Finton Moon

by Gerard Collins

  Since that day at the library, his love for her had grown. He realized that Mary was popular and friendly: that was part of the attraction. She talked to almost everyone. Every boy—and every girl—wanted to be her favourite and, when he was being honest with himself, he realized they’d barely spoken to each other since that glorious afternoon. He had no reason to think she harboured any feelings for him beyond friendship, and yet here he was with a gift for Mary in his schoolbag, which he gripped with sweaty palms.

  All morning, he’d watched both her and the clock as if the three of them had formed an unspoken bond. Finally, the last bell rang and the classroom erupted into whooping and hollering. The chaos was Finton’s opportunity.

  He noticed some other boys making moves of their own.

  Skeet went right up to Dolly, who, despite his recent growth spurt was almost as tall as him, and dangled some mistletoe over her head.

  “Merry X-mas, Dolly! Let’s me and you put the Christ back in Christmas, eh?” He puckered his lips and lingered for several seconds. But, instead of kissing him, she shoved him away, saying, “Get lost, Stuckey!” as her face turned red. Mary hid her face in her hands. Some of the others laughed on their way out the door. Unfazed, Skeet leaned in and kissed her on the mouth. He thrust the small, blue box into her unsuspecting hands and wished her a Merry Christmas. Then he hoisted his trousers up by the belt and huffed out of the classroom amid scattered cheers.

  Dolly announced that she had to make a quick trip to the washroom to fix her lipstick, and Finton recognized his moment.

  After Willow was gone, only Finton, Mary, and Alicia remained. He fumbled in his bookbag, snatched the package wrapped in red crepe paper, and strode towards her.

  “Mary.” He sniffled and wiped his nose with one finger.

  Startled, she looked up at him. “Hi.”

  “Hi.” He sensed her looking at the package and so he thrust it towards her. “Merry Christmas. It’s not much. But I thought you might like it.”

  “But…” Her big, brown eyes glanced from the package to Finton and occasionally flickered towards the window, catching the light in the loveliest way. “…I didn’t get anything for you.”

  “That’s okay.”

  She smiled and nodded, the sight of her slightly uneven teeth warming his heart. “Thank you. That’s so sweet of you.”

  Barely able to feel his legs, he stumbled towards the door.

  “Can I open it now?”

  He halted and turned, one hand resting on the door frame. “I thought you’d wait till Christmas.”

  “Can’t I open it now?”

  “Sure. If you want.”

  She smiled and carefully removed the red bow and peeled back one corner of the red tissue paper.

  Dolly returned from the bathroom. “What’s that? Did he give you a present?” She huddled with Mary as if they were in on a secret. “He did—didn’t he?”

  While Mary pulled the object from its wrapping, Finton moved closer, his heart pounding. She might adore it. She’d probably loathe it. She’d probably laugh and tell her friends what that stupid Moon boy had done. He imagined himself reaching over and snatching it from her grasp. But as she unwrapped the gift with her tiny fingers, she smiled faintly.

  “Thank you, Finton. It’s very thoughtful.”

  “Wow.” Dolly nodded, obviously impressed. “A jigsaw puzzle.”

  “It’s Paris,” he explained, hands thrust in his pockets and cheeks blazing. “You said you wanted to go there sometime.”

  “I did say that. I really did.” Standing up, Mary leaned in and kissed his cheek. She smelled like roses. He felt ill.

  “I gotta go,” Finton said. “Skeet’s waiting for me.”

  “Speaking of which,” said Mary. “What’d Stuckey get you?”

  Dolly fished the gift from her pocket and showed her. “Earrings. Nice ones too. I expect he’ll want something for that.” The earrings looked almost a little too rich and Finton couldn’t help wondering where Skeet had come up with the money—or if he’d stolen them outright.

  “Hmph!” said Mary. “Imagine—earrings from Skeet Stuckey! He must have the hots for you, Doll.” She laughed and tossed her head so that her long brown hair swished from her shoulder to the middle of her back.

  Fidgeting more every moment he stood there, Finton wished them “Merry Christmas!” and dashed out the door, gulping in the latemorning air, grateful to be alive. It was Christmas at last. Except for his parents fighting and a vivid memory of the corpse he’d found, absolutely nothing lay between him and complete bliss.

