Chapter Thirty-Six

Finn

Now

“Where is he?! Where’s Finn?!” Cara’s distinct voice carried through the house long before she appeared in the door to the kitchen, a gangly young man behind her, auburn hair standing out against his pale, freckled face. A small child—the spitting image of his sister—peeked from behind her wheelchair, curiosity winning over suspicion on his equally freckled face. The child’s pale blue eyes took him in shyly, his dark bangs just cutting along his equally dark brows. His nephew . The boy was his nephew, and he must be around three or four.

“So, it really is you,” his sister spoke, her voice indecipherable. Tilting her head, she took him in from top to toe, her blue gaze burning into him like two piercing laser beams. Even from her sitting position in her wheelchair, Cara radiated confidence and immediately owned the room just like she’d always owned the stage and his complete, undivided attention from the second she was born. And his heart. From the day Cara was born, it was hers.

She raised a dark eyebrow questioningly, the look in her pale blue eyes dull, almost indifferent. If it weren’t for that telltale tick beneath her left eye whenever she got agitated, excited, or emotional, he would’ve thought that the whole situation left her unaffected. But that nerve gave her away, just like he assumed that his burning cheeks gave him away too. Yeah, it could go either way, Finn realized, and he felt himself shrinking, bracing himself for the force of nature that was Cara.

“Honey…” The pale young man spoke quietly behind her, squeezing her shoulder reassuringly—or perhaps to exude calm. Finn could only hope that some of it did indeed transfer to his sister.

Cara’s bottom lip quivered as she spoke, her eyes not leaving Finn.

“Stay out of it, Harry.” Her voice was unfazed, but there was no mistake about the underlying message: This is between me and my brother. Finn caught Harry’s gaze across the room and shook his head, hopefully translating into a just get outta here, man. Save yourself.

“Take Fenn outside in the yard,” Cara instructed before she continued, narrowing her eyes at Finn. “My brother and I need to talk.”

Finn thought he recognized a venomous edge to the way the word brother was articulated, or perhaps he was just imagining it, his nerves playing tricks on his mind. His hands were clammy as he twisted them in front of him, his back leaning against the kitchen counter. Licking his lips, he cleared his throat, his gaze flickering across his sister’s beloved face. No longer a girl, but still the same Cara. Grown into a woman—a beautiful woman—she still had that same spark in her eyes that he recalled from when she was younger. She sat stoically in her chair, hands clasped in her lap and, to someone who didn’t know her, the image of cool. Collected. And still… that small nerve below her left eye never stopped ticking. She, too, was nervous.

“Can I ask Gran for an ice cream?” Fenn sighed, rolling his eyes, projecting the universal kids’ sign for “ I’m so over this, whatever it is. Now, just give me sugar. ”

“Now, let’s just—” Harry started, his voice gentle and diplomatic, while he patted his son’s dark head of hair.

“Yes!” Cara cut through. “For Christ’s sake, Harry! Just give the kid an ice cream or an entire box.”

“Yes!” Fenn jumped, fist-pumping the air. “C’mon, Daddy. I want the cherry first and then the...” he paused, scrunching his nose, the freckles winking adorably, “…the waterlemon! I haven’t tried that one yet. I want that one.” Waterlemon.

“It’s please , thank you very much, Master Bennet,” his sister corrected, her eyes still pinning Finn to the spot like a butterfly pinned to a frame by a needle. It was all just so… so homey that a weak snort escaped Finn’s mouth involuntarily. He quickly covered his mouth, but Cara had clearly noticed it, too, because there was just the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. It was still too premature for Finn to let down his guard, though. He didn’t dare assume that the small, inconspicuous smile was a peace offering. Not yet anyway. “Now, please,” she directed at Harry, who quickly grabbed Fenn’s hand and left the kitchen, mumbling something unintelligible at his son.

The room grew eerily quiet, Finn swallowing audibly as Cara crossed her arms in front of her chest. She wore a light gray sweater, which was probably their mom’s home knit, matched with navy leggings and a pair of black ankle boots. If it wasn’t for the fact she was sitting in a wheelchair, she looked like your average twenty-something, her dark hair in a high ponytail, her makeup-free face unblemished, cheeks pink from the crisp wind blowing in from the Pacific Ocean today. Her face was back to being unreadable, and Finn wished she would just yell at him or cry or throw some angry words at him, but perhaps all that was coming later. Or perhaps she was over it. Perhaps she no longer cared. Yes, that would be the worst-case scenario. He could deal with her anger or her resentment. Even her sorrow. But indifference? He would never get over Cara meeting him with indifference.

