My eyes narrowed on Finley.
Finley was more like myself, much more down to earth, much more provincial. This wasn’t to say she wasn’t intelligent because, from what I could remember, Finley was often the sharpest in my classes.
She had long, wavy hair always pinned half up or full down in charmingly hot disarray, with wisps of hair constantly around her face. Her bright blue eyes were occasionally covered with Holly-esque frames. Her clothes were vintage, probably thanks to a limited budget, and I remembered her frequenting thrift stores a great deal. I thought she still did. She layered unusual pieces together a lot too, wore a lot of odd jewelry. She pulled it together pretty well. You could probably pluck her up out of Kalispell and drop her in New York City or London and she’d fit right in. The only thing that wouldn’t have jibed were her bare feet. She was obsessed with bare feet. On more than one occasion, even in high school, I remember her getting sent home from school for not wearing shoes.
I looked back on my memories of her and couldn’t remember a time I felt more relaxed. That’s what Finley did for me. She relaxed me. She claimed we weren’t really friends, but I knew differently. Yeah, I was careful around Finley, but I did pay attention to her. I just never told her I did. I watched her probably more than I should have, probably more than I could have admitted to myself.
When I was with Cricket, I was constantly on edge, nervous about her medical condition. Toward the end, it was all we could talk about. Growing up, Finley was a mini-break from that tension because we talked about the obvious. So Finley may have thought we weren’t friends, but our conversations about nothing helped keep me sane, and they meant more to me than she could have ever known.
“Finley,” I began, but my hoarse voice broke. I cleared my throat. “Finley,” I said deeply from sleep and rough use.
She opened one eye. The surprised look on her face priceless, and I almost laughed for the first time in many months. Except it wouldn’t have been the first time, would it? She’d made me laugh at the bar. That shocking feeling sobered me, and I was never more determined to get out of there.
“Good morning,” she said, remembering I was there. “Did you sleep all right?”
“I, um, I did,” I answered self-consciously.
“Good,” she said, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. “Come on,” she ordered, throwing off the covers, standing, and stretching.
She wore a huge T-shirt and baggy flannel pajama pants and she looked ridiculous.
She must have seen the expression on my face because she looked down at herself then back up at me.
She narrowed her eyes. “Well, excuse me, Ethan Moonsong!” she ranted. “I’m not a silk pajama kinda gal, okay?” She stood straighter and smoothed the front of her shirt. “Besides, though this shirt may have been made for a robust two-hundred-pound man, it’s still M83 and they rock socks, so can it!”
I raised my palms. “Fine.”
“Good,” she said, relaxing a bit. “Now,” she continued, “breakfast. Come with me.”
“Uh,” I began, “that’s cool. I need to get going.”
She swirled around, her hair fanning around her. “Nope. Sorry, but I drove you here. Meaning, your truck is still at the bar and I’m not going anywhere without breakfast first.”
I kicked my legs over the side of the bed and stood to my full six-foot three. Finley was tall at five-foot eight, but I still towered over her. I tried to intimidate her into taking me to my truck but it didn’t work. She only gritted her jaw and set her hands on her hips. We stood there quietly, long enough for me to start getting uncomfortable, defeating my purpose.
“Whatever,” I told her.
“Good,” she said, smiling. “Besides, it’s bacon, eggs, and French toast day! You won’t want to miss this.”
She turned on her heel quickly and bounded down the hall, no doubt expecting me to follow her. “Can it be bacon, eggs, and aspirin day?” I asked, holding my head and following her.
I had to duck my head under her door to get into the hall and her ceilings weren’t that much higher. A few more inches and I’d have had to crouch everywhere we walked.
“How do you live here? I’d get claustrophobic.”
“I don’t have to drop it like it’s hot or anything to walk around here, Lurch.”
“Okay.”
“Sit,” she ordered, gesturing to a light blue Formica dinette with chrome chairs.
