“We’re headed off to school, Daddy,” my mom spoke to alert him to our presence and to set the tone of what she expected from him.
“Well,” my dad said kindly, picking me up and kissing my cheek. “Be a good boy, son. Listen to your teachers. Make good decisions today. Pray to God for peace during your test today.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, beaming at him.
He sat me down and ruffled my black hair. My mom kept it short then.
“Oh,” my mom playfully complained, “I just combed his hair, babe.”
“Excuse me,” my dad responded sarcastically, grabbing my mom by the waist and kissing her on the mouth.
I stuck my tongue out and wrinkled my nose in disgust but deep inside, I secretly loved watching them love one another. It gave me happiness, though I didn’t recognize it as so then. I just knew it made me feel happy inside.
My dad let her go, smoothing her hair down on both sides of her head and kissing her forehead.
He turned to me then, resting his hand on top of my head. “Love you, Ethan.”
“Love you too, Daddy.”
“See you after school, son.” He turned to my mom. “Love you too, good girl.”
“Love you too.”
My mom and I walked away toward the end of our lane to wait for our bus. On our way there, I asked her why my dad called her a good girl.
My mom smiled to herself then said, “Does it feel silly to hear him call me that?”
I nodded.
“When your daddy and I first met, he told me he was just a good guy lookin’ for a good girl.” She smiled at the memory. “We got to datin’ for a little bit and one day he told me he’d found her in me, that he thought I was his good girl.”
“And will I grow up and get a good girl too?” I asked her.
“Yes, you will, Ethan,” she answered without hesitation. She stopped me in the lane and held my chin. “You deserve nothing but goodness.” She leaned down on her ankles, at eye level. “Good girls are hard to come by, but I think God’s got one all lined up for you already. Just keep an eye out for her, right? Treat all girls with kindness, Ethan, ’cause you never know which one will turn into the good girl you’re meant to keep.”
I nodded, eyes wide. “Yes, ma’am.”
I noticed Finley waving her hand in front of my face. “Ethan?” she asked, worry etched over every inch of her face. I wondered how long I’d stood there with her, drowning in the memory of my dead mother.
I blinked once. “Finley,” I said quietly.
“Yes?” she asked, her brows furrowed in distress.
“Yesterday was the anniversary of my mother’s death. And-and I forgot.” My voice cracked at the end. I cleared it to gain composure.
Her loss felt fresh again saying it out loud. The wound of her death ripped back open, exposing my already damaged heart to the harshness of a bitter environment. An environment I’d created on my own. I discovered I’d forgotten when I opened the fridge earlier that afternoon. Its emptiness consumed me in a strange way, as if my body knew I’d forgotten. That was when I glanced at the calendar and discovered I’d dishonored the memory of my mom by forgetting the worst day of our lives.
Finley’s hands went to her mouth and her eyes glassed over. “Ethan,” she breathed.
“How could I forget the worst day of my life, Fin? How?” She moved for me but stepped back when I continued again, her hands fisting at her mouth. “The awful part is I hadn’t even realized it was coming up. I couldn’t even bother to remember.” My left hand laid at my side while my right clenched at my heart, ready to tear it out just to relieve the hurt. I averted my gaze, focusing on a neon sign pulsing in the pitch-black night. “I’m a terrible son, Finley.”
My whole body felt overwhelmingly sad. I recognized with that memory that a person may forget a date but they cannot forget a torment. The mind may fail you but the heart never does. Grief etches itself inside the body’s stone. It weathers with age as all etchings do, worn by the winds of time, but the remnants are there. They remain and they continue to distinguish themselves. A sculptor would never forget its chisel. It’s the curse of the carver.
Without warning, a cool, slender hand found my forearm and some of the agony suffered a little less.
Finally, I sighed to myself, pulling her to me and wrapping my arms around her.
CHAPTER NINE
Harv did sell me a battery that night when we went back, and it was close to three in the morning when I finally dropped Finley at her apartment. She was so exhausted she admitted the loneliness she’d felt earlier had disappeared since her eyes were already half closed. I walked her inside and made sure she locked her door when I left, not that Kalispell was dangerous or anything, but why take chances?
I went home that morning with a fairly definite idea of who Finley was. She was my earthly guardian angel, my little salvation. I’d never tell her as much because who needs that kind of pressure, right? But I most definitely relied on her. The entire drive back, I wondered if I would ever deserve her friendship, how I could ever pay her back for what she’d done for me. I knew that I might not ever atone for it, but I also knew I’d live my entire life aspiring to accomplish just that.
We spent every single day together the weeks before she left for Hạ Long Bay, and the comfort she brought me is an insane thing to try to convey. Finley and I became incredibly close during those weeks. And it was an allied effect I’d never felt, not even, I’m ashamed to say, with Caroline, because with Finley it was in no way forced or ever uncomfortable. There were no motives. We weren’t occupied with anything other than being in one another’s company. We never needed to explain ourselves because we wanted nothing more from one another other than to care for each other, to rely on each other, to regard one another as the only person who truly understood us. Finley, for lack of a better phrase, was my best friend. Hers was a friendship I’d never had nor ever thought existed. I never thought a friend could be like that.