  Just when he thought it would all come true just as he’d planned, he heard the footsteps of someone running behind him.

  “Finton! Wait up!”

  He knew the voice, but he kept on walking. Please God, no. Not her. Not now.

  “I got a present for you!”

  He halted and turned, snowflakes lashing his face as he watched her approach, her hair bouncing, a nervous smile on her face. Her cheeks were blotched red. She looked unbearably cold in that thin black jacket that he was sure he’d seen on Willie last week and that short brown skirt with the black tights and a small hole below one knee that exposed her dark skin to the elements.

  “Alicia?”

  “I tried to give this to you in the classroom, but you left too quick.” She smiled, her teeth straighter than he thought they’d be.

  “For me? Why?” Her smile flickered briefly. “I mean, I didn’t…uh”

  “It’s okay.” She shrugged. “I saw this and thought of you.”

  She sort of leaned towards him as if to kiss him on the cheek. He stiffened just before she punched him on the arm and backed away. “Have a good Christmas.”

  “Yeah, you too.” He stared at the package as she walked away. “Hey!” She turned halfway around even as she kept walking. “Did you want me to open it now?”

  “Naw.” She waved dismissively. “It’s better to keep gifts till Christmas morning.”

  Relief flooded his entire being. “Thanks—thanks a lot.” He was smiling brightly, even though he could see Dolly and Mary strolling towards them. “See you in January.”

  “You too.”

  Then she ran to the yellow bus and, after letting a couple of other people come between them, he followed slowly behind. Climbing aboard, he watched Alicia scoot to the back, and he took the middle, behind the seat usually occupied by Dolly and Mary. He sucked in a breath as he shielded the present with one hand and ripped the brown paper away from one corner.

  An orange hardcover of To Kill a Mockingbird.

  She’d just seen it and thought of him.

  “What did maggot-breath give you?” Dolly snorted.

  “A book.”

  “A stupid old book?”

  “Cool,” said Mary under her breath.

  “Yeah,” said Finton, suddenly feeling the world grow lighter and bigger.

  Silently, he began to read. “When he was nearly thirteen, my brother Jem got his arm badly broken at the elbow...”

  And just like that, he was hooked. By the end of the first chapter, although he didn’t know it yet, he was already in love with Scout Finch.

  Christmas flew by as if on wings. He read To Kill a Mockingbird, but he told his parents it was for school.

  “I heard a girl gave it to him.” Homer would always say things like that to get a rise out of him. He and Clancy were playing matchbox hockey at the kitchen table while Finton read by the kitchen stove.

  His mother stopped running around and tidying up. “What girl?” She straightened a piece of tinsel that had stretched too far and was dangling from the tree.

  “No girl,” said Finton. “Homer’s a shit disturber.”

  “Alicia Dredge,” said Homer.

  “A Dredge? Finton?” She darted him a look, but he kept on reading.

  “Your little boy is growin’ up,” Clancy said. “Did you give her anything?”

  “Like herpes?” Homer laughed.<
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  Finton slammed the book shut. “Why don’t you all just shut up and let me do my homework?”

  “Homework over Christmas?” his mother asked.

  “Leave me alone!” Finton scrambled from the rocking chair, stomped to the bedroom, and slammed the door behind him.

  That was how he often handled their mocking. He didn’t understand their need to make fun of him, just to make themselves feel important, to have their say in his life. More and more, Finton wished he was old enough to get as far away from Darwin as possible. But he was deathly afraid it might never happen; there were so many things that could go wrong between now and high school graduation—and the worst possible example was his own father who got married, settled down, and never left. Lying on the bed, looking up at the ceiling, Finton suddenly found he could barely breathe. Tears seeped from the corners of his eyes, and he hated his brothers for making him feel so weak. But, most of all, he hated Alicia Dredge.

