Chapter Forty

Finn

Now

“So, exactly how did you leave things off with Hank?” His mother asked, placing a tray of steaming roasted chestnuts on the coffee table. Raising an eyebrow at Fenn, she smiled softly. “Careful now, sweetpea. Let Uncle Finn get one for you.” The child, currently using his ‘ favorite uncle in the entire world ’ as a beanbag, was sporting Peppa Pig PJs with the nonchalant confidence that only a four-year-old could master.

Yes, last night, after telling Cara and his parents about his drifting about for the past eight years, Finn had finally told them about last-stop Nebraska and Hank, too.

“Nebraska? What’s in Nebraska?” His dad had frowned, leaning back in his favorite recliner, folding his hands over his slightly protruding stomach, wrapped in one of his mother’s more adventurous home knits.

“Jesus, Dad!” Cara had scolded him, shaking her head. “It’s not like Florence is some buzzing city or anything.”

“Yeah, yeah.” His dad had waved his hand at her dismissively in his usual fond way. “I’m just asking.”

“Hank’s in Nebraska,” Finn had blurted before he’d realized what he’d actually said. Three sets of wondrous, equally blue eyes had stared back at him, and he’d had no other choice but to tell them about Hank. Not everything, obviously, but they seemed to get the gist of it. That there had been some connection between the two of them. More than just friendship, anyway.

“To be honest, Mom, I’m not really sure where we left things,” Finn mumbled, reaching for a roasted chestnut and blowing at it before peeling off the shell. Once it was completely shelled, only the pale yellow interior left, he held it out in his palm toward Fenn.

“Woah,” the child exclaimed, eyes wide as saucers, mouth slightly agape in what looked like a mixture of excitement and horror. “It looks like a brain. Nice. ” He picked up the chestnut and threw it in his mouth, his face doing a poor job at disguising that roasted chestnuts were, in fact, an acquired taste.

“How do you know what a brain looks like, kiddo?” Harry, who was currently sprawled out on the couch, his head resting in Cara’s lap, asked. His sister smiled as she quietly counted the stitches of her red knitwork. Out of her chair like this, sitting on their parents’ old navy-blue couch with the maroon cushions, Finn could almost forget—just almost—that Cara was paralyzed.

“ Junior Einstein ,” Fenn replied, licking his lips, his cute button nose scrunched up. He seemed to contemplate the age-old question that most kids went through every time they tasted something new: binge or barf? Fenn must’ve quickly decided on the latter because he reached for the bowl of sugared popcorn instead, stuffing a handful into his mouth.

Reaching for another chestnut, Finn started peeling it slowly, eyeing his mother, who was handing her husband a plate of chestnuts and Cara one for her and Harry to share. As a kid, he’d felt the same as Fenn about these little fuckers, but over the years, he’d come to first like, then love them just as much as his mom must’ve loved them when she’d tasted them for the first time during their trip to France. Finn had been fourteen, Cara almost four when they’d gone to Auvergne on a family trip after his father had received a generous advance on a book he’d been writing about Karen Blixen’s early years in Kenya.

“And the job interview?” His mother, who’d always been relentless when it came to her children’s welfare, raised a dark eyebrow at him, wiping her hands in her festive green apron with small red polka dots splayed across the spruce green.

“What job interview?” Cara asked, her gaze not leaving her knitwear. “You already applied for a job? You know you can always go back to PeaceHealth. Right, Harry?”

“Sorry what, darling?” Harry mumbled around a mouthful of chestnuts.

“It’s out of town,” Finn said, Harry looking relieved that he wasn’t expected to produce an answer.

“Out of town?” Cara rested her knitwork in her lap, her blue eyes finding his across the coffee table. “But you only just got here.” There was no hint of accusation or edge of sadness in her voice, just curiosity. Then her face changed as recognition set in. “Oh. Of course.” She smiled knowingly, her eyes bright, lighting up her face. “You really are in love, huh Finnie?”

“I just…” Finn mumbled, tightening his grip on Fenn, who was deeply engulfed in some Christmas movie on the TV. “I’m keeping my options open,” he concluded, hoping his voice came off somewhat neutral and not revealing the inner turmoil he was currently in.

“Right…” His sister smirked.

“So, what about the job?” Harry wanted to know.

