“See you later, Sidney,” I said to her, even though it felt like a broken promise.
“See ya soon, Finn,” she said and drove away.
I met my Nana by the porch steps and took the heavy basket full of peaches out of her hand. “I’m making a peach pie later, wanna help?”
“Sure,” I answered.
“I’m gonna miss that girl. She’s quite the spunky little thing.”
“I bet she’ll come back to visit,” I said as I set the basket on the breakfast table.
“That would be nice.” She turned on the stove and began to boil some water. “Tea?” she offered.
“You don’t even need to ask.”
I leaned against the counter, watching as she prepped the tea pot, adding more than a cup of sugar. “I think we need extra sweet today.” She added a few more spoonfuls. The morning sun cast a warm glow in the bright kitchen. I could still smell strawberries from the pie Nana made a day before.
The tea kettle whistled. I watched the steam creep upward while she poured boiling hot water into her red tea pot and knowingly added honey and evaporated milk into the already sweet mix. She took the tea pot to the table and laid it down. “It needs to steep for a minute. Let’s sit.”
“Mom!” My dad called from the other room.
“In here, Pete!” she hollered back to him. “What’s Pete doing here?” she asked me.
“We wanted to talk to you about something,” I said.
She arched an eyebrow. “Hmm... this is curious, isn’t it?”
My dad entered the kitchen. Even the way he dressed and groomed himself was different. He was wearing a white polo shirt with a pair of jeans. His red hair was cut short– the tips were spiked up in a funky, yet trendy fashion–thanks to Meg. He looked his age and was very handsome. The red beard that had covered his youthful face earlier in the spring, was now gone. Dad was a new man.
“Hey, Mom.” He walked to the other side of the table and kissed me.
“So, what’s this you two so badly want to talk about with me?” Nana asked. I got up to get some mugs and brought them to the table. “Thank you,” she said to me. “Y’all still haven’t said anything,” she said incredulously. Nana was on to us.
“Tea first,” I said and began pouring it into the three cups. I slid a cup to Dad and then handed Nana hers.
“Now I’m really curious.” She folded her arms, giving us a look.
I took a very deep breath. “Nana, I have a serious business proposition for you,” I started.
***
Nana heard me out and was skeptical at first. It had more to do with me leaving Harrison. But after I told her how passionate I was about this, that this was what I wanted, she was on board. The diner would be rebuilt with the insurance money she received after the fire. I was responsible for buying inventory items like tables and chairs. And after much debate, she finally agreed to take a monthly rent payment from me. “I’m not living off of you for free. We have to do this fair and square,” I had told her.
“Fine.” She had pursed her lips. “You don’t need to pay me rent each month but if that’s what will make you sleep at night, then so be it.”
And like that, I was a business owner. I was no longer Finley Hemmings college student, but Finley Hemmings entrepreneur. It had a nice ring to it.
***
Lou pulled up driving his motorcycle onto my Nana’s driveway. It was an early Saturday morning. My theory about Lou’s Saturday fashion choices had been right. He was wearing leather chaps over a pair of denim jeans and a black leather vest over a Jimmy Buffett t-shirt. He got off his bike and plopped his helmet onto one of his handle bars. I walked down the front porch steps and met him halfway.
“How you holding up, kid?” he asked.
“I’m good,” I said. When Lou learned about the fire, he came over to Nana’s house immediately and had visited me more than once since that time just to check in on me. Deep down under, he was an old softy and not the bull dog he presented himself to be.
“So what was this urgent business you had to discuss? You know it’s Saturday and I ride my bike on Saturdays,” he said and then gave me a half smile. I knew Lou’s bark was worse than his bite.
“I know,” I answered. “Nice chaps by the way,” I added and tried to stifle a laugh. He wasn’t amused. “How would you like to stay on as my cook?” I asked.
He folded his arms against his chest and formed an intrigued expression. “Go on. I’m listening.
***
I pushed the screen door open and stepped onto the porch. The swing was calling me, swaying gently back and forth in the tepid breeze. I sat down on it and pulled my phone out of my pocket. I searched through my contacts and clicked on “Mom.” The phone rang a few times before she answered.
“Hello?” She sounded a little out of breath.
“Mom.”
“Finn. I’m glad you called. I was going to call you tomorrow. It’s been a while since I’ve heard from you,” she said.
She could always make me feel guilty. Always. “I’m sorry about that.”
“It’s fine. Let’s just not wait so long next time. It seems like we never talk anymore.”
“I know. I’ve been really busy.” It sounded like a lame excuse–the type you give someone when you’re avoiding them or subconsciously telling them they’re not important enough.
“Did Lilly get things straightened out with the insurance company?”
“Yes,” I said.
“That’s good. Insurance companies can be a pain sometimes. We deal with them at work and they nitpick everything,” she said. “I can’t talk too long Finn, I’m actually going out.”
“You are?” Mom never went out. Never.
“Yeah. I have a date.” She giggled. “It’s with the son of a client.”
“I can let you go.”
