Justin Kramon

by Finny (v5)

  Since Mr. Henckel’s family had disowned him, and he hadn’t talked to any of them for years, and his only friends were the kids he taught, they decided it was best not to have a formal service. They took the ashes back to the little brown house, and Finny played a few bars of a piece she remembered from her piano lessons. Earl read a page he’d written about his father’s life, including Mr. Henckel’s performing days and his time as a teacher. Poplan talked about how rich their life had been together, how she loved nothing more than to see him play the piano, how fulfilling their charity work had been. Poplan had informed Mr. Henckel’s students about his death, and over the course of the afternoon, a number of them stopped by to pay their respects.

  And then, because they wanted to lend some sense of finality to their ceremony, they decided to pour the ashes out of the bag, into the silver coffeepot. Earl did it, since he had the steadiest hands, and they listened to the sand raining on the bottom of the pot. Then Poplan said she would keep the pot on the piano, for as long as she stayed in the house. She didn’t plan to be going anywhere soon. She would keep up the after-school program, and maybe go back to working at a school as well. Earl was going to stay with her for a few days, until she was ready to be on her own. Having Mr. Henckel’s remains in the house with her, she said, would help her feel less lonely.

  Earl offered to drive Finny to the airport in Mr. Henckel’s car, a brown station wagon, though not the same one he had driven when Finny was a child. Finny had taken two days off work and couldn’t afford to leave her kids with a sub any longer since it was the end of the school year. So she said goodbye to Poplan and that she hoped Poplan would come visit her in Boston when she felt up to it. They hugged, and Poplan thanked Finny for coming all this way to be with them.

  “I’d always known you’d turn out to be a special person,” Poplan said.

  “I wouldn’t have been anything without you and Mr. Henckel,” Finny said.

  Then she and Earl got into the car and started off toward the airport.

  Finny and Earl hadn’t said anything to each other about their lives for the entire three days they’d been together, since all their attention had been focused on Mr. Henckel, and now Finny experienced that old feeling of having too much to say to Earl, not knowing where to begin. Having spent such an intense couple of days with him, Finny didn’t even feel angry or disappointed with Earl now; she simply wanted to talk, to open herself up to someone she could trust, who knew her. It was Wednesday evening, and she was booked on the last flight from BWI to Boston. She would get in around ten o’clock.

  Earl steered them onto the paved tongue of the expressway ramp. He was saying something about Air France and American Airlines, how the food was better on one but the other was more punctual, but Finny couldn’t still her mind for long enough to take it in. The car’s wheels thumped little heartbeats over the grooves in the road. The stadium lights above the highway were lit, charging the night sky with an electric brightness. As they merged onto the road, Finny saw that it was crowded with the red and yellow cat eyes of other cars. The sheer number of other people was a surprise to Finny, after seeing so few people in Mr. Henckel’s house, and Judith’s before that. But here were other families, other lives, other stories. For a second, Finny was overwhelmed by the multitude of destinations, of paths that crossed and recrossed, journeys beginning or coming to an end.

  “I wish we had more time to catch up,” Earl said. His face had a raw, windburned look from all the crying he’d been doing the last couple days. “I know this just isn’t the right time.”

  “I do, too,” Finny said. “I mean, I wish we had a few minutes to chat.”

  “Are things going well?”

  “Pretty well.” She felt as if she should say something to lighten the mood between them, there’d been so much heaviness the last couple days, so she told Earl, “The other day one of my kids said he knew the ‘three baddest words in the world.’”

  “What are they?” Earl asked.

  “Crap, ass, sass,” Finny said, “according to Gabe. I’m not sure how sass got in there.”

  Earl laughed. Finny could tell he was relieved to hear something funny. “Sass is not always a bad thing,” he said, glancing at Finny. “It really could go either way.”

  “So do you think your mom will want to hear about your dad?” Finny asked Earl.

  “Um,” he said, and swallowed. “My mom passed away, Finny.”

