Now
“So, exactlyhowdid you leave things off with Hank?” His mother asked, placing a tray of steaming roasted chestnuts on the coffee table. Raising an eyebrow at Fenn, she smiled softly. “Careful now, sweetpea. Let Uncle Finn get one for you.” The child, currently using his ‘favorite uncle in the entire world’ as a beanbag, was sporting Peppa Pig PJs with the nonchalant confidence that only a four-year-old could master.
Yes, last night, after telling Cara and his parents about his drifting about for the past eight years, Finn had finally told them about last-stop Nebraska and Hank, too.
“Nebraska? What’s in Nebraska?” His dad had frowned, leaning back in his favorite recliner, folding his hands over his slightly protruding stomach, wrapped in one of his mother’s more adventurous home knits.
“Jesus, Dad!” Cara had scolded him, shaking her head. “It’s not like Florence is some buzzing city or anything.”
“Yeah, yeah.” His dad had waved his hand at her dismissively in his usual fond way. “I’m just asking.”
“Hank’s in Nebraska,” Finn had blurted before he’d realized what he’d actually said. Three sets of wondrous, equally blue eyes had stared back at him, and he’d had no other choice but to tell them about Hank. Not everything, obviously, but they seemed to get the gist of it. That there had been some connection between the two of them. More than just friendship, anyway.
“To be honest, Mom, I’m not really sure where we left things,” Finn mumbled, reaching for a roasted chestnut and blowing at it before peeling off the shell. Once it was completely shelled, only the pale yellow interior left, he held it out in his palm toward Fenn.
“Woah,” the child exclaimed, eyes wide as saucers, mouth slightly agape in what looked like a mixture of excitement and horror. “It looks like a brain.Nice.” He picked up the chestnut and threw it in his mouth, his face doing a poor job at disguising that roasted chestnuts were, in fact, an acquired taste.
“How do you know what a brain looks like, kiddo?” Harry, who was currently sprawled out on the couch, his head resting in Cara’s lap, asked. His sister smiled as she quietly counted the stitches of her red knitwork. Out of her chair like this, sitting on their parents’ old navy-blue couch with the maroon cushions, Finn could almost forget—just almost—that Cara was paralyzed.
“Junior Einstein,” Fenn replied, licking his lips, his cute button nose scrunched up. He seemed to contemplate the age-old question that most kids went through every time they tastedsomething new: binge or barf? Fenn must’ve quickly decided on the latter because he reached for the bowl of sugared popcorn instead, stuffing a handful into his mouth.
Reaching for another chestnut, Finn started peeling it slowly, eyeing his mother, who was handing her husband a plate of chestnuts and Cara one for her and Harry to share. As a kid, he’d felt the same as Fenn about these little fuckers, but over the years, he’d come to first like, then love them just as much as his mom must’ve loved them when she’d tasted them for the first time during their trip to France. Finn had been fourteen, Cara almost four when they’d gone to Auvergne on a family trip after his father had received a generous advance on a book he’d been writing about Karen Blixen’s early years in Kenya.
“And the job interview?” His mother, who’d always been relentless when it came to her children’s welfare, raised a dark eyebrow at him, wiping her hands in her festive green apron with small red polka dots splayed across the spruce green.
“What job interview?” Cara asked, her gaze not leaving her knitwear. “You already applied for a job? You know you can always go back to PeaceHealth. Right, Harry?”
“Sorry what, darling?” Harry mumbled around a mouthful of chestnuts.
“It’s out of town,” Finn said, Harry looking relieved that he wasn’t expected to produce an answer.
“Out of town?” Cara rested her knitwork in her lap, her blue eyes finding his across the coffee table. “But you only just got here.” There was no hint of accusation or edge of sadness in her voice, just curiosity. Then her face changed as recognition set in. “Oh. Of course.” She smiled knowingly, her eyes bright, lighting up her face. “You really are in love, huh Finnie?”
“I just…” Finn mumbled, tightening his grip on Fenn, who was deeply engulfed in some Christmas movie on the TV. “I’m keeping my options open,” he concluded, hoping his voice cameoff somewhat neutral and not revealing the inner turmoil he was currently in.
“Right…” His sister smirked.
“So, what about the job?” Harry wanted to know.
“Yeah, right,” Finn nodded. “It’s a nursing position at an out-patient center. It’s in Whitney,” he looked at Cara, before continuing, “in Nebraska. They’ve been looking to expand so that they can run a 24-hour service. It’s only part time, but it’s a start.”
“And did you hear from them yet?” His mom spoke as she sat down on the smaller of the two navy couches, opposite from the one that Cara and Harry were currently occupying.
“Uhm, yeah,” Finn nodded, his arms wrapped firmly around Fenn, the child’s monotonous breathing rubbing off on him, settling his own heart. “The medical director called earlier. Asked if we could do a remote Skype interview then and there.” Finn bit his bottom lip as he blinked a few times. Then he took a deep breath. “Seemed pretty impressed with my credentials and not at all interested in my eight-year hiatus from nursing. He uhm… he said that they weren’t expecting many applicants but that they’d never hoped for an ER nurse to apply.” He felt his cheeks heat up, recalling the conversation earlier with the medical director from Whitney, Dr. Gupta. The guy was in his mid-fifties if Finn was to guess, a kind, forthcoming demeanor about him, eyes alert and interested in Finn.
“And…” Cara motioned with her hand impatiently for Finn to go on.
“And the job is mine if I want it. I have until the 30thto get back to them.” Finn shrugged.
“And do you want it?” Harry asked the million-dollar question that had gone on repeat in Finn’s head ever since he’d concluded his interview with Dr. Gupta. Then, as it had been the case throughout the day, whenever his thoughts drifted to Hank, hisstupid bottom lip started quivering while his sight got blurry behind his glasses.I wanthim. I could work in a goddamn ice cream truck in fucking Alaska as long as I’d get to have him.
“I don’t know… I just…” Shit, he’d never really considered what he was going to do if Hank didn’t react to the letter in some way or another. He hadn’t even put a timeframe on how long he intended to stay in Florence. Permanently, perhaps. It wasn’t like Hank had sent him off with acome backorstay in touch. He had no plan. None whatsoever. So, with the interview today, he’d tried to make one. But what did it all matter if Hank wasn’t part of it?
“Oh honey, don’t cry.” His mother’s gentle voice surrounded him, and it wasn’t until her right arm was wrapped around him and his head was leaning against her shoulder that he realized he was crying. “I’m sure everything will be just fine, Finnie.”
“Yeah, I’m not so sure, Mom,” he sniffed against her mohair cardigan that always made his nose tingle, rubbing his burning cheek against the fluffy fabric.
“Of course it will. One way or another, honey, it will be.” She stroked his hair like he was a small child again, crying against her apron because Johnny Lithgow had called him a crybaby for not wanting to squish a frog under his shoe. When all the other boys had already done it, and there was very little frog left, and ‘Will you just do it already, you cry baby?’
