to but I was hoping she’d call me once she went through customs. I paced the living room a little once Dad had left, imagining the worst, for some reason.
Damn, dude, you’re paranoid.

             
Finally, an hour after she was supposed to have landed, I got a call from a random number and picked it up on the second ring like a stalker.

              “Hello?” I answered.

              “Hey,” a groggy-sounding Finley greeted.

              I breathed a sigh of relief. “Fin, so glad you called.”

              “I figured I’d ring you here so you wouldn’t worry.”

              “That’s considerate, Fin.”

              She giggled but it sounded a little muffled. “That’s me. Miss Magnanimous. I’m gettin’ T-shirts made.” I laughed, happy to hear her voice. I couldn’t believe I’d have to wait a year to see her again. “Listen,” she said, breaking up, “my connecting flight from Seoul leaves in half and an hour and I want to pee and grab something to eat.”

              “Go then,” I ordered. “Call me when you get to Hanoi.”

              “I will. Thanks, Ethan.”

              “For what, Fin?”

              “For caring as much as you do.”

              I grinned from ear to ear. “Shut up, Fin.”

I don’t know how but I could hear her smile and she hung up.

A hard stone settled in the pit of my stomach. With as secretive as she was about everything, I knew there must have been something about what she was doing that was extraordinarily dangerous, and I didn’t know what to do with that. I walked toward my room, ready to reach for my laptop. I spent about one minute that morning toggling back and forth between trying to decide whether I should search the Internet for information on Finley’s case. I decided I wouldn’t betray her that way. I decided, if she wanted me to know, she would tell me, and with that, I showered and dressed.

I paced the living room, ready to text that ranger at Glacier but couldn’t bring myself to do it, not when I knew Finley might be doing something crazy, even if it was to help others. I gave in and picked up my laptop, bringing it to my knees, and pulled up a search engine. Fin had said that the name of the organization she was helping was an Irish name meaning to safeguard. I searched an English-to-Irish dictionary and clicked the first link. Four little boxes pulled up and I chose the English translator, typing in “to safeguard.”

The word
Slánaigh
fell at the top of the results. Beside it was a small sideways triangle, indicating you could hear how it was pronounced so I clicked it. A man’s voice came on and his interpretation sounded like the “slunug” I recognized from Finley.

With shaking hands, I highlighted the word “Slánaigh” and pasted it along with “Vietnam” in the search bar, clicking enter.

There it is
.

I clicked on the link to the site and was greeted with hauntingly sad images like a punch in the stomach. Children. Children but their eyes had bars across them to protect their identities, I decided. The headline read, “Stop Child Sex Slavery.”

Like that, my world tipped on its side. I felt my breath catch in my throat. I understood why Finley would have wanted to help this cause and I even understood why she kept it a secret. Revealing that the issue hit close to home for her and would have been an admission of her past and she wasn’t ready for that. I understood it but I didn’t like it. I didn’t like it because it was extremely dangerous.

I read their mission statement and cringed, imagining Finley reliving her past.
Not being able to stop there, I read their journals, the articles, the personal accounts of survivors and volunteers alike. The men who ran these sex trade circles weren’t just the sick of the sick, you guys. They were devoid of anything resembling humanity. They were violent beyond violent. They weren’t afraid to murder those who got in their way. They bribed the media and police and they were successful. They were incredibly successful.

I felt utterly ill to my stomach. I couldn’t believe I’d let Finley go, that I’d actually
driven
her to the airport. If I had known, I would have stopped her. If I’d known, I would have found another solution for her to feel like she was accomplishing her goal. The idea of her over there risking her life was too much for me.

I let out a shaky breath and stood from my search. The urge to drink was something fierce. Instead of heading to Vi, I decided to put on a pair of running shorts, a pair of sneakers, and go running. I pushed down the overwhelming call to the bottle and headed out onto the outskirts of the fields, running like my life depended on it and as the sweat dripped down my back and chest, I decided something had to be done for Finley.

I needed to bring her home, take her away from the danger, protect her. I
needed
to do this. I needed to save her as she saved me.

And so I ran. I ran away from my addiction like my life depended on it. I’d imagined I was running to Finley and suddenly I’d never had such endurance, never wanted anything more in my life. She’d become more important to me than myself. Nothing would sever that friendship, nothing.

After running hard for close to an hour, I went back home, showered again and sat on the bed with every intention of looking up details about the search-and-rescue position Seth said was available at Glacier, but apparently I’d fallen asleep without realizing it, which was a disconcerting thing. I was awakened by the sound of my phone ringing. I shot up with a confused feeling, glancing at my surroundings and realizing my phone was going off. Searching through the sheets, I found the phone, sliding the answer button.

“Hello,” my voice rasped.

“Is Ethan there?” Finley asked.

“Fin, it’s me,” I said, my voice scratchy from sleep.

She laughed. “I barely recognized you. You already have the deepest voice ever so when Vin Diesel on molasses answered I was like
what
!”

