Fury (9 page)

              “I’ll have him drop you off at your car first, okay?”

              “No,” she corrected quickly. “No, I think it’ll be better if I go with you.”

              “Finley, you don’t have to come with me. I promise not to drink anything tonight.”

              She smiled crookedly. “It’s not that. It’s—”

              “What?” I asked, furrowing my brows.

              “I-I just don’t want to go home to an empty apartment.”

              I studied her, finally deciding she was being serious. “Okay.”

              Patrick dropped us off at O’Shaughnessy’s, our local auto parts store. It was closed but Harv, who owned the store, lived above the shop and wouldn’t mind opening up to sell us a battery. It was also nice because it was only seven blocks away from Sykes where Finley was parked.

              “Thanks for the ride, Patrick!” Finley shouted as I lifted her from the bed of his truck.

Patrick leaned over his friend to talk to her out the passenger side window. “Uh, I can take you back if you want.”

“No, thank you so much, though. I don’t want to inconvenience you any more than we already have. My car’s just down the road a spell. We’ll walk there and I’ll take him back to Buffalo’s myself.”

“Oh, okay,” he said, looking defeated.

“Thanks again. Thanks, guys!” she shouted to the others.

We turned around and she waved one last time as we walked up the side stairs to Harv’s apartment.

              I opened the screen door and it creaked loudly, then I knocked twice. Finley stood one step below me, one booted foot resting on the deck where I stood. Harv didn’t come to the door, though. He wasn’t there. Or he was asleep and couldn’t hear us.

“Are you kidding me?” I asked, my eyes raised toward the night sky.

Finley laughed and started heading down the stairs.             

“Oh, well, let’s go get the love bug. We can come back and try again.”

“Okay,” I answered, trudging down the steps she’d just hopped down.

We’d just started out toward Sykes when her cell rang.

              “Hey, buttercup,” she answered with a smile.
It’s Holly
, she mouthed and I nodded. “I’m not at home yet. Ethan’s truck battery died and I’m helping out.” She listened then sighed. “Yeah. Yeah, I will.” She hung up.

              “She doesn’t like you hanging with me,” I said.

              “Nah, she just checks up on me whenever I have to leave work late,” she evaded.

I smiled at her to which she smiled as well but turned her head toward the sidewalk.

              “She hates me,” I insisted.

              “No!” she denied. “She … Well, she just doesn’t trust you.”

              “Ah, I see. Well, even if I think she’s wrong,” I said, elbowing her playfully. “I like that she cares enough about you to worry.”

              “She’s lovely, my Holly. I humor her because she
is
a bit of a worrywart, though. I make it a point to call her when I come home late from work. It scares her otherwise.”

              “You’re a good girl, Finley,” I told her, meaning it.

              Hearing the words “good girl” tumble from my own lips triggered a memory of my mom, making my chest ache so deep I could decipher each individual cell that made up my broken heart. Each one throbbed painfully. My hand went to my chest and my steps faltered enough that Finley felt the need to reach for my arm.

              “You okay?” she asked, concern in her eyes.

              My mind went spinning back in time.

“Do you have your backpack, Ethan?” my mom asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” a small voice answered back.

We walked down the steps of our front porch hand in hand. My dad was standing by his truck loading some sort of tool into the bed.

              “We’re headed off to school, Daddy,” my mom spoke to alert him to our presence and to set the tone of what she expected from him.

              “Well,” my dad said kindly, picking me up and kissing my cheek. “Be a good boy, son. Listen to your teachers. Make good decisions today. Pray to God for peace during your test today.”

              “Yes, sir,” I said, beaming at him.

He sat me down and ruffled my black hair. My mom kept it short then.

              “Oh,” my mom playfully complained, “I just combed his hair, babe.”

              “Excuse me,” my dad responded sarcastically, grabbing my mom by the waist and kissing her on the mouth.

I stuck my tongue out and wrinkled my nose in disgust but deep inside, I secretly loved watching them love one another. It gave me happiness, though I didn’t recognize it as so then. I just knew it made me feel happy inside.

              My dad let her go, smoothing her hair down on both sides of her head and kissing her forehead.

He turned to me then, resting his hand on top of my head. “Love you, Ethan.”

“Love you too, Daddy.”

“See you after school, son.” He turned to my mom. “Love you too, good girl.”

“Love you too.”

My mom and I walked away toward the end of our lane to wait for our bus. On our way there, I asked her why my dad called her a good girl.