“No. I’ve got a little time to talk. He won’t be picking me up for another half hour,” she said. I pictured her looking at her watch and then sitting down on the sofa. “Are you getting ready to go back to school?”
“Not really. That’s why I’m calling,” I started.
“What do you mean?” Her tone changed instantly.
“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about my life lately,” I started.
She interrupted, “Don’t tell me you’re going to major in philosophy,” she moaned.
“No, it’s not that.”
“Well then, what is it?” she asked impatiently.
I took a deep breath and then said, “I’ve decided to open a cafe bakery.” It was an instant sense of relief getting that off of my chest.
“You what?” she said, her voice raised higher and louder. “Did that fire make you lose your mind?”
“That was rough, Mom,” I said, stung from her insensitive comment.
“Too bad,” she said without a hint of remorse. “What kind of nonsense is this you’re talking about? Running a restaurant,” she scoffed. “You’re not giving up on that scholarship, Finn! It’s bad enough you deferred admissions. Now you’re going to blow away a college education to run a restaurant in a tiny backwoods town. How are you going to pay for all this anyway?”
I fell back against the swing and took a deep breath, trying to catch the wind that had been knocked out of me. “First of all, that was hurtful,” I said. I felt defensive. Graceville wasn’t a backwoods town. It was a beautiful place where people I loved lived. It was home. “Secondly, I’m getting the money from Dad and am going to pay Nana rent each month. We have it worked out.”
“Oh you do, do you?” she said in a haughty tone. “I guess your father and grandmother don’t care if you’re a college drop-out, but I do.”
“They believe in me and support what I want.�
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“You need to wake up. This is a crazy idea and you know it. What’s next? Are you going to get married to Jesse within the next month, too? You might as well. Just go ahead and throw your life away. I feel like I don’t even know you anymore.” She breathed heavily into the phone.
I was speechless. I knew she’d be angry, but her reaction took me by surprise. I didn’t expect her to be so bitter. “I’m not throwing my life away,” I said calmly. “This is what I want. I thought you’d be proud.”
“I’d be proud if you stayed in school.”
My eyes started to water. I wiped a tear away and tried to keep my voice from sounding shaky–a sign that she had gotten to me.
I clenched my hand into a fist, trying to muster the strength for what I was about to say. It took all the courage I had left in me. “Well, I’m sorry you feel that way. I can’t change your mind about me, Mom. But I’m not about to do what you want just so you’ll think good of me. This is my decision. It’s what I want and even though you don’t approve, I’m going to do it.”
“I guess I can’t stop you,” she said.
“No, Mom, you can’t.” I stood up and moved toward the porch rail, facing the distant horizon. The sun had almost set. The sky was a perfect shade of orange and blue. Mountain after beautiful mountain towered high in the sky. Birds flew by as the trees blew from the gentle breeze. The ugly and hateful conversation I had with my mother was almost forgotten as I cast my eyes on the stunning landscape in front of me. I was home, and I was staying for good. “I love you, Mom,” I said as I watched a momma bird feed its baby. The baby bird was so dependent on the mother, needing it to survive. That used to be me. That wasn’t me now.
“I love you, too, but you’re making a mistake, Finn. We’ll discuss this later.” she said, before hanging up the phone.
Discussing it again wouldn’t change anything. I had made up my mind.
Chapter 24
I took the pie out of the oven–the crust was golden and flaky–caramelized sugar oozed its way out of the tiny poked holes. All I could smell was cinnamon and apples. I wrapped the pie in a thick towel and carried it with me to the front door. I grabbed my car keys and treaded quietly out the door. I didn’t want to wake Nana. She was a light sleeper and any sound could stir her from her light state of rest. The outside light flickered on as soon as I hit the front porch steps. It was on a motion sensor and even though I knew that, it still startled me.
I knew it was late–too late to go over someone’s house–especially when they’re not expecting you. But, when there’s that sense of urgency, like your heart is going to explode, you don’t really care about social etiquette or logic. I threw logic out the window the moment I got into my car and started driving. I needed to do this. When you are one hundred percent sure about something and know it’s true and unfaltering, you don’t care about following protocol.
There’s something incredibly peaceful about being on the road when no one else is. It’s like you own the road and have created your own special world. A low hypnotic tune played on my radio. My window was rolled all the way down. My hair blew from the gentle breeze. I checked the passenger seat. The pie sat wrapped securely and hadn’t moved from the car swerving on the mountainous roads.
I arrived into town and pulled to a close stop at the flashing red light. I kept driving, passing all of downtown Graceville’s businesses, seeing the empty lot that was once where Lilly’s Diner stood. It won’t be empty much longer, I thought. I drove a few more blocks and turned left on Forrest Road, searching for his house in a sea of bungalow style houses.
I pulled my car into his driveway. The number on the mailbox matched his address, but I wasn’t sure this was where he lived. I had never been to his house before. A light was on inside. I could see him peering at me from his window. I knew he’d be up. It was late, but not that late. I turned my car off and got out. I walked to the passenger’s side and picked up the pie, carrying it with me to his front door.