Unfolding her arms from her chest, Cara reached down, grabbed the wheels of her chair, and moved a few inches closer to him. If it wasn’t because he was trapped against the kitchen counter, he would’ve automatically taken a few steps backward, the fierceness in her eyes reminding him of some female Viking warrior. What was it? A shield-maiden? He couldn’t remember.

Blinking once, Cara exhaled languidly, licking her bottom lip.

“Well, if it isn’t the leader of the wiener patrol…” she spoke quietly, each of Homer Simpson’s words articulated carefully. It couldn’t be all bad if she was now quoting their dad’s number one hero. “To what do we owe the honor, Finn?” On the other hand, the Finn , instead of her fond Finnie , pulled in the other direction.

“Cara…” he whispered, his heart skipping a beat or two, his mouth not really working the way he wanted it to.

“You’re a little late, Finn. Don’t you think?” She raised a brow in question, then tipped her head, raising her left arm, looking at her watch. “As in eight years, two months, five days, and…” she counted on her fingers, taking her time, “some twenty minutes late.” She’d always been fucking great at math.

“I’m…” He swallowed around the lump building in his throat, like a clot threatening to burst at any minute. Eyes stinging, he blinked back invisible tears. “I’m…”

“Good thing there was a nice young physiotherapist there to help me instead.” She nodded in the direction where Harry and Fenn had just disappeared out of the door to the backyard, a fond smile curling across her pink lips. “When my brother, my only sibling, was a no-show.”

“Cara, I’m sorry. I—” he mumbled, taking a step forward, his right hand stretched out in front of him. Cara held up her right hand between them, her blue gaze freezing him in his tracks.

“So, here’s how it’s gonna go, brother dearest ,” she interrupted. “You’re probably going to ramble on about how you’re all sorry and shit. Begging me to forgive you and saying that you won’t ever be able to forgive yourself and blah blah blah…” Her words were spoken rapidly, like bullets hitting him and it almost felt like she’d rehearsed this… speech over the years on the odd chance he would return. “But I’ve already had enough of that crap from Dad for the past eight years, walking around—no tiptoeing around me—like at any given second, a firing squad would put him up against the wall and shoot him.” She drew in a deep breath, her cheeks turning a shade pinker, a few red patches scattered along her neck.

Finn felt confusion building, blending with exhaustion from the long trip. He wasn’t exactly sure where Cara was headed with this, but it wasn’t exactly what he’d expected. Brushing a hand through his disobedient locks that had taken on a life of their own when met with the wild coastal wind, he sucked in a deep breath. However, the heavy air in the small kitchen gave him little relief, his chest still tight and strained.

“So, I’m only going to say this once, Finnie, and then you can tell me, and I don’t ever want to hear it again, okay? Then we’re going to move on and get on with our lives as brother and sister, because that’s what you are, Finn. You’re my brother, my ride or die,” she paused, a wistful smile curling across her lips as she patted her wheels, “and that overrides everything else. You hear me?”

He found himself nodding stupidly, his mind a roaring ocean of confusion and fragmented sentences.

“So?” She looked at him expectantly, her pale face radiating nothing but sincerity.

“What?” he frowned, tucking his bottom lip into his mouth, biting down to the point of painful.

“So, tell me,” she motioned with her hand, “because I haven’t got all day.” She looked at her watch again. “I have a class at four, and those helicopter parents don’t give a fuck if the teacher is physically impaired or not. Not when little Charlotte ,” she groaned, rolling her eyes, “wants to do her blasphemous imitation of the dying swan.” She winced, her ponytail swaying from side to side.

Finn licked his lips slowly, his head buzzing, a ringing noise going on repeat in his ears. He’d never had a full-blown panic attack, although that night in the desert he’d been pretty close to one, but he recognized all the telltale symptoms of one. The words were just at the tip of his tongue, and still, it felt like he was being asked to speak in a foreign language, the words dancing in front of him, taunting him because they would never be enough. They would always just be insufficient to express how sorry he was. There weren’t enough words in the English vocabulary for him to tell Cara how fucking sorry he was. How he wished he could go back in time and tell her to call a cab instead.