  He realized the inherent danger in admitting that Alicia had good taste in books, but Finton savoured each sentence of To Kill a Mockingbird like the individual bites of a well-cooked meal. Atticus Finch was such an understanding man who would do anything to protect his family, always had wisdom to convey to his children, and always stood up for what was right. He wished his own father was more like Atticus. Lately, every time he thought about his father, he remembered the frozen face of Sawyer Moon. He wondered how long before the police came back and accused Finton of killing him. It wasn’t that he lacked rationality about the whole thing. He knew you couldn’t kill people just by wishing them dead. But neither could you raise the dead by imagining them revived. Of course, he’d never told anyone about his premonition of Sawyer’s death, but he also hoped no one would put the pieces together. He was even more worried about his father. He didn’t want to believe his father was lying, but the coincidences—the mysterious conversation between Tom and Phonse, as well as the argument between his father and Sawyer on the night he went missing—were hard to ignore. Thing was, if a person was capable of killing someone, they wouldn’t get too hung up on lying about it.

  All during Christmas, it seemed, every night there was a knock on the door—a troupe of boisterous mummers, a lone friend or an entire family from down the road, a long-lost acquaintance—someone was always coming around, looking for a good time, a drink, and a bite to eat. Phonse Dredge had dropped by and stayed for several hours, and Alicia had come with him. She sat across from Finton and would occasionally glance at him and smile as she toyed with her fingers.

  “What did you get for Christmas?” he asked. She shrugged and smiled bashfully. “Kieran came over for Christmas dinner with his girlfriend.” Her response astonished him, but he merely nodded. Neither of them spoke again after that, just listened to the adults discuss the hard times they were living through and the better days of long ago.

  Winnie and Francis Minnow also stopped in for syrup and fruitcake, and even Father Power came around for a cup of tea. At night, there was constant drinking and laughter, and the inevitable moment when someone would play a song on the guitar or accordion, which always led to a full-blown kitchen concert. Even Skeet stopped by with Mr. Stuckey, and each of them played a song. Skeet was a strong singer, and he belted out “The Boston Burglar” with heartbreaking conviction, while his less talented father sang “Folsum Prison Blues.” It seemed that good times were finally returning to the Moon household. And yet Finton cringed each time someone came to the door, anticipating the moment when the RCMP would come to drag him away in handcuffs.

  On the morning of New Year’s Eve, with a light dust of snow falling and his spirit full of the sociability of the season, Finton stopped by the Battenhatch house, figuring Miss Bridie and Morgan might be lonely with only each other for company. The house looked much the same on the inside as always, for they hadn’t bothered with a Christmas tree. Morgan had tacked some scrawny green garland on the wall over the stove, but that was the only decoration. He was welcomed by the older woman first and then by the younger one, as if they were truly glad to see him, both smiling from their eyes as well their mouths. There remained something reticent in the behaviour of both, perhaps because they just weren’t used to company. Of course, some electricity would have helped alleviate the gloom. But by the time he’d left, with a bellyful of Jam-jams and tea, after more than an hour of Miss Bridie reflecting on her days on the Shore and Morgan, with her arms crossed, wisecracking at the wood stove, Finton was thinking he might make Miss Bridie’s a place of regular visitation, or at least on occasion.

  That same night brought another happy moment when the three Moon brothers were sitting around in the bedroom, listening to records—which was one of Finton’s favourite things to do. Because of their age differences and divergent interests, it was a rare occasion when the three of them spent time together, but music could overcome such obstacles. He wasn’t fond of their music, but he was able to overlook such differences in the interest of brotherly bonding.

  The Rush album had just finished, and Homer was pulling a new one out of its sleeve. “Would you believe Laura Connelly tried to set me up with her little sister?” he said, almost as if it were a casual thing.

  “Mary?” From where he lay on the bottom bunk, Finton instantly felt moved to commit violence on her behalf.

  “She’s cute enough,” said Clancy as he cranked up the volume on the turntable; tapping his feet and playing air drums, he was obviously bored with talking and just wanted to hear the new KISS album his girlfriend had given him.

  “What did you say?” Finton demanded.

  “I told her she had to be jokin’.”