“Yeah, right,” Finn nodded. “It’s a nursing position at an out-patient center. It’s in Whitney,” he looked at Cara, before continuing, “in Nebraska. They’ve been looking to expand so that they can run a 24-hour service. It’s only part time, but it’s a start.”

“And did you hear from them yet?” His mom spoke as she sat down on the smaller of the two navy couches, opposite from the one that Cara and Harry were currently occupying.

“Uhm, yeah,” Finn nodded, his arms wrapped firmly around Fenn, the child’s monotonous breathing rubbing off on him, settling his own heart. “The medical director called earlier. Asked if we could do a remote Skype interview then and there.” Finn bit his bottom lip as he blinked a few times. Then he took a deep breath. “Seemed pretty impressed with my credentials and not at all interested in my eight-year hiatus from nursing. He uhm… he said that they weren’t expecting many applicants but that they’d never hoped for an ER nurse to apply.” He felt his cheeks heat up, recalling the conversation earlier with the medical director from Whitney, Dr. Gupta. The guy was in his mid-fifties if Finn was to guess, a kind, forthcoming demeanor about him, eyes alert and interested in Finn.

“And…” Cara motioned with her hand impatiently for Finn to go on.

“And the job is mine if I want it. I have until the 30 th to get back to them.” Finn shrugged.

“And do you want it?” Harry asked the million-dollar question that had gone on repeat in Finn’s head ever since he’d concluded his interview with Dr. Gupta. Then, as it had been the case throughout the day, whenever his thoughts drifted to Hank, his stupid bottom lip started quivering while his sight got blurry behind his glasses. I want him . I could work in a goddamn ice cream truck in fucking Alaska as long as I’d get to have him.

“I don’t know… I just…” Shit, he’d never really considered what he was going to do if Hank didn’t react to the letter in some way or another. He hadn’t even put a timeframe on how long he intended to stay in Florence. Permanently, perhaps. It wasn’t like Hank had sent him off with a come back or stay in touch . He had no plan. None whatsoever. So, with the interview today, he’d tried to make one. But what did it all matter if Hank wasn’t part of it?

“Oh honey, don’t cry.” His mother’s gentle voice surrounded him, and it wasn’t until her right arm was wrapped around him and his head was leaning against her shoulder that he realized he was crying. “I’m sure everything will be just fine, Finnie.”

“Yeah, I’m not so sure, Mom,” he sniffed against her mohair cardigan that always made his nose tingle, rubbing his burning cheek against the fluffy fabric.

“Of course it will. One way or another, honey, it will be.” She stroked his hair like he was a small child again, crying against her apron because Johnny Lithgow had called him a crybaby for not wanting to squish a frog under his shoe. When all the other boys had already done it, and there was very little frog left, and ‘ Will you just do it already, you cry baby ?’

“I don’t know, Mom. I just feel a little lost, to be honest. I really like him, you know?” Fucking understatement of the century. He sucked in a deep breath before continuing. “Probably more than I’ve ever liked anyone like that. I mean, romantically.” He felt his mother nod, but she didn’t offer him any words of solace, and he was grateful for that. He was barely holding it together as it was. Cara’s eyes were wet now too, her knitwork long forgotten as she swept her fingers through Harry’s hair. “To be honest, if he wanted me, I think I’d want to go back, you know. To Nebraska. And be with him.” Something sounding like a small sob slipped from his lips, pulling the words with it. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I would.” His mother nudged him gently away from her, placing her cool hands carefully on his moist cheeks.

“Honey, I think that’s wonderful. If you want to be with Hank in Nebraska, then that’s what you should do. I’d rather have you here, with me, obviously, but that’ll just give your dad and me an excuse to get out more. Get that old VW back on the country roads again.” A small chuckle escaped him at the memory of the burnt orange ’70s model van that his parents just didn’t seem to be able to part with. He searched his mom’s face, but there was nothing but genuine support written across it, an encouraging smile on her lips.

“I don’t even know if he’ll want me to come back. He never said.”

“Of course, he’ll want you,” Cara countered. “Who in their right mind wouldn’t want you, Finn? Look at you. You’re a catch.”

“You’re supposed to say that.” He smiled weakly, his chest expanding at the display of unconditional love and acceptance that these two women, who were so similar, were offering him.

“Oh, brother, I’m not supposed to say anything .” Cara winked, sticking out her tongue at him.

“And from what you told us last night, it sounds like the two of you formed a special kind of bond while you were there,” his mother contributed, brushing her thumbs across his skin.

