Chapter Eighteen

Finn

Now

“So, meanwhile, Brutus the Brute is humping Finn’s leg like a seventies porn star on Viagra, and Finn’s trying to nudge a frantic Lulu inside the carrier,” Henry giggled through his recount of what had gone down at the clinic. Finn was finishing up his stack of pancakes, trying to soak up the last of the syrup with a side of praise, his cheeks flushed crimson from all the attention that this morning’s chaos at the clinic had brought on.

“Lulu is Mrs. Oakley’s cat, right?” Colton spoke around a mouthful of bacon, gazing at Henry with stars in his eyes like he was the second coming of… everything. No one had ever looked at Finn that way, that was for sure. Well, not aside from Cara. She always used to look at him like he was fucking everything. Aside from that last time he’d seen her, all small, pale, and broken in that hospital bed, her complexion competing with the white sheets. He hadn’t been able to read her expression then, her eyes red-rimmed, lids swollen from crying. Sadness perhaps. Or defeat. Her blue eyes had haunted him all the way to Nevada, into the vast expanses of the dry Mojave Desert, and further into Arizona like an unwanted travel companion.

“Yeah,” Henry chuckled, and even Hank, who’d been mostly silent throughout lunch, seemed to soften from the veterinarian’s boyish charm. Combined with his melodic laughter, he was pretty adorable and if Finn had been into the wholesome type, he might’ve been smitten too. “The cat has an infected paw and if it hadn’t been for Finn distracting her with some salmon treats, I wouldn’t have been able to disinfect it properly, that’s for sure.” He nodded in recognition at Finn, who kept his gaze down, fixating on his now-empty plate. The food at Tilly’s was divine, Vernon an undiscovered culinary wizard, cooking up a storm every day. It mostly sounded like he was fighting in there, loud banging noises and muffled curses drifting through the doors, the occasional “Til!” thrown in with an “I’m okay!” after a particularly earsplitting crash.

“So, a nurse?” Tilly beamed like he was a regular Florence Nightingale while pouring Henry another cup of coffee. “We sure could use a medical professional around here.” She threw a quick glance at Henry. “Not that you’re not one, hon. You’ve been doin’ a stellar job at doctoring all the folks around here.”

“Yeah, but it’s not really my field of expertise, Til. I’m with you there,” he said, nodding. “And you should’ve seen Finn. He was amazing, like a real pro.” Turning towards Finn, he smiled. “Well, you are . A pro.” Finn’s cheeks were positively on fire by now as he mumbled a low “thank you , ” throwing Hank a quick glance. His landlord still seemed somewhat stunned from this morning’s revelation that Finn was a nurse, not as talkative as usual around Tilly.

“What kinda nurse are ya, then, sweetheart?” Tilly tilted her head, resting her bony forearms on the counter.

“Uhm, I’m an ER nurse.”

“Oh, my,” she cooed. “That’s fancy. ER nurse. Ain’t that somethin’, Hank?” She did look rather impressed, perhaps thinking of that famous TV-show ER and that yummy silver fox, George Clooney, that all women had been moaning about when it aired. His mom one of them, much to the chagrin of his dad.

“I don’t know,” Finn replied. “I’ve never really thought about it one way or another. It just always appealed to me to be frontline like that. You know, to be there when patients first come in.” He didn’t mention that being a nurse was plan B. Not that he was heartbroken about it. Well, not anymore. He had been at first, of course, when any hope of becoming a fighter pilot was crushed during the preliminary health check. But he’d long reconciled with the fact that plan B would have to do, and, in the end, it had become his passion—working in the hectic ER, never knowing what you were met with. “It’s a meaningful job, I guess, though I haven’t worked as a nurse in a while,” he shrugged.

Tilly nodded ceremoniously, soaking up every word spilling from his lips like it was the holy sacrament or something.