“Finnie,” she coaxed, and some of his anxiety vanished when she called him by the name of their childhood and youth. It couldn’t be all bad, could it? “Tell me.” As if she’d pushed a secret button, tears dropped from his eyes and started streaming down his cheeks, his chin, and his neck. A sound resembling a whine spilled from his lips and he felt like dropping to his knees, banging his head against the hardwood floorboards until there was nothing to hear. Nothing to see. Nothing to feel. But then a timbre voice broke through the roaring noises, barely audible at first, until it grew in volume and became so overpowering that there was room for nothing else. A voice so unwavering and firm, fondness seeping through the deep bass.

‘ You’re such a good boy, aren’t you, Finn? Such a beautiful, beautiful boy. ’

“Finnie?”

“I’m sorry,” he croaked, tears gathering on his lips, intermingling with his words.

“I know you are.” Cara was crying now too, and he took a step closer, his boots nearly touching her chair.

“I’m so sorry, Cara,” he cried, regarding his sister, trails of tears streaking her face. Her only reply was to grab his hand in hers, squeezing it impossibly tight.

“I know you are,” she spoke softly. “I know you are.” Dropping to his knees in front of her, he looked into her eyes pleadingly, a muddy brown meeting the palest of blue.

“Please forgive me,” he hiccupped. “Please.” Through a curtain of tears, he watched his sister’s familiar face, her mouth twisting with pain. With sorrow. With regret. But not with anger. There was no anger.

“Oh, Finnie,” she whispered, reaching out her other hand and brushing a lock of hair behind his left ear. “There’s nothing to forgive, you silly boy,” she half laughed, half cried. He’d already known that she was going to say that. Of course he had. But her words left him unfulfilled, his all-consuming guilt still holding him in its fierce grasp. Like a famished beast that would never be sated no matter how many it’s okays you fed it. So, he spoke those words that were waiting inside of him. That had been waiting inside of him for more than eight years.

“But I need it. Please, Cara. I need your forgiveness.” His sister swiped furiously at her tears, clear snot pooling below her nostrils, as she nodded in understanding.

“Then you have it. On one condition.”

“What?” the desperate edge to his voice didn’t escape him, hope wrestling against despair inside.

“That you forgive yourself, too. Because that’s what I need, Finn. More than anything. I need my brother back. My Finnie. And not some ghost version of you, but the real you.”

“I… I’ll try,” he sobbed, those goddamn tears like an unstoppable river now that the dam had broken.

“That’s not good enough.” She tipped her chin in defiance.

“Cara…” His other hand found hers, too, and his gaze flickered from her eyes to her wheelchair, then back again.

“I mean it, Finn. I don’t want your I’m sorries unless you forgive yourself in return. Otherwise, this won’t work,” she pointed her index finger between them. “I can’t be the source of all your regret and self-loathing. I don’t want this chair to be a constant reminder of your debt because there is none.” She started sobbing. “I can’t be around you if I know you pity me and hate yourself. I don’t think I deserve that. Neither do you.”

Her pale eyes turned a shade darker, and he recognized that look from so many times before. It was the look that meant I know you want the last piece of cake, Finn, but you won’t say so because you know I want it, too. Just as pointless as it had always been back then, he realized it was equally fruitless right now to try to change his sister’s mind. Once Cara had decided on something, there was no way in hell that you would be able to convince her otherwise.

“You mean it?” He looked at her, her face sincere and resolute.

“I mean it.”

“Okay,” he nodded in resignation, that feeling of hope inside blooming, light and relief spreading through his limbs. “Okay,” he breathed. “Please forgive me, Cara.”

“I forgive you, Finn. Now please forgive yourself.” She released his hands and rested hers against his stubbled cheeks instead. “ Please. ” The words came easier than he’d thought, as if they’d always just been there, just on the tip of his tongue, ready long before he was.

“I forgive myself,” he spoke, a newfound calm washing over him as he lay his head in Cara’s lap, resting his cheek against her thigh. “I forgive myself,” he murmured as her fingers found his hair and trailed through the strands, brushing over his scalp soothingly.

“Thank you,” Cara sighed. “Thank you, Finnie.” Then she chuckled quietly, and it was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard; his entire future resided in that sound. “Welcome home, brother.”