“Oh, the same. These old bones creak a bit more each year, but I’m not complaining.” There was a smile in her voice, the kind that had always made Finn feel like everything would work out somehow. He hated that even though she only lived on the other side of town, they didn’t see one another often. She was so busy with her other older lady friends that it seemed their schedules never matched up to get together. “How’s my granddaughter? Still running circles around the softball field?”
“When she’s not running circles around me,” Finn said, smiling despite himself. “She’s at Isabel’s, working on a science project tonight.”
“And how are you? Really?”
The question, simple as it was, caught Finn off guard. He stared out the windshield at the empty parking lot, considering how toanswer. She had always had an uncanny ability to see through his careful composure.
“I’m fine, Mom. Busy with work. We’ve got a new project starting tomorrow—the bookstore in town had some water damage.”
“I heard. That’s a lovely place. That young man—Ollie, is it?—always helps me find the perfect book when I stop in. His parents are lucky to have him.” There was a pause, then she added, “You didn’t answer my question though.”
Finn sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m…managing. Brooklyn’s been a bit distant lately. And work is hectic. And I’ve got a deadline coming up for…the other thing.”
“Your writing,” Maggie said simply.
She was the only person in Maple Hill who knew about Rhett Wilder, a secret Finn had shared during a rare, vulnerable moment after his father’s funeral three years ago.
“Yeah. That.” Finn leaned his head back against the seat. “I’m behind schedule. I really don’t want to let my readers down by pushing it back, but I might have to.”
“You’re trying to be everything to everyone again,” his mother observed, no judgment in her tone, only understanding. “You can’t hold up every wall by yourself. Your readers will wait. It’syouwho’s putting pressure on yourself, not them. Let someone steady your ladder now and then.”
The metaphor made Finn smile faintly. “I’m not sure I know how to do that anymore.”
“Start small,” Maggie suggested. “Ask for help with one thing. Just one.”
“I’ll think about it,” Finn promised, knowing it was the most he could honestly offer. “I should get going. Love you, Mom.”
“Love you too, Finn. Give Brooklyn a hug from her Gran. And tell that brother of yours it wouldn’t kill him to check in every once in a while.”
Finn didn’t point out that Brendan didn’t call or stop by more often because she always gave himthe look.Brendan was a great guy, but he was far more impulsive than someone his age should be.
The drive home was quiet, just the low murmur of the radio keeping him company as he navigated the familiar streets of Maple Hill. The town was settling into the evening, porch lights coming on, families gathering for dinner. Finn tried not to notice how many windows showed multiple silhouettes moving about, the shapes of complete families going about their evenings together.
It’s been seven years. You’d think it wouldn’t still feel like a missing limb.
His house was dark when he pulled into the driveway, a reminder that Brooklyn wasn’t home yet. He unlocked the door and flipped on lights as he moved through the rooms, chasing away the shadows that seemed to gather in empty spaces.
In the kitchen, he opened the refrigerator, assessing the options for dinner. There was leftover chicken, some vegetables that needed to be used before they went bad, and half a loaf of bread. He could make sandwiches or maybe a quick stir-fry.
The sound of the front door opening interrupted his meal planning. Brooklyn’s footsteps in the hallway were followed bythe thud of her backpack hitting the floor—a habit he’d given up trying to break years ago.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he called, closing the refrigerator. “How was the science project?”
Brooklyn appeared in the kitchen doorway, her expression guarded in a way that immediately set off warning bells in Finn’s mind. Her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, and she wore the oversized hoodie that had become her armor of choice lately.
“Fine,” she said, the word clipped. “We’re almost done.”
Finn studied her face, noting the slight redness around her eyes that suggested she’d been crying. Her shoulders were hunched forward slightly, as if bracing against something. “You hungry? I was thinking of making stir-fry.”
She shrugged, a noncommittal gesture that could have meant anything. “Not really. I had a snack at Isabel’s.”
“Brooklyn,” Finn said gently. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” she said too quickly, avoiding his gaze. “It’s just school. You don’t have to—” She cut herself off, the words hanging incomplete between them.
Finn recognized the signs—something was wrong, but Brooklyn wasn’t ready to talk about it. Pushing would only make her retreat further. Instead, he nodded, respecting her space even as concern tightened his chest.
“You don’t have to talk,” he said, keeping his voice steady. “But I’m here if you want to. Always.”