  “I—” Finny began, but couldn’t finish the thought. “I’m sorry, Earl. What happened?”

  “She took pills,” Earl said. “Last winter. It was all really sad. But it was a long time coming. She never really got her head above water. In the end, even having me there didn’t make a difference. There was nothing I could do.”

  Why didn’t you tell me? Finny almost asked Earl. But then she recalled sitting with her brother in the hospital cafeteria, after her mother died, and deciding not to share her own news with Earl. She couldn’t blame him. It wasn’t the kind of thing you called someone up to report when you hadn’t seen the person in years.

  So Finny said, “My mom died, too. Last summer. Heart disease.”

  “I’m really sorry,” Earl said, glancing over at Finny again. She noticed his eyes had a way of creasing in the corners. She could tell he was sad for her. Earl never had to fake his sympathy. If anything, he felt too much.

  “We’re a pretty cheerful crowd,” Finny said.

  Earl let out a long breath. Again he seemed much older to Finny. “You know, I keep telling myself it’s part of life,” he said. “But that doesn’t really help. It doesn’t make it any easier.” He shook his head. He seemed to be grieving over more than just his own losses.

  “You never think about this part when you’re younger,” Finny said. “It’s natural to ignore it. You’re too caught up in the fun. But it’s like you can’t have one without the other.”

  “Beginnings and endings,” Earl said.

  But Finny felt they’d gone far enough down this road. “Anyway,” she said, “are you planning to keep your mother’s place, or did you decide to move?” She wanted to steer them away from these gloomy subjects.

  “I’m going to move,” Earl said. “The only reason I stayed was that I was finishing up some writing and editing. I actually have a book coming out.”

  “Wow. That’s terrific news, Earl.” She really was excited for him, knowing how hard he’d worked for it. “Did your dad know?”

  Earl nodded, pressed his lips together. “He got to read the stories this year. He said some nice things.” Earl’s voice was flat as he reported this news about his life. Finny could tell he was depressed, and as always, her heart leapt toward him. She had to restrain herself from reaching out to touch him.

  “It’s not a huge deal or anything,” Earl went on. “I won a contest. A university press is putting the collection out. Pittsburgh, actually. They’re just going to print a couple thousand copies.”

  “Still. That’s great.” She put her hand on Earl’s shoulder and squeezed. “I’m proud of you, Earl. I knew you’d do it one day. I’m sorry it comes at such a sad time, but you should feel good about this. What’s the book called?”

  “It’s called Calling Across the Years,” Earl said, flushing a little, the way he used to when he was younger. “I’m not crazy about the title. Especially now. It seems dramatic and silly to me. But I just wanted to capture the idea of moving across time. It’s a line from one of the stories.”

  “I like the title a lot,” Finny said. “It’s pretty.”

  “You think so?”

  “Yeah. But you remember our deal?”

  Earl smiled. “Of course,” he said. “A personal letter. I’ll write it inside the front cover for you. As soon as the book comes out.”

  “I’ll look forward to it.”

  And then Earl looked at Finny and said, “I have another piece of news. There just wasn’t a good time for me to say it.”

  “What is it?
” she said, watching the pavement stream beneath their headlights.

  He turned back to the road. He opened his lips, then closed them, as if considering what to say. Then he told her, “I’m seeing someone, Finny. I mean, living with her.”

  “Oh,” she heard herself say. She didn’t know why, but the news struck her with an almost physical force. For some reason, she’d assumed Earl was moping around his Paris apartment by himself. And then she realized: she’d been waiting for him to ask her out, to say they should give it another try.

  “Well, congratulations again,” she said to Earl, though she knew her voice sounded odd, plastic.

  “I didn’t say anything at the house because it just didn’t seem like the right time to talk about it. I know this is a bad way to end our visit, but I thought you’d want to know.”

  “I’m glad you told me.”

