two
Astrid
Fourteen weeks earlier...
Myshoesandsocks are gone. That’s the first thing I notice when I awaken in bed, dressed in the clothes I put on this morning. I remember climbing into the back of Finn’s truck, so tired I could barely keep my eyes open. I must’ve fallen asleep and then stayed asleep as he carried me to my room.
I sit up and rub the blur from my eyes. It’s dark, but not so black that I can’t make out the shapes of my furniture. My phone isn’t where it usually sits on the bedside table. After pawing at the comforter, I find my purse and my phone inside it. I check the time, a little before midnight, which means I’ve been asleep for eight straight hours. A dreamless, restful sleep. The best I’ve slept since Gran’s cancer diagnosis last March.
Her hysterectomy this afternoon had been a success, but Mom and Aunt Terry insisted on staying with her overnight. I wanted to stay, too, but Mom said it wasn’t necessary for all of us to camp out in the waiting room. At the time, there were eight of us: Mom and me, Aunt Terry and Uncle Pavan, Leena and her younger brothers. My dad’s best friend, Finn, had flown in all the way to New York from Nashville, where he lives and works, writing songs and producing albums for some of the biggest names in music, just so he could here for Gran.
“Your mom’s right,” Finn said. I shot him a frown that lost most of its vigor by morphing into a yawn. “I’ll take you home. I’m staying at your house tonight anyway.”
“There’s shepherd’s pie in the freezer,” Mom said to Finn. “Help yourself to anything in the fridge.” She drew me into a hug. “Go on, sweetheart. We’ll call you if anything changes.”
According to my phone, no one has called since Finn and I left the hospital. I slide out of bed and change into a clean long-sleeve shirt and athletic pants. I can already smell something savory wafting from the kitchen as I enter the hall, but I’m not hungry for whatever’s warming there. On my way to the fridge, I spy Finn through the sliding-glass door, spread out on the glider, staring at the in-ground pool. I watch as he sips from a dark beer bottle. I don’t usually like the taste of beer, but I might not mind it so much if I were to taste it on his lips.
A sigh pours from me, unbidden. I shouldn’t be thinking about Finn like this. Unfortunately, commanding myself to stop being a perv never seems to work. It just encourages the inappropriate thoughts to return when I’m by myself, vulnerable, and unable to stir up a good enough reason not to touch myself.
For as long as I can remember, Finnegan Wright has been an integral member of my family. But that wasn’t always the case. He was my dad’s best friend when they were children. The way Gran tells it, the two of them did everything together, from Boy Scout retreats to afternoon detention. When Finn’s dad left, Gran took care of Finn while his mom worked nights cleaning offices. After Finn lost his mom to a fatal stroke when he was just sixteen, Gran petitioned for guardianship and custody.
My heart aches when I think about all the loss he’s seen, the loss we’ve both seen. He’s told me on more than one occasion that Gran and my dad saved his life. I don’t know how I would’ve found the strength to heal after Dad’s death if I didn’t have Finn to lean on.
I knock gently on the glass door. He sees me and waves. I step out into the cool night air that smells faintly of woodsmoke from a neighbor’s chimney.
“You’re awake,” he says, moving over to make room for me. I claim the now-empty spot on the glider beside him.
“Did you sleep at all?”
“Grabbed a few winks on the couch. You were out like a light. Didn’t even stir when I carried you into the house.”
“I guess I was really tired.” After a moment’s hesitation, I rest my head on his shoulder the way I’ve done countless times before. For some reason, it feels different tonight, like every gesture is loaded with meaning I can’t decipher.
He drapes a tattooed arm around me. “Today was rough, but you handled it like a champ. You should be proud of yourself.”
“I just wanted to be there for Gran,” I say.
Finn’s blond beard hairs tickle my cheek as he plants a kiss on my temple. We might not be blood-related, but his presence has been coursing through my life like a river since the day I was born. That’s not an exaggeration; Gran has old photos of Dad showing Finn how to cradle my newborn self at the hospital.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about Dad today,” I tell him.
“Makes sense. You were afraid of losing Dory.” Dory is Finn’s special nickname for Gran, short for Doreen. He’s been calling her by that name since he was a kid.
“All day, I’ve been praying for him to watch over her, as if he could really hear me. It’s stupid.”
“It’s not stupid, Astrid.” Finn squeezes my arm. “I won’t claim to know what happens to us after we die, but if there’s some way for your dad to be with us now, you can bet your ass he’s here.”
I close my eyes and nod, trying to recall the last time we were all together. A memory surfaces: Christmastime, a month before the accident, baking ginger cookies with Gran. Dad and Finn lugging an enormous pine tree into Gran’s living room, tracking needles and snow everywhere.
Mom laughing in that carefree way she hasn’t laughed since before Dad left us.
Finn ended up staying with my mom and me for almost two months after Dad passed away. It must’ve felt strange, stepping into a caretaker role for a grieving teenager and her mom, in the midst of his own grief. But if Finn begrudged the task, he never showed it.
“You hungry?” Finn asks. “There’s soup on the stove.”
“I’m not really hungry for soup.”
Finn swigs his beer. A light breeze hits the surface of the pool, bending and warping the moon’s reflection across the water.