“Well, I think it’s an honorable profession, young man,” she reached out and squeezed his shoulder, a moist sheen to her eyes. “We sure could use someone like that around here. Why, remember just last spring when Glenn got his hand caught in that saw? Blood everywhere, Glenda yellin’ and howlin’ like a mad cow. We sure could’ve used an ER person around here, instead of young Henry here goin’ all the way into Whitney with him. Gettin’ your truck all messy and such, didn’t ya, hon? Didn’t they end up flyin’ him to Chadron?” She paused briefly for air before continuing, not waiting for Henry to answer. “Didn’t make that man any prettier, no siree, but at least people look at his hand now instead of that huge forehead of his.”

Something resembling a snort erupted from Colton, followed by a hissed, “What?” when Henry poked him in the ribs.

“What?” Tilly stared at the group, Hank looking only seconds away from exploding into a laughing fit, Finn feeling a slight headache building above his left brow. It was like that one time outside of Yuma when he’d been trying to catch a ride on Interstate 8, and he’d gotten caught in a dust storm. His head had buzzed for hours afterward. “It’s true,” Tilly insisted. “Glenda has the same. Not the hand, the head, I mean. Well, she has the hand, too…” Looking straight at Finn, she concluded, “Yeah, you should stay, hon.” Then, looking at Hank, she patted the counter definitively. “He should stay, Hank.” As if Hank had any say in the matter. As if Finn wasn’t his own person but instead somehow Hank’s responsibility just because he stayed with him.

“Glenn and Glenda?” Finn asked, trying to fight back a grin, his eyes glued on Tilly. “There’s a couple called Glenn and Glenda?” He was just about to explode, a laugh of disbelief building inside his chest.

“Twins. The Holloways. Well, they used to be triplets, but Bob fell through the ice that winter in…” She tapped her bottom lip in thought, while counting on her fingers with her other hand. “Was it ’85? Help me out here, Hank.”

“Yeah, ’85, I think,” Hank confirmed, nodding, a fatigued expression building on his face.

“It was awful,” she sighed, her eyes turning serious. Sad. “The twins were never really the same after that. Like a part of them was missin’ or somethin’, you know?” Well, he guessed he knew how that felt, didn’t he? When you lost that part of yourself that made you you .

“Bob?” Henry started laughing in earnest now, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes, and Finn couldn’t help but join him, the younger man’s laughter too infectious. “Their brother’s name was Bob ?”

“Sure was, honey pie.” Tilly nodded. “Funniest looking kid I ever saw, that’s for sure. Somethin’ not quite right with the…” She gestured at her face, like she was trying to recreate his features on her own face.

“Proportions?” Colton offered, shaking his head at his fiancé, who was breathless from laughter, tears trickling down his cheeks.

“Exactly! Thank you, hon.” She smiled fondly. “There was just always somethin’ a little off. Like the symmetry or somethin’, you know?” She looked at Finn, who could only nod in return. “Like you’d have to tilt your head when you were talkin’ to him, or you’d get all… I don’t… woozy, or somethin’. You know, like motion sickness.”

“Jesus, Til. It wasn’t that bad.” Hank shook his head.

“But why was he called Bob?” Henry snorted.

“Why, I don’t know.” Tilly looked puzzled. “Fine name, Bob. Why you askin’, hon?”

“But…” Henry continued before Colton squeezed his wrist, speaking a deep, “Leave it, sweetheart.”

“Well, as fun as this has been, we’d better head back.” Hank rose from the counter, placing a bundle of bills on the surface. “I’ll just use the restroom, okay son?” He threw Colton a quick glance.

“Yep.”

Rising from his seat, too, Finn couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt this full and sated. His stomach ached from the gallons of delicious food and from laughing so hard. It had literally been years since he’d laughed with such abandon, but Tilly was a real character. For a moment there, he’d been stunned out of his mind, his breath catching in his throat when she’d instructed Hank to make him stay. But then she’d started rambling on about the triplets, who were now twins, and he’d momentarily forgotten.