  “I met her while I was teaching a writing workshop in France,” Earl continued. “She was a student.” He blushed again. “Her name’s Mavis. She’s American. Ten years younger than me, to tell you the truth. She was studying abroad. We just kind of hit it off. She’s living with me now. She would have come, but it would have been hard for us to afford the trip if we both took off work. Plus, I hadn’t really talked to Dad about her. She’s working as an assistant to a fairly well-known French scholar.” Earl looked uncomfortable. She knew he felt like he needed to explain.

  But she didn’t want to hear any of that. She didn’t want to put either of them through the discomfort of it. So she said, “Actually, I met someone, too. I’m really glad for you, Earl. We should do a double date sometime.”

  “Oh,” Earl said, his mouth dropping open a little. “Oh. That’s great.” She could tell he was surprised by her news, that it hadn’t been what he’d expected either. Yet he kept talking. “Mavis and I are hoping to move to a larger place in Paris, now that I’m done with the book. I have some fellowship money, and I’ve been working different jobs. Mavis can’t leave Paris, because of her work. It’s too good an opportunity for her. But she’s hoping to come to New York with me this fall, when my book comes out. Maybe we can all hang out together then.”

  “Great,” Finny said.

  “What’s your boyfriend’s name?” Earl asked.

  “Brad. Brad Miller. It sounds plain, I know, but he’s a fascinating guy. He’s traveled all over Europe.” She felt that if she kept talking she could pave over the silence between them, the things they didn’t say, the words Mr. Henckel had left them with. Finny didn’t want to be alone in her head with these thoughts. If she kept talking, it wouldn’t quite be real.

  “I’m happy for you,” Earl said. With an effort, he smiled; there was something hesitant and unconvincing in his manner. “Brad sounds really nice.”

  Their conversation was awkward for the rest of the ride. They jumped between topics, such as the weather in Paris versus Boston, Finny’s teaching routine, the best ways to travel in the U.S. and in France, the relative merits of living in your own country versus moving abroad. They finally agreed that each experience was good in its own way, and felt comfortable leaving it at that.

  Earl pulled up to the curb in the drop-off lane at BWI. Finny got out and took her bag from the back of the station wagon. She shut the door and was just planning to wave to Earl through the window, but he got out of the car and came over to her side. He put his arms around her, and they both hugged each other more tightly than they normally would have. She could tell there was so much left to say, but neither of them could figure out how to say it, to step across the gap between them. Finny felt herself begin to cry as Earl held her, and she swallowed back the hot ball in her throat. Neither of them seemed to want to let go. Only when several cars honked behind them did they loosen their grips on each other. As they came apart, Finny’s lips brushed Earl’s. She didn’t know if it was his initiative or hers, but she saw that he noticed it. He had a startled expression on his face. It wasn’t exactly what you’d call a kiss, though it felt like the beginning of one. Again, Earl seemed like he had something to say but was holding back.

  She told Earl to let her know the dates he’d be in New York, and he promised he would. They exchanged email addresses. She said that she thought his dad was a great man, like a father to Finny, and she felt so sad about losing him. Earl thanked her, and said he would get that letter to her when the book came out in the fall. She said she couldn’t wait.

  Then they said goodbye.

  Chapter35

  Another First Date

  It was easy to immerse herself in her life in Boston in the weeks after she’d left Baltimore. She caught up on her shopping and bill paying, her phone calls and emails. She got her hair cut, shorter than she’d ever had it before, almost boyish, though mussed in a hip way. Everyone at work said they liked it. And then there were the last weeks of school, the parent conferences and student reports. Through all this activity, Finny was successful at making the sad events of her time in Baltimore feel distant, like something she’d experienced a long time ago. She remembered a phrase from the first story Earl had shown her, when the narrator is describing the way he felt about his father, and he said that his dad was like an object in the rearview mirror. It was how so much of Finny’s life felt now. She was young, but she felt old, like she’d lived a lot.