“Is there anything in here not fifty years old?” I asked, examining my surroundings.
Apparently she shopped for furniture at the same place she shopped for clothing.
“You gotta problem with my independence, Moonsong?” she said, placing a cast-iron skillet on her enamel stove.
“No.”
“I’m an independent woman.”
“True,” I said, secretly proud of the girl she’d become. Finley had always been poor from what I could remember, but she knew how to work with it.
“Question!” she began, shifting her rear from side to side, which looked ludicrous in her pajamas. “Tell me what you think about me. I buy my own diamonds and I buy my own rings. Only ring your celly when I’m feelin’ lonely.”
“What?” I asked her, confused.
She turned toward me and rolled her eyes. “Never mind.”
“So, uh,” I began, “did you say something about leaving Kalispell last night?”
She turned from her task and got a thing of butter from her fridge before returning to the pan. “Yeah, I’m leaving in a few weeks.”
“Where are you going?”
“Vietnam.”
I was taken aback. “What?”
She looked at me with a large smile plastered across her face. “Vietnam. It’s an Asian country, full of sweet people, south of China, east of Laos and Cambodia? We went to war there? Ringing any bells?”
“I know Vietnam, Finley. I want to know why Vietnam?”
“I’ll be doing some charity there. I told you.” She went back to flipping the bread on her skillet and the smell of vanilla and nutmeg filled the kitchen. “Get the OJ out, will you?” she asked, gesturing to her fridge.
I stood and did I was told, setting it on the table. I started opening her top cabinets, looking for her juice glasses. “Why?” I asked.
“Because it’s delicious and made from oranges and I have to have it in the morning even though it gives me acid reflux like a mother.”
“No, why leave to do charity work?”
Her face paled a little. “It’s just a place I feel drawn to.”
I studied her but her face gave nothing else away. “Cool. That’s really cool of you,” I told her.
She looked at me and gave me a small smile, letting her armor down a little. “Thanks.”
She placed the last piece of bread on her pile and set the plate in the oven before moving on to the bacon and eggs. The smell started to make me feel ill so I grabbed my glass, filled it with cold tap water, and downed it. The fact that I even felt the slightest bit nauseated was a testament to how much I’d had to drink the night before. I knew if I wanted to function at all that day I’d need to eat.
I sat down when Finley pointed to the chair I’d previously sat in. “So,” she said, placing a plate of food in front of me.
“Thank you,” I told her.
“You’re welcome,” she responded. She took a deep breath. “So talk to me, Ethan.”
I furrowed my brows and swallowed a bite of bacon, staring at my plate. “Nothing to tell.”
She pursed her lips and shook her head. “You’re lying.”
I sighed. “I don’t want to talk, Finley.”
“Fine. Then I will. Yesterday, I woke up, oh, I don’t know, around seven-ish? I ate breakfast, showered, and all that jazz. My hair was doing this wonky thing so I wrapped it in a blue scarf. It looks fabulous today though, right?” She paused for my response, but I didn’t give one. “Anyway, I think it does. Where was I? Oh yes, I got dressed and headed over to
Smith’s to answer the phones. No one called, by the way. And do you want to know why?”
“Why?” I asked, delving into the French toast, which tasted unbelievable.
“Because no one in Kalispell has enough money to travel, dude, that’s why.”
“How do they stay in business then?”
“It’s a mystery, man. A flipping mystery.” She took another bite, chewed and swallowed. “Then I collected my check, deposited it, and ran some errands, went grocery shopping, picked up my mail.”
“This is all very fascinating, Finley.”
“Isn’t it?” she asked sarcastically and continued. “I ran into Helen Green on the way to pick up my dry cleaning. Have you spoken to her lately?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“She told me that her dog had to be put down a few days ago for cancer. Poor thing. She was so heartbroken. I couldn’t leave her there in front of the Sip-n-Stop all alone. So I sat next to her as she told me about all the good her dear little Jakie did for her over the years. How he’d fetch her paper and all sorts of things from her room for her. She’d just call out what she wanted and Jake would get it for her. Can you believe that?”