My mom smiled to herself then said, “Does it feel silly to hear him call me that?”

I nodded.

“When your daddy and I first met, he told me he was just a good guy lookin’ for a good girl.” She smiled at the memory. “We got to datin’ for a little bit and one day he told me he’d found her in me, that he thought I was his good girl.”

“And will I grow up and get a good girl too?” I asked her.

“Yes, you will, Ethan,” she answered without hesitation. She stopped me in the lane and held my chin. “You deserve nothing but goodness.” She leaned down on her ankles, at eye level. “Good girls are hard to come by, but I think God’s got one all lined up for you already. Just keep an eye out for her, right? Treat all girls with kindness, Ethan, ’cause you never know which one will turn into the good girl you’re meant to keep.”

I nodded, eyes wide. “Yes, ma’am.”

I noticed Finley waving her hand in front of my face. “Ethan?” she asked, worry etched over every inch of her face. I wondered how long I’d stood there with her, drowning in the memory of my dead mother.

I blinked once. “Finley,” I said quietly.

“Yes?” she asked, her brows furrowed in distress.

“Yesterday was the anniversary of my mother’s death. And-and I forgot.” My voice cracked at the end. I cleared it to gain composure.

Her loss felt fresh again saying it out loud. The wound of her death ripped back open, exposing my already damaged heart to the harshness of a bitter environment. An environment I’d created on my own. I discovered I’d forgotten when I opened the fridge earlier that afternoon. Its emptiness consumed me in a strange way, as if my body
knew
I’d forgotten. That was when I glanced at the calendar and discovered I’d dishonored the memory of my mom by forgetting the worst day of our lives.

              Finley’s hands went to her mouth and her eyes glassed over. “Ethan,” she breathed.

              “How could I forget the worst day of my life, Fin? How?” She moved for me but stepped back when I continued again, her hands fisting at her mouth. “The awful part is I hadn’t even realized it was coming up. I couldn’t even bother to remember.” My left hand laid at my side while my right clenched at my heart, ready to tear it out just to relieve the hurt. I averted my gaze, focusing on a neon sign pulsing in the pitch-black night. “I’m a terrible son, Finley.”

              My whole body felt overwhelmingly sad. I recognized with that memory that a person may forget a date but they cannot forget a torment. The mind may fail you but the heart never does. Grief etches itself inside the body’s stone. It weathers with age as all etchings do, worn by the winds of time, but the remnants are there. They remain and they continue to distinguish themselves. A sculptor would never forget its chisel. It’s the curse of the carver.

Without warning, a cool, slender hand found my forearm and some of the agony suffered a little less.

Finally
, I sighed to myself, pulling her to me and wrapping my arms around her.

CHAPTER NINE

              Harv did sell me a battery that night when we went back, and it was close to three in the morning when I finally dropped Finley at her apartment. She was so exhausted she admitted the loneliness she’d felt earlier had disappeared since her eyes were already half closed. I walked her inside and made sure she locked her door when I left, not that Kalispell was dangerous or anything, but why take chances?

I went home that morning with a fairly definite idea of who Finley was. She was my earthly guardian angel, my little salvation. I’d never tell her as much because who needs that kind of pressure, right? But I most definitely relied on her. The entire drive back, I wondered if I would ever deserve her friendship, how I could ever pay her back for what she’d done for me. I knew that I might not ever atone for it, but I also knew I’d live my entire life aspiring to accomplish just that.

We spent every single day together the weeks before she left for
Hạ Long Bay, and the comfort she brought me is an insane thing to try to convey. Finley and I became incredibly close during those weeks. And it was an allied effect I’d never felt, not even, I’m ashamed to say, with Caroline, because with Finley it was in no way forced or ever uncomfortable. There were no motives. We weren’t occupied with anything other than being in one another’s company. We never needed to explain ourselves because we wanted nothing more from one another other than to care for each other, to rely on each other, to regard one another as the only person who truly understood us. Finley, for lack of a better phrase, was my best friend. Hers was a friendship I’d never had nor ever thought existed. I never thought a friend could be like that.

And just like that, Caroline was forgiven. Because if she had never left me, I never would have found Finley. Finley’s friendship meant more to me than the relationship I had with Caroline. My hatred dissipated into a pool of nothing at my feet.