I smiled and shook my head. “I, uh, fell asleep. Didn’t mean to. It just happened.”

“Yeah, well, I’m envious as hell. I’ve been flying on an airplane for almost twenty-four hours, dude, and I’m about to go Joaquin Phoenix on someone and strangely rant about frogs and other nonsense.”

A burst of laughter eked out of me. “You’re deranged, Dyer.”

She sighed. “I know. Hey,” she went off without warning, “wanna hear something trippy?”

“Always.”

“It’s, what, two-thirty on a Friday afternoon there, right?”

“Right.”

“It’s two-thirty a.m.
Saturday
here. Can you believe that? I’m in the future, dude. I’m seriously here on Saturday and you’re still in the middle of your Friday.”

I grinned. “Far out, Fin, or should I say Marty?”

“Yeah, I’ll be Marty and you can be Doc.”

“It’s a deal. Hey,” I said, following her lead.

“Hey what?”

“I, uh, I found out where you’re working,” I threw out there, wondering how pissed she was going to be.

“How in the world did you do that?” she asked, her voice an almost whisper.

Apparently very pissed
.

              “Listen, you were just so secretive I couldn’t stand knowing if you were in real danger or not.”

              “I repeatedly let you know how I felt about that, Ethan. If I’d wanted you to know, I would have told you.”

I wanted to explain that I
had
respected her privacy by not researching what had happened to her as a little girl, but I decided to keep that little gem to myself.

              “Fin, I’m sorry. I really am, but keeping me in the dark is, well, frankly cruel. Imagining where you were and what could happen was playing dirty tricks on me.”

              She sighed, obviously angry with me. “Ethan, this feels so…”

              “So?”

              “So rotten! Why couldn’t you have done the decent thing and just respected that I didn’t want you knowing?”

              “I think the only reason you didn’t say anything was because you knew you could get hurt, Fin. Keeping me in the dark about something like that, that’s not cool, dude.”

              “If I’d told you, you would have stopped me from going, right?” I didn’t answer. “Well?”

              “Well
what
?”

              “If I had, would you have stopped me from going?

              “I don’t know,” I lied.

              “Lie!”

              “Finley, it just would have been cool to have at least been informed. I felt like I was blindsided today. I’m-I’m worried about you.”

              I could hear her slight breathing as she considered what I said. “I know that, Ethan, but this-this is something that has to be done.”

              “Not by you, it doesn’t.”

              “What the heck does that mean? You don’t think I’m capable of helping?”

              “You are,” I insisted, meaning it. “It’s just that, well, what if you get into a situation where you can’t defend yourself?”

              “I’ll be with plenty of people always,” she explained.

              I breathed through my nose, frustrated with her. I don’t know what I was hoping she would do or say by approaching her the way I had. I decided to come out with it.

              “I think you should come home.”

              She growled, actually growled. “Ethan Moonsong, you are about two seconds away from me hanging up this phone.”

              “Finley, I’d like it if you could come home,” I asked as nicely as I could.

              She laughed a little hysterically then lowered her voice. “Seriously, you are ridiculous. I’m wearing twenty-four hours’ worth of plane, which is not helping my nerves at all, not to mention the little fact that I had this trip planned way before you re-entered my life! And Ethan? I love you and all, but you can’t dictate what I do with that life. I’m already here, and I’d appreciate it if you could just get on board.”

             
Shit
. “I don’t know if I can do that. I’m scared for you, Fin.”

              She sighed. “I understand. I do, but I
need
to do this. Need it like a thirsty man needs water, Ethan, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me. I need this more than you need me home. I’m sorry, but this door is closed.”

              “Finley, if you can die, it’s not worth it.”

Things got deadly quiet. So quiet I’d decided she’d stopped breathing.

              “Some things are worse than death, Ethan,” she finally said with eerie calm.

              “I’ve lost my mom, lost Caroline, Fin, and I’m tired of losing.” That was a low blow and I knew it. I opened my mouth to recant it but she stopped me by speaking first.

              “This isn’t about you, Ethan. It never was.”

And with that, I heard a click and shortly after, a hauntingly empty beep.

              I cursed, wishing things hadn’t ended as they had. I blamed myself because, well, it
was
my fault.

              Two days passed and I hadn’t heard from Finley. She didn’t call me with a number to reach her or email me she was okay. I had overstepped and I knew it. My caring for Finley didn’t give me the right to demand things from her.

              The morning of the third day, I’d greeted my dad in the kitchen. It was his day off.

              “Hey, Pop, what’s up?”

              He turned toward me. “Oh, nothin’. Fixin’ to make some breakfast. You want some?”

He was dressed in his customary Wranglers and worn boots, as if he was going out, but his hat laid on the table.

              “I’ve got a better idea,” I said, and he narrowed his eyes in question. “Let’s go eat at the counter at Sykes.” His eyes popped open in surprise but relaxed almost immediately.