“No.”
“Neither could I, but I suppose anything’s possible. Let’s see. What next? Oh! I haven’t catalogued what I had to eat!”
“Enough,” I said, setting down my fork. “Fine.”
A smile so wide formed on her mouth, I could count her teeth. She settled in her seat.
“I’m miserable, Finley.”
Her smile fell and she nodded her head in understanding. “I know, Ethan,” she said softly.
“And I don’t know what to do about it. I’m so angry. So, so angry.” I sat back in my chair and stared out her window. “I want to hunt Spencer Blackwell down and do something, something awful to him.”
“Ethan, that’s just not healthy, dude. I mean, I know anger. I’ve felt anger, but I did something about it. I felt it taking over me and I decided to let it go. I can tell it’s taking you, and you have to let it go.”
I looked back at her. “I don’t want to,” I told her truthfully.
She shook her head. “You’re just mourning her and can’t deal is all.”
“No,” I said deadly seriously, “I don’t think that’s all. I think Spencer Blackwell is the shadiest asshole I’ve ever met, and I want him to pay for how he wronged me.”
“Not any shadier than—”
“I told you,” I interrupted, “I don’t want to hear her name. Never say her name.”
“Fine. It’s crazy, but whatever.”
It got quiet and we both stopped eating.
“I hate him,” I whispered. “I hate what he’s done to my life. I had held on to her so tightly, was willing to give her my kidney along with the heart I’d already given. I never thought in a million years that she would do that to me, and I don’t think she would have, had it been anyone else. He did something to her. I don’t know what it was, but he distracted her from what was real.”
Finley sat back in her chair and folded her arms across her chest. “Jeez, Ethan.” She sighed. “What did she tell you when you broke up?”
I was surprised by this question. No one had ever asked me about the circumstances surrounding what happened that day in the woods.
My mind went back to the camping trip, to her choosing him over me, to my promise to Spencer that I would get him back when he least expected it.
“She told me nothing,” I explained. “She tried to appease me, attempted to let me down easily, but it felt like a cop-out and I wouldn’t let her do it. She chose Spencer over me by running to him when I expected her to run to me, literally and figuratively. He stole her and I want my revenge.”
“Damn it, Ethan, this is a ridiculous mentality! Life isn’t fair. Life is far, very, very far from fair. Sometimes it slaps you so hard in the face you fall back, you hit the ground with a resounding thud, knocks the breath outta you, but it’s how quickly you stand and fight for the life you want and how you forge that new path that defines you. Ethan,” she said, resting her hand on mine, “nothing is so overwhelming, so dreadful, that it cannot be defeated.”
“Even a love lost?” I asked in all sincerity, watching the window again.
“Even that love lost.”
A bird landed on the sill, its tiny head robotically searching for food that wasn’t there.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She stared at me hard, her jaw clenched. She leaned closely to me to drive her point home.
“Trust me, Ethan Moonsong, I know anger. I’ve lived anger, and I had every right to seek the revenge I so badly wanted but hear this, know this, revenge is a slippery slope. The eye for your eye never satisfies. You may achieve your goal but the reward is never as sweet as you imagined it.“
I shut her out. I was unwilling to hear her words of unburden, of relief. Only, one thing burned me with curiosity. “And what do you know of anger?”
“Enough,” she explained, avoiding eye contact.
I smiled. “It seems neither of us is willing to talk about what we really want to hear the other has to say.”
She smiled back. “It’s high school all over again.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Finley dropped me off at the bar after breakfast, and I waved goodbye as she drove away in her rickety navy blue VW Bug that reeked of oil. I watched her drive away and wondered if I would see her again before she left for Vietnam.