  Homer was boasting, of course; no matter how he really felt about Mary, Homer wanted Finton to know Laura had chosen a real man for her little sister. To Finton, the very thought of Mary and Homer together was absurd. She was the smartest girl he knew, and Homer was not only repulsed by books, but was perpetually on the verge of failing school. All the more reason to rip his brother’s eyes from their sockets. But he refrained.

  Homer went on talking over the annoying music. “I wouldn’t be caught dead with a girl that wears pink ribbons. She’s a little girl. She wears a ponytail, for fuck’s sake.”

  Finton breathed a sigh of relief, but it bothered him to think that someone else had noticed her. On the other hand, Homer was a cretin for not seeing past the innocent façade to understand Mary’s true personality. She wasn’t a little girl—she was a lady.

  “Heard that Dredge one’s got her eyes on you,” Homer said.

  “Shut up,” Finton said.

  “She’s cute too,” said Clancy. “You could do worse.”

  Homer snickered. “Pretty hard up when you starts dredgin’ Dredges.”

  Finton just looked at him and said, “You’re an arsehole.” Homer’s only response was laughter, tinged with meanness. As far as the older brother was concerned, his mission had been accomplished.

  He went back to see Morgan the next afternoon, New Year’s Day.

  She was wearing a swirly, red dress that came to her knees; she was just finishing a cup of tea with her mother. “I can see he wants to talk to ya alone,” said Miss Bridie, and she took her tea to the living room. Since she didn’t read and had no TV, Finton couldn’t imagine what she would do in there by herself. Most likely, she just eavesdropped.

  Morgan yawned and leaned forward, showcasing her cleavage. Some days it felt, for Finton, like the world was full of things he shouldn’t look at or listen to. And, increasingly, his world was full of boobs. Being a gentleman, he averted his eyes most of the time. “Only got a few minutes—what’s on yer mind?” she asked.

  “You’re a girl,” he said.

  “Thank you for noticing.” She smiled smartly and winked at him.

  “What I mean is, there’s this girl I like.”

  “Mary Connelly. Lives just up the road.”

  He nodded, feeling his cheeks flush. Everyone seemed to know about his crus
h on Mary. “So, should I tell her I like her, or should I not? I don’t know what girls like.”

  “Keep it to yourself,” she said as she lifted the cup to her lips. “A good girl like that likes a little mystery. Know what I mean?”

  “Not really.”

  “Well, maybe that’s a story for another time. But trust me, okay?” She suddenly stood up. “I gotta go. Got a hot date.”

  “With who?”

  “That, dear boy, is none of your business.” With that, she was gone up the stairs to make some last minute adjustments to her look, and, though Finton waited for Miss Bridie’s return, she never came. So he let himself out, more confused than ever.

  The remaining days of Christmas vacation were filled with sliding, reading, and watching TV. Gradually, the days faded backwards into a river of endlessness, and Christmas receded like a repetitive dream. Just before he fell asleep on the last day of the holidays, he breathed a sigh of relief and drifted off to sleep, secure in the knowledge that school started tomorrow and at least he would be occupied.

  Of course, that also meant he had to face Alicia Dredge. He would have to thank her for the gift, and people would see him talking to her. Bad enough she was a girl, but she was also a Dredge, so there was an excellent chance his reputation would suffer.

  The night passed slowly and darkly. Finton tossed and turned. He tried listening to the Bruins’ game on his transistor radio, under the covers with the bud in one ear, but mostly he got static and the announcer’s voice fading in and out.

  Eventually, morning came and he was summoned out of bed by his mother: “Time to get up! Everybody! Clancy! Homer! Finton! Get out of bed! Toast is ready! Oatmeal’s gettin’ cold!”

  Finton managed to heave himself off the side of the bed and get dressed. Entering the kitchen, he marveled at how his mother managed to do it all. His powers of perception were as sharp as ever, but he had gradually adapted to them and no longer allowed them to distract him, or at least not so often. Still, it was as if he was noticing for the first time that every morning his mother put five plates on the table (Nanny Moon most often opting to fend for herself), each one stacked with four thick slices of homemade bread, alongside a small bowl of porridge. Most mornings, they all had seconds—Finton’s record was ten slices of bread and two bowls of porridge. But today he could only manage two slices and gave away one each to Clancy and Homer.