“Pass me that bag, will ya?” Finley asked, hooking her phone to the small speaker she carried with her at all times, and she started a playlist. I reached down and picked up one of the myriad bags on her plastic-covered mattress and held it out for her as the heavy bass of the first song swam through my skin. “No, not that one,” she said, pointing at another.

              I reached for the one I thought she wanted and she shook her head then tried another without success. “Jeez, Fin, there’s a hundred on here. Describe it to me,” I demanded as she rummaged through a random drawer.

              “The greenish one with the mustard-colored stripes.” I grabbed the one she wanted and set it on top of her dresser.

We’d moved all of her stuff into a storage unit the day before and had returned to grab a few things before her flight the next day.

She was packing for Vietnam.

“I can’t believe you’re leaving for a year,” I told her.

She glanced at me and smiled. “It’ll pass by like that,” she said, snapping her slender fingers.

I smiled in return but I wasn’t so sure. Admittedly, I leaned on Finley a little too heavily but it was a coping mechanism. She was a lifeline, more a life jacket than a preserver. Our friendship tugged that closely. She was so pleasant to be around as well. Funny and silly and full of life.

She was leaving for Vietnam in the morning and I was driving her to the airport. I was dreading her absence. Selfish, I know, but I didn’t want her to go. If I’d known the kind of charity she was doing, I thought I might have been able to come to terms with it a little better.

“You know, if you just told me what you were doing over there, I might not feel so crappy about dropping you off tomorrow,” I said with a bite I hadn’t intended.

Her hands stilled as she stared at the top of her dresser and sighed. “Ethan, let it go, will you? If I told you, you’d just force me to stay.”

I stood from sitting on her mattress. “That’s it. That’s enough for me to force you right there.”

She shook her head. “You can’t stop me,” she said, avoiding eye contact, rummaging through a deep bag.

“What if I refused to take you?” I threatened uselessly, inching near her.

“I’d just take a cab, dude.”

I stopped a mere few inches from her and sighed, resting the palm of my hand on the surface of the dresser, inches from her fingers. “Fine, but will you at least call me when you get there? Give me the number to check in on you periodically.”

Her eyes met mine briefly and something passed between us. Something I couldn’t define. My stomach dropped so I backed up a step.

“Fine,” she told the inside of the giant bag. “I’ll call you and give you the details of where I’ll be. Will that make you feel better?”

“Not really, but if it’s all you’ll give me, then fine.”

Finley zipped the top of her bag, resting an arm on top of it. She turned toward me, using her other hand to hold back wisps of hair tumbling about her face from the wind tunneling into the unit from outside.

“I’m ready,” she said with a sad smile.

“Are you nervous?” I asked her.

There was limited space to move around or even stand so I threw a knee over the mattress to give myself the illusion of room. I was feeling stifled for some reason, overcome by the crowded boxes and disheveled furniture. My chest felt constricted because of it, I thought.

              She sat on the plastic-covered mattress then laid back, her feet planted on the floor.

              “A little,” she said, meeting my eyes and smiling. “A lot, actually.” Her eyes glassed over, so I joined her side and laid beside her.

              “You don’t have to go,” I said.

              She turned to me and I looked at her. “Yes, I do. I really, really do,” she answered.

              I nodded, accepting her answer. “You’re courageous, Fin.”

              “I don’t know about that,” she said, voice low, “but I’m trying.”

              I realized then I’d selfishly made it harder on her by encouraging her to stay, by giving her a hard time. “I’m sorry I gave you shit. You should go. Go but know that anytime you need me, you just call me and I’ll be there for you.”

              Finley wrapped her hand around mine and we stared at the top of the storage unit in silence.

***

              At two in the morning we left for Glacier Park International so she could make her six a.m. flight. It felt surreal that she’d be flying halfway across the world. I almost couldn’t believe the day had come. For some inexplicable reason I thought I had all the time in the world to spend with her before she had to go, but like so many things, I was mistaken.

She was quiet most of the ride. Nerves, I thought, keeping her silent. When we arrived at the airport, I pulled into a garage and grabbed a time ticket. We parked and I got her door for her, followed by her bags, except her ridiculous carry-on which she insisted she could shoulder.

I stacked a bag on top of her rolling luggage and we headed for her gate but she stopped in the middle of the pedestrian crosswalk, her hand gripping my forearm. Relief from the harsh anxiety I’d been feeling subsided with one breath. I slowly stared down at those soothing fingers, wishing I could glue them there.

“I’m-I’m scared,” she said, her knuckles turning white.

