“Baby, I need to go inside to change Lizzie’s diaper. Do you want to come in with me?”
I shook my head no. It took everything in my eight-year-old body not to throw myself on the lawn, kicking and screaming.
“He’s coming back,” I insisted.
Except he didn’t. He could have loved and been loved, but he was so determined he knew what was best for everyone that he ended up completely alone.
Thwack.
Thwack.
Thwack.
The ax misses the log and skids off the stump. I release it and jump back to keep it from hitting my shins. My eyes are blurry with tears and sweat. I drop the ax, my breath ragged, and sink to the ground, pulling my knees to my chest, assuming the same posture I’d taken as a little girl on That Day. It’s like the truth has only hit me now, nearly twenty years too late:He’s not coming back.
Suddenly, there’s a hand on my shoulder. Finn. It’s as if he’s materialized from thin air—I didn’t even hear him come outside. I couldn’t hear anything over the din of my memories. My ears are still ringing.
His fingers brush away a lock of hair that’s fallen loose. “It’s okay, Em. I’m here.” But the wave of anxiety doesn’t ebb. It keeps rising higher and higher. Finn pulls my face into his hands. “Emma”—his voice is calm, but firm—“we’re going to do three things, okay?”
I nod.
“What are three things you can see?”
I take a gulp of air. Finn’s face is a lifeline right now. I don’t want to look away. “Um, your eyes,” I say shakily. “A green ceramic frog.” I drag my gaze back to him. “Your eyes.”
He waits a beat for me to continue. “Okay, I’ll give you ‘your eyes’ twice since I do have two. Now three things you can hear.” His hands drop from my cheek to my shoulders.
“I can hear a dog barking, traffic, and a flag flapping.”
“Good job. And, finally, three things you can touch.”
“The ground.” I press my fingers to the rough concretebeneath me. “Wood.” My hand grazes the handle of the ax lying harmlessly beside me. I still feel deflated, but thanks to Finn, I’m more in control. I muster a watery smile and tap his nose. “Pretty.” He quirks a smile back at me, and I know he remembers that night by the pool. The night of our first kiss.
I lean toward him, and he pulls me into a hug. Resting my cheek on his shoulder, I take a deep breath in. His skin is warm and damp from the shower. He smells more like Irish Spring than lavender and woodsmoke, but beneath the smell of soap, he still smells like Finn.
“I’m so sorry, Emma,” Finn says, his arms tightening around me. “I can’t imagine how hard it is, being here with your dad after all this time. Do you want to leave? I can book us some hotel rooms.”
“No, we can stay. I feel better now.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not right now.” Right now, I just want to stay right where I am, my head tucked beneath his chin with my ear pressed to his heart. Where everything I can see and hear and touch is Finn.
24
EARLY SATURDAY MORNING
(Wedding day)
“EMMA, WE’VE GOTTA GETup.”
I wake up to the smell of clean laundry and coffee. It’s still dark out, but Finn is dressed and ready for the day. Last night I ate pizza in a daze, totally drained from the confrontation with my dad and the anxiety attack I’d had afterward. After we ate—and I showered off the sweat and grime from chopping wood—Finn and I decided to wait until the morning to get back on the road. I think Finn could tell that I was still fragile and not up for an airport scramble back to LA just yet. He herded me to bed, tucking me in on the pullout sofa. In the middle of the night, I woke briefly to see Finn sprawled across my dad’s recliner, his jacket tucked around him like a blanket,the soft glow from some old black-and-white sitcom dancing across his face.
He’s much too chipper for someone who hasn’t slept in a bed since Wednesday. “Too early,” I mumble, pulling an orange fleece blanket back up over my head.
“Come on,” he says, nudging my foot under the blanket. “Rise and shine.”
“I can’t rise when there’s no shine,” I say, pointing to the dark window. But I get up anyway and stretch my arms over my head. Then I notice a small pile of clothes—freshly clean and neatly folded. “Did you wash these?” Something trembles to life in my chest. No one has done my laundry for me in nearly two decades. As soon as I was old enough to take over that chore from my mom, I did. I think back to my wish at the fountain in Vegas.I just want someone to take care of me the way I take care of everyone else.