I found it so odd that she would choose Vietnam, not that I knew anything that even went on in Vietnam, but she was proving to be just as tight-lipped about her life as I was. It seemed we had that in common. I was curious, though, about her life, about her attitude about said life. Maybe it was because I considered her more an old friend than she thought me. Maybe it was because I was pathetic and was desperate to hold on to anything that could distract me from the chaotic crappy life that was my own.
I got in my truck and stuck the key in the ignition, ready to return home but was immediately struck frozen mid-crank when Spencer Blackwell’s truck sped past me on Main.
My heart pounded, raced with adrenaline, and my palms started to sweat. I turned the key but my truck wouldn’t start, and I began to panic.
“Come on, come on, come on,” I begged her. I tried again and again to start her but she wouldn’t turn. “Damn it!”
I paused, my hand resting on the key, and gritted my teeth. I cranked the key as hard as I could and felt the rush of relief when she turned over and the engine rumbled to life. Tearing out of the lot, I felt invigorated. I didn’t have a plan, but I knew I needed to follow him.
I took a left onto Main and spotted him two blocks ahead sitting at a stop light. I sped up a bit so I wouldn’t lose him but not so close that he could recognize me. That tingling rush adrenaline gives you tumbled through my veins, but there was a sick feeling in my gut I’d never felt, and I didn’t recognize the source. I chalked it up to the drinking and hitting my head from the night before and ignored the sinking feeling it was something else. Instead, I focused on keeping him in sight.
He approached the light at Third and came to a stop, turning on his blinker to turn left. I drove past him but kept him in my rearview then took a left at the next street and another then came to a stop right before Third so I could watch him. His light turned green and I thought he’d turn left but he made a U-turn instead, and that’s when I knew exactly where he was going. Ceres Bakery. I took a deep, shaky breath. And I also knew who he was with. Because it was her favorite.
I took a left then a right to get back onto Main, drove past his truck and parked in front of the flower shop she and I intended to hire for our wedding a few stores down. My hands shook on the steering wheel as I contemplated my next move. All sorts of awful, strangely appealing scenarios ran through my head, which scared me.
The truck door slammed closed behind me as I reached for my hidden bottle, unscrewed the
lid, and took a swig. It burned on its way down, alleviating that sick feeling in my stomach, albeit temporarily.
Slowly, ever so slowly, I walked toward the bakery. I kept as close to the storefronts as possible. When I reached Ceres, I stopped and leaned against the brick beside the window, knowing they couldn’t see me. Carefully, I peered into the window and saw them. Their backs faced me as they ordered at the counter.
“My God,” I breathed.
There she was. It was the first time I’d seen either of them since the day in the forest when she chose him over me. It felt so surreal to me. Her hair had grown out a little and she’d gained weight, probably since the transplant went so well. I looked at Spencer. I bet the bastard was her hero. I couldn’t help but think I could have just as easily been him. I could have been standing next to her in line at Ceres, waiting for our sweet potato sticky buns, laughing and feeling happy because I was with her.
I thought about what Finley told me earlier that morning. I thought she was wrong. Cricket would have been just as happy with me as she was with Spencer.
I studied them together. She bounced on her heels, talking animatedly, her hair swishing around her shoulders. She used her hands a lot when she spoke. I wondered what she was talking about. I wondered if she thought about me at all, if she gave a shit that she broke my heart, shattered it into a million pieces. She smiled at Spencer and they started laughing. Apparently not.
God, I hated him. I mean really hated the guy. I looked back at my truck and remembered that I kept my hunting knives in the glove compartment in case my mom’s brother Akule, the only one willing to talk to me on her side of the family, wanted to go hunting. He gave them to me for my eleventh birthday. They were beautiful. Two Spartan short swords with leather handles, and I knew what I was doing with them.
Akule is Echo River Indian, as was my mother. She left the tribe when she converted to Catholicism right out of high school, and they didn’t approve but Akule was young when she did and he was close to my mom, so he didn’t care. He would sneak into town and they would watch movies together at her apartment.
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