“We did. At least, I think we did,” he mumbled, nibbling at his bottom lip. They had, hadn’t they? It wasn’t just something imagined on his part. It had been the same for Hank, hadn’t it? He must’ve felt it too, the universe whispering this is real. As real as it’ll ever be . “I don’t think I’ve ever connected with anyone like that before.”

“See?” She released one hand from his cheek and placed it on his shoulder instead, squeezing it. Then she brushed her thumb underneath his glasses, swiping at the tears beneath his eyes. “I’m sure he must’ve felt it too, then. Just give it some time, honey.” Leaning in, she pressed a kiss against his forehead, the familiar scent of her green tea moisturizer enveloping him.

“I just… I thought I’d miss him less once I came back home to you guys.” His gaze found Cara’s, and he shrugged apologetically. She just shrugged in return, offering him an understanding smile. “But I don’t. It just gets worse. And then I feel bad because I am happy to be back. I did miss you. All of you. So very much. Not being able to see or talk to you for the past eight years… it was like living life in black and white. Just… a mere reflection of real life. And moping around like this just seems ungrateful. And immature.”

“But, my sweet boy, that’s not how the human heart works, is it? You can still be happy about one thing and then long for something else. It’s not mutually exclusive. I know some people prefer the world to be simple and straightforward, with everything labeled and put neatly in its place. If you ask me, that’s a cop out. Those people are ruled by fear.”

“What do you mean?” he murmured.

“Finn, your whole life has been filled with ought tos and should’ves , but what about you, sweet boy? Where are you in all of this? You know, your father and I only ever wanted for you and Cara to be happy and have a home when you needed it.” His mom wiped at her eyes; a smudge of mascara smeared across the tip of her index finger. “God, look at the pair of us. I should’ve worn waterproof.” Then she laughed. “ Should’ve .”

The door to the front deck swung open, and a rush of icy wind entered the den, causing the subtle flames in the fireplace to flicker restlessly. His father stood rosy-cheeked and red-nosed in the door, his worn green trapper hat sitting askew on his head. As long as Finn could remember, his father had worn that hat, much to his mother’s eternal regret . ‘ Just because you’re a socialist, Ellis, doesn’t mean you have to look like a bolshevist.’ ‘ What, you don’t want to be my Lara ?’ he would say in a thick Russian accent that would often make Finn question if his dad wasn’t really a Russian spy. His mother would squirm in his arms as he rubbed his beard against her neck, panting between laughs. ‘ Well, you’re hardly any Omar Shariff, Ellis. ’

“Anna, my love, are you sure you want all the Christmas lights up? Because it seems there are a lot more than last year.” His father shifted on his feet, rubbing his hands together, his gaze flickering between his wife and son, their eyes red-rimmed and wet.

“Yes, Ellis darling. All of them.” His mother sobered, smiling endearingly, but the semi-evil glimmer in her eyes wasn’t lost on Finn. “Is that a problem?” she tilted her head at her husband, her voice calm as always.

“Of course not, my love. Just checking,” he rushed out, then he shrugged, turning as he closed the door behind him carefully.

“Ha!” his mom exclaimed, slamming a hand against the coffee table, causing Fenn’s mug with leftover cocoa to nearly tumble over. “No way that bit—” She seemed to recall that her grandson was in the room just then, although Finn suspected a Sikorsky Super Stallion could land out on the lawn right now and his nephew wouldn’t notice. Some rodent was singing in a shrill voice right now to Cinderella on the TV, and it was apparently rocking Fenn’s world. “I mean,” his mom corrected. “No way that Darlene Knowles is going to be featured on the front of the Florentine again this year with the most festive holiday home. Over my dead body.” Finn let out a laugh that sounded ominously like the annoying manic rodent on the screen as his mom transformed from Mrs. Santa to that lady from Misery right in front of him. “I did not clean out the Walmart in Coos Bay and the one in Newport for Christmas lights just to get my honorable mentions on page nine again, thank you very much!”

“Coos Bay, huh?” Finn nodded, adding a whistle too.

“Yes, hon, they opened a Supercenter only last spring.” She smiled, an aura of supervillain extraordinaire lingering around her.

“Wow, Mom,” Cara chimed in. “Didn’t take you for a Christmas pro. I’m impressed.”