Stretching his arms above his head, he looked around the small, homely establishment. The red and white checkered tablecloths. The mismatch of old wooden tables and chairs. The red leather booths along the large windows facing the main street. Subtle country music and the occasional clanging from the kitchen acting as an ever-present background noise, like a humming fridge or birdsong in spring. Vernon poking his head out from time to time, giving his wife a fond squeeze in passing. It reminded Finn of home somehow. Of family and togetherness. And for the past hour he’d been here, he felt included. Welcome. Like he was part of something again. Something that felt bigger than himself. A community where there was a shared past, stories, and memories.

And it was the same with Hank. Everything he did or said made Finn feel included, and he didn’t quite know how to feel about that. Because it poked at something that he’d buried on the road a long time ago—the idea of belonging somewhere. Of staying instead of moving. And it uncovered his own memories. Of the people he’d left behind. Of his life in Oregon. His parents. And Cara. It was like those twins, wasn’t it? Like they were missing something. As much as he’d tried to suppress it over the past eight years, an important part of himself was missing. And being here, in Hayley’s Peak, had become a constant reminder of that. Fuck, he’d even started dreaming of Cara again, hadn’t he?

The bell over the door chimed, and a young couple with two toddlers entered, walking past a row of booths. They nodded kindly at Finn and then settled down at a table in the back.

“Thanks for the food, ma’am.” He nodded at Tilly, who was wiping the counter clean.

“My pleasure, hon. And it’s Tilly. Nice to meet you, young man.”

“Nice to meet you, too. And Vernon,” he added, before turning and heading for the door. Grabbing his parka from the hanger, his gaze landed on a couple of framed photos. He immediately recognized the view of the woods from Hank’s porch. The sun was setting behind the tops of the large fir trees, painting the sky in deep oranges and reds. Our Wild Wild Woods it said underneath the picture frame on a small brass plate. By Eugene Hemmings. Eugene. Another photo was of a vast expanse of land; perhaps the grasslands that Hank had mentioned. The indigenous territory. Splendor in the Grass. He reached out and trailed the tips of his fingers along the four words inscribed on another brass plate.

“Always takin’ pictures, that man,” Tilly sighed next to him, a wistful edge to her voice. “No matter where he went, always that camera around his neck. Seems like it was only just yesterday and not seven years come spring.” She swallowed, wiping at her eyes.

“They’re beautiful,” Finn whispered, taking in the earthy colors and the blades of golden grass. “He died?” Despite not having known the person who’d taken such beautiful photos, Finn was struck with a deep-seated heaviness in his chest. A sadness at the strange coincidence of the name. Eugene.

“Yes. Cancer. Way too young. And poor Hank… Never really recovered from that. Although, he does seem happier these days…” She smiled thoughtfully.

“Hank?” Finn asked.

“Yes. He was Hank’s Eugene. His partner. Didn’t he tell ya?”

“No. No, he didn’t.” Because he hadn’t. He’d never mentioned the name of his partner. Even though Finn had understood the meaning of the word, he’d always found it to be so insufficient. Partner . As soon as Hank had spoken it, he’d known what it meant. It had been written all over the face of the older guy. A world of pain dwelling in those two syllables.

“Yeah, love of Hank’s life, that beautiful man. We all loved him, of course. Such a kind soul. Never a mean word or anythin’. But to Hank, he was the risin’ sun in the mornin’ and the moon at night. Heck, never saw a guy so besotted as Hank was with his Eugene.”

His Eugene. Tilly’s words rang through his body, and suddenly, he felt sick. Excusing himself, he quickly zipped up his coat, opened the door, and rushed out into the early afternoon light. It was snowing again, fluffy white flakes dancing all around him, an absurd carefree contrast to the immense sadness inhabiting his body. Leaning his back against the front of the diner, he breathed in gulps of serene air, filling his lungs, his heart pounding in his chest. As if each breath held some cleansing healing power. Rubbing at the front of his coat, loosening the suddenly much too constrictive scarf, he closed his eyes, tipping his head towards the weak winter sun. Shit. Fucking shit.