And after, more than a decade later, Finn still keeps our secret.
“Here’s your tea.” My mother appears before me, and I wonder if she moved quietly into my room or if I was so lost in my head that I just didn’t hear her.
She pushes the hot mug into my hand. “Come tell us what changes you want to make. We’ll discuss them.” Then, she walks out of my room, leaving the door open, expecting me to follow.
My parents are very different than Finn’s father, but I think we react to them in a similar way.
When Ann and Patrick Brown were younger, they lived in England, near the coast, swimming in the ocean on the night of the dark moon. One unfortunate time, my mother got caught in a fishing net. The experience almost killed her and left the pair with a fear of the ocean they’d once loved. So, pregnant with me and worried over the safety of their child, they moved here, to a lake in the United States mythics had started to whisper was safe for our kind.
But even in this new home, where they’ve lived for decades, their anxiety remains. And I have always done my best to appease them.
When Mr. Hammond shoved his son’s hands away from the wheel and demanded to drive, I can easily see how Finn gave in. Just as I allowed my parents to grab hold of parts of my life I’d rather keep control of. Like the idea of who I could love.
Their fear made the idea of mating with a human seem a mountain to climb.
Maybe the difficulty of that trek is real. But if so, Finn is worth reaching the pinnacle.
Ignoring the open door, I step into my closet, choosing my favorite dress. The one that cups my boobs almost as well as Finn’s hands did last night. Only after making sure I’m as physically pleasing as I can get, I follow my mother down the stairs, finding her and my father on the back porch, each drinking their own tea.
“I need you both to get in the car and come with me,” I announce, not willing to allow them an opportunity for an argument.
They stare at me. Then at each other. Then move to rise from their chairs.
One thing is certain. The Browns are unwaveringly honest about what we need.
On our way out, I grab my keys and a box from underneath the coffee table, gathering the necessary supplies required for my climb.
10
FINN
“You’re over-mixing the batter.Give it here.” My grandmother comes to relieve me of the bowl. “What’s going on behind that frown, boy? You’ve been a storm cloud ever since you got here. And I know it’s not my baking that’s made you so grumpy.”
She’s right. I was a swirling mess of depression long before I got home from the MacNamaras’ house.
I did the right thing.
I know I did because Isla was still suffering. If she hasn’t moved on from the accident, then I hope knowing more about what happened might help. Knowing the driver of the boat is off the lake, behind bars.
Of course, I’m still here. Free to torment her.
“I blew a shot with the woman of my dreams.”
“The Brown girl?”
My head pops up at that, and I watch my grandmother’s smug smile curl.
“Don’t think I haven’t seen the way you stare at her whenever she’s nearby. Come on. I’m old, but I can still see.”
“I didn’t think I wasthatobvious.” My response is all grumble.
Grandma snorts, and I’m about to smile until I’m hit with another bout of reality.
“Well, doesn’t matter if the whole town knows. I messed everything up.”
“Last night?”
Hell, last night. The best night of my life. Isla was in my arms, and everything was perfect.