  The only connection to her past now were the periodic calls she made to check in on Poplan. They didn’t seem to have much news for each other, but somehow they were always able to fill up an hour on the phone. They could talk about anything—about something they saw on TV, or the books they were reading, or trips they would like to take. Finny felt so comfortable with Poplan that sometimes they could sit for a minute or two on the phone without saying anything, and it wasn’t awkward. Poplan seemed more subdued now that Mr. Henckel had passed away. Finny kept telling her she should come up to Boston, but they never got around to planning it.

  She hadn’t heard from Judith since the weekend in the Hamptons, except for a brief email saying how sorry Judith was about Earl’s dad, and that she hoped Finny would call her when she felt up to it. But in truth, Finny didn’t feel up to it. She still couldn’t shake the image of Judith in her nightgown coming out of Sylvan’s room, the way Judith had looked at her in the hallway without saying anything, as if acknowledging both Finny’s presence and how meaningless it was at the same time. Finny felt awful for how screwed up Judith’s marriage was, but she also couldn’t help thinking that Judith had brought it on herself.

  As for Sylvan, Finny didn’t get around to calling him either. As much as she would have hated to admit it, she’d lost respect for her brother after seeing him collapse under the weight of Judith’s sexual advances. And she couldn’t tell him that, how hurt she’d been by it. So she stayed away. She wrote emails that didn’t say much.

  The only notable event in the early part of summer was a call from Julie Fried, the editor Finny had worked under at Doll’s Apartment magazine in New York. The ostensible purpose of the call was to say hi, see how Finny was doing, but after a minute of small talk Julie said, “Look, you know I can’t do all this how-are-the-grandkids stuff. I just want to tell you we have a job for you, Finny. An editorial assistant position is opening up after Thanksgiving. You’d be on a track to full editor. We only do it with people we really like. I know it’s not The New Yorker, but usually our people do pretty well. And by the way, the salary’s a little better than last time we talked.” Julie named a figure that wasn’t as horrifyingly low as the previous one.

  “It’s not that I don’t want to do it,” Finny said. “It’s just a little late for me to be starting over.”

  “Think about it, okay? Even though you’re a hundred years old.”

  Finny laughed. “Thanks,” she said, and hung up.

  Only toward the end of July, a month after school had let out, two months after Mr. Henckel’s death, did Finny begin to feel a little bored. Earl had never written about when he was coming to New York, and the long
hot month of August stretched ahead of her like a sun-parched field. It was around this time that, going through her address book one evening, she came upon the card Brad Miller had placed in her hand the night he’d kissed her in front of Judith’s vacation home.

  Impulsively, she picked up the phone and dialed what she guessed was his cellphone, a 917 number. It rang five times, and Finny was on the point of hanging up when the line clicked on and she heard Brad say, “Brad Miller.”

  Did she really want to go through with this?

  “Hello?” Brad said.

  She knew that if she hung up now she could never call again, since her number would be in Brad’s phone and the next time she called he would guess what had happened. But it was okay. She didn’t need this.

  And yet, against every good instinct, she found herself saying, “Hi, Brad? This is Finny Short, Judith’s friend from—”

  But he stopped her. “I’m so glad you called,” he said. “I’ve been thinking about you.”

  It turned out Brad was coming to town that week for business. He and Finny made plans to meet on Friday night at a restaurant Brad wanted to try on Hampshire Street in Cambridge. He’d offered to pick Finny up at her apartment, but she assured him that the restaurant was a very short walk from her place and she liked getting the exercise.

  Their reservation was for eight o’clock on Friday night, and Finny was running late. At seven-thirty she was still having trouble choosing her outfit. The blouse she’d originally planned to wear looked too low-cut when she put it on. So she switched to a vintage summer dress that showed off her legs, but then decided it was too formal for the occasion. So she went back to the blouse, which had a way of highlighting her shoulders and the plane of her chest. Since she didn’t have boobs, she found she did best to accentuate her long, thin body. But then her hair didn’t seem to do what she wanted it to. Her new style required her to comb it with her fingers, but it kept sticking up in back in a way that made it look like she’d just gotten out of bed. Maybe it was the humidity. In any case, she finally had to give up. She walked out the door at 7:56.