“I’m really not,” she waved her off. “I just hate that stupid, self-entitled co—”

“Jesus, Mom!” Cara hissed. “Will you turn it down a notch? Little ears and all.” She nodded at Fenn. A loud snore sounded from Harry, who must’ve given up on the lot of them, deciding to catch up on some sleep.

“Oh, I’m sorry, hon. It’s just… that woman… she gets me all…” His mom’s eyes sparked, and it wouldn’t surprise him if, any minute now, she would grow fangs too and start breathing fire. The door to the deck blew open again, and before his dad even set one foot inside, his mother’s viper eyes zeroed in on him as she jumped from the floor. “You can’t possibly be done already, Ellis Kennedy.” She smoothened out some invisible creases in her skirt as she crossed the room toward him.

“Of course not, my love. Just popping in for an…” His gaze coasted frantically across the room before it finally settled on a flashlight on a cabinet to his right. “A erm…” He blinked a couple of times, picking up the flashlight, and Finn felt genuinely bad for the guy.

“Mom, why don’t you read a chapter or two in your book? And Harry,” Cara shook her husband a couple of times, “can help Dad find whatever he’s looking for.” Harry stirred on the couch as he sat up, red hair all over the place, rubbing his eyes.

“Did he score?” He yawned, looking around the room.

“What?” Cara smiled sympathetically.

“Vinicius. Did he score?” Harry looked like all his future happiness depended on the answer to that one question, and Finn couldn’t help but wonder who that powerful creature with such an exotic name was. Vinicius. Instead of going into a long explanation, his sister seemed to make a quick internal cost-benefit analysis that would make Microsoft green with envy, before she replied reassuringly, “Yes, honey. He scored on a penalty.”

“Oh, thank God.” Harry deflated, a goofy smile taking over his freckled face. Finn looked at his sister, but she just shook her head.

“European soccer,” she groaned, as if referring to her number one enemy in life. “Don’t ask.”

“Right.”

“Scissors,” his dad blurted. “I need scissors. And an extension cord,” he gulped.

“Mom, where did you put your book?” Cara smiled patiently.

“I uhm… I think I… Oh yes, on the shelf underneath the coffee table,” she said, nodding.

“Will you grab it, Finnie?” Cara smiled in a manner that was sure to make her cheeks hurt. Leaning forward, bringing Fenn with him, Finn reached and grabbed the only book on the shelf. Leaning back against the couch, he turned the paperback in his hands, taking in the cover, picturing a young man and woman in old-fashioned, possibly Victorian, clothing. Pantaloons and Petticoats, the title said. Definitely one of his mom’s romance books.

“Who’s Ellie Thomas?” he asked as he turned the book over and started reading on the back.

“No! Don’t get her started!” Cara yelled while his dad elicited a sound similar to a small rodent being squished a little too hard. With something like fatigue and… horror, perhaps, painted across their faces, they both seemed to map out the fastest escape route.

“What?” Finn chuckled, looking between the two of them, before his eyes landed on his mother, who looked just one o away from swooning. “Who is she?” he asked.

“Ellie Thomas?!” His mother beamed, a crimson red creeping across her cheeks that Finn suspected didn’t just stem from post- Christmas Light Gate excitement. “Well, only the best Regency Romance novelist of our time!”

“Huh.” Finn nodded as if that made him any wiser as he continued reading from the back of the book. “What are pantaloons?” He frowned. A deep, tortured groan slipped from his father’s mouth as he clung to the flashlight for dear life.

“Really, Finn? Really?!” Cara shot daggers at him. “You suddenly have an all-consuming urge to know what goddamn pantaloons are?” she hissed between her teeth. “Just hand me the book.” She held out her right hand, wiggling her fingers in the universal gesture for gimme .

“Ohhh, it’s about two dudes?” Finn grinned stupidly because he hadn’t seen that coming, but suddenly the book got a lot more interesting.

“Finnie, for the love of…” Cara continued to wiggle her fingers between them. “Just hand me the mother—” A rapid succession of loud knocks sounded from the front door, then a short pause, and then an additional knock.

“Santa!” Fenn yelled from Finn’s lap, jumping up, his son’s penetrating voice throwing Harry wide awake. Looking slightly confused, Harry frowned at Cara, because only this morning they’d all agreed that he was going to be Santa. “It’s Santa, Daddy!” the child's shrill voice rang through the house like a thousand rodents on crack. “He’s early. I didn’t even get the milk and cookies yet.”