He met me at the door, opening it before I got the chance to knock. His expression was perplexed. “Finn, what are you doing here?” He stood at the door, his right arm completely covered in white bandages. He wore a blue t-shirt and a pair of old khaki shorts covered in paint stains and tiny holes.
“I brought you a pie,” I said, glancing down at it.
“At eleven o’clock at night?” he said with a strange expression.
“Can I come in?” I asked.
“Yeah, sure,” he said, remembering his manners. He moved to the side and allowed me to walk through. There wasn’t much furniture in the living room–just a sofa, chair, coffee table and a light blue rug that lay underneath the oak table. Music played in the background. A book laid face down on his sofa. The ceiling fan continued to move round and round, emitting cool air into the room.
“Would you like to sit down?” he asked. He picked up a pile of laundry off of the sofa and motioned to the now empty spot.
“Sure,” I answered and sat down.
He carried the stack of clothes with him into another room. I looked around noticing it all. A picture of his mother hung above the television set. A framed picture of my grandparents sat on his coffee table. Racks and racks of CD’s leaned against one wall.
He walked out of his room and looked at my hands. “So, what kind of pie is that you’re holding?”
“Apple.”
His grin was broad. “My favorite.”
“I know,” I answered.
“But why?” he asked as he came toward me and took the pie out of my hands.
“Because.”
He shook his head. “That’s not an answer,” he said. “Let’s have a slice.”
I stood up and followed him. He flipped a light switch as we entered the kitchen. His galley kitchen was merely big enough for the two of us. The cabinets were oak with long wrought iron handles and the counter was a warm beige tile. I glanced down at the old pine floors and then back at him, watching as he took two red plates out of one of the cabinets. For a guy, Jesse was very meticulous. His kitchen sparkled and was probably cleaned on a daily basis. In fact, besides the pile of laundry that lay on his couch when I first entered, the rest of the place was immaculate.
“Red, huh?” I said to him.
“Lilly got them for me when I moved in.” He unwrapped the towel and peeled the aluminum foil back, exposing the pie. “Looks good.” He grabbed a knife from the knife board and cut two large slices, and then placed one slice on each plate. “Ice cream?” he asked.
“Sure.”
He opened his freezer door and took out a carton of vanilla ice cream. He grabbed a spoon and gathered a large amount, placing a large scoop on top of each slice of pie. “Coke?” he asked.
“Do you even need to ask me?”
He laughed–the familiar boisterous sound pleasing to my ears. I took the can of Coke from his hands as he poured milk and squirted chocolate syrup into a glass. The spoon clanked against it as he stirred, creating a chocolaty brown consistency.
“You and your milk,” I said. We carried our plates and sat in his black colonial style chairs that surrounded his round wood table. He sat across from me and dug into the pie.
He gave a satisfactory smile. “This is good,” he said.
“I’m glad you like it,” I said with a pleased expression.
“It’s as good as Lilly’s.” He took another bite and chewed. Within a few minutes, his entire slice of pie had been eaten. He was ravenous. “You can’t just have one slice, Finn.” He pushed the pie toward me.
“It’s yours.” I pushed it back to him.
He rolled his eyes. “I wanna share it,” he said as he cut two more slices of pie and placed them on our plates.
“How’s your arm?” I asked, looking at the white bandages.
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“It hurts, but it’ll be okay.” He frowned a little and said, “It’s being off of work that sucks. I’m ready to go back, but they said I have to be out for two more months.”
“That long?” I sipped on my Coke.
He nodded. “Yeah, it’s going to take a while to heal.”
“I’m sorry, Jesse.” I took a small bite of my pie and swallowed the cinnamon apple goodness. The pleasant taste of sugar lingered in my mouth.
“It’s no biggie. Firefighters get burned all the time. There’s this one guy–we call him Buzzer–he’s got scars up and down both his arms.” He took a bite of his slice of pie, chewed and swallowed. “This is so good, Finn. It hit the spot.” He smiled and patted his stomach.
“I’m glad. I wanted to do something, I just didn’t know what to do.” I shrugged my shoulders.
“You didn’t have to do anything,” he said. “So tell me, why are you here at eleven o’clock at night bringing me a pie? You could’ve brought this over tomorrow morning.” He put his fork down on his empty plate and leaned forward, staring into my eyes as if he were trying to read my thoughts.
“I’ve wanted to talk to you for a while,” I said nervously. I started to fidget and had to sit on my hands to keep myself calm.
“I was kinda mean at the hospital. I’m sorry about that. I was just so upset at my dad. I still am.” He shook his head slightly and pursed his lips. “I can’t believe he put you in so much danger.”
“It’s okay, Jesse. It’s all okay.” I bit on my lip and then said, “He’s in jail, did you know that?”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “Cookie told me.”
“I didn’t press charges, but they still charged him with breaking and entering anyway.”
“You should’ve pressed charges, Finn. He should stay locked up for a long time for what he did.” His lips twisted in disgust.
The Year I Almost Drowned Page 25