My gaze rose to meet hers. She was staring so firmly at my eyes, it sort of knocked me back a little. I opened my mouth to answer, but before I could, a shuttle bus honked at us to let him by. Startled, we both staggered back onto the sidewalk. I set her bag up to stand on its own and turned toward her.

“Finley,” I whispered, sliding my hands between her hair and face and settling my palms against her cheeks and neck. Her hands raised and gripped at my wrists a little desperately. My forehead met hers and my hair slid forward, mingling with her own. “You’ve got this, Fin. You’ve got this, and
I’ve
got you.” She took a deep, profound breath, let it out slowly, then nodded. I stepped back a bit, breaking contact save for my hands on her face and her hands on my arms. “Acting bravely doesn’t mean there’s a lack of fear, Fin. It just means you overthrow it, stamp it down, and toss it in deep with the cowardice.”

She took another rooted breath and found that very place. Her jaw clenched and she hiked her carry-on farther up on her shoulder. “Let’s go.”

We stood quietly at the ticket counter, butterflies taking residence in both our bellies. It was written all over her face. Hers for obvious reasons. Mine because I was scared for her but was trying not to show it.

There were surprisingly a lot of fliers for that early in the morning. Finley had two connecting flights, the first being in Seattle. She’d get there in only an hour and a half but she had an almost nine-hour layover when she landed. When she got her ticket, we discovered we had at least an hour to kill so I grabbed a couple cups of coffee along with a few warm croissants.

I sat next to Finley, who’d removed her flip-flops, of course, and pulled her feet into her lap.

“If Principal Healy could get a load of you, dude,” I chuckled, gesturing to her feet.

She rolled her eyes but smiled. “What an asshole, right? Why did he care if I did or did not wear shoes, anyway? He was
obsessed
with trying to catch me without them. He’d rant about how if I hurt my feet on school property, they’d be liable, blah, blah, blah. I asked if he was so concerned about it, why not just let me sign a waiver, and you know what he said?”

“‘Where would be the fun in that, Miss Dyer?’”

She did a double take. “How do you know that?”

“’Cause I was there that day, Fin. You wouldn’t shut up about how ‘unfair slash creepy’ he was.”

Her cheeks bloomed red. “Oh.”

I don’t know why, but I liked the color on her. “I agreed with you, though. I thought he was a little too preoccupied with catching you. I remember telling you I thought it was disturbing the amount of joy he got out of sending you home.”

“I know. What a douche canoe.” She raised her coffee in the air and announced with a terrible English accent, “His mother was a hamster and his father smelt of elderberries!” She brought her hand back down and took a sip of her coffee.

A burst of laughter that’d been growing in me pretty much since she saved my life that first night exploded out of me, deep and guttural. It was the hardest I’d laughed in many, many months, and it was apparently catching because Finley’s shining eyes met mine and she joined me. We were both so loud, in fact, a few people stopped and stared. Tears streamed from our eyes. It was junior year bio all over again.

“This is only funny because it’s four in the morning,” she said, giggling.

“I know,” I agreed but kept laughing. After a while, I wiped my palms down my face and sighed. “Henry Kissinger, I’ve been missin’ yer.”

She nodded as she ran her fingers under her eyes, wiping away all traces of happiness it seemed because her face sobered quickly. “I
am
going to miss you while I’m gone,” she explained.

My face matched hers. “Same here, Fin. Same here.” I glanced down at my watch. “It’s time.”

She looked at me and her eyes glassed over. One tiny tear escaped as she nodded her head, her smile strained.

“Fin,” I quieted, my voice dropping a few octaves.

She sucked in a breath. “I wasn’t so sad to leave before you turned up,” she explained, candid.

I stood and pulled her up to me, wrapping my arms around her slender shoulders. Her hair spilled across the tops of my forearms and I tried to memorize how soft it was, tried to commit to memory the smell and color. It was such an unusual complexion, a mixture between tawny and deep red. It was a spectacular spectrum between bronze and auburn.

I took a deep breath and secreted into that hair, “I’ll be honest, I’m glad to know you again.” I hugged her tightly. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, Fin, in-including Caroline.”

She sighed on a bit of a sob and nodded into my shoulder then lifted her head and looked at me, her cheeks wet. “And you’re the same for me, actually. Unrivaled.” She laughed. “Don’t tell Holly I said that. I love Holly like a sister, but you understand me more than anyone ever could, Ethan. Like we share the same sort of insides. As if we’re knitted from the same thread.”