Fury Page 8

  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.

  And just like that, Caroline was forgiven. Because if she had never left me, I never would have found Finley. Finley’s friendship meant more to me than the relationship I had with Caroline. My hatred dissipated into a pool of nothing at my feet.

  “Pass me that bag, will ya?” Finley asked, hooking her phone to the small speaker she carried with her at all times, and she started a playlist. I reached down and picked up one of the myriad bags on her plastic-covered mattress and held it out for her as the heavy bass of the first song swam through my skin. “No, not that one,” she said, pointing at another.

  I reached for the one I thought she wanted and she shook her head then tried another without success. “Jeez, Fin, there’s a hundred on here. Describe it to me,” I demanded as she rummaged through a random drawer.

  “The greenish one with the mustard-colored stripes.” I grabbed the one she wanted and set it on top of her dresser.

  We’d moved all of her stuff into a storage unit the day before and had returned to grab a few things before her flight the next day.

  She was packing for Vietnam.

  “I can’t believe you’re leaving for a year,” I told her.

  She glanced at me and smiled. “It’ll pass by like that,” she said, snapping her slender fingers.

  I smiled in return but I wasn’t so sure. Admittedly, I leaned on Finley a little too heavily but it was a coping mechanism. She was a lifeline, more a life jacket than a preserver. Our friendship tugged that closely. She was so pleasant to be around as well. Funny and silly and full of life.

  She was leaving for Vietnam in the morning and I was driving her to the airport. I was dreading her absence. Selfish, I know, but I didn’t want her to go. If I’d known the kind of charity she was doing, I thought I might have been able to come to terms with it a little better.

  “You know, if you just told me what you were doing over there, I might not feel so crappy about dropping you off tomorrow,” I said with a bite I hadn’t intended.

  Her hands stilled as she stared at the top of her dresser and sighed. “Ethan, let it go, will you? If I told you, you’d just force me to stay.”

  I stood from sitting on her mattress. “That’s it. That’s enough for me to force you right there.”

  She shook her head. “You can’t stop me,” she said, avoiding eye contact, rummaging through a deep bag.

  “What if I refused to take you?” I threatened uselessly, inching near her.

  “I’d just take a cab, dude.”

  I stopped a mere few inches from her and sighed, resting the palm of my hand on the surface of the dresser, inches from her fingers. “Fine, but will you at least call me when you get there? Give me the number to check in on you periodically.”

  Her eyes met mine briefly and something passed between us. Something I couldn’t define. My stomach dropped so I backed up a step.

  “Fine,” she told the inside of the giant bag. “I’ll call you and give you the details of where I’ll be. Will that make you feel better?”

  “Not really, but if it’s all you’ll give me, then fine.”

  Finley zipped the top of her bag, resting an arm on top of it. She turned toward me, using her other hand to hold back wisps of hair tumbling about her face from the wind tunneling into the unit from outside.

  “I’m ready,” she said with a sad smile.

  “Are you nervous?” I asked her.

  There was limited space to move around or even stand so I threw a knee over the mattress to give myself the illusion of room. I was feeling stifled for some reason, overcome by the crowded boxes and disheveled furniture. My chest felt constricted because of it, I thought.

  She sat on the plastic-covered mattress then laid back, her feet planted on the floor.

  “A little,” she said, meeting my eyes and smiling. “A lot, actually.” Her eyes glassed over, so I joined her side and laid beside her.

  “You don’t have to go,” I said.

  She turned to me and I looked at her. “Yes, I do. I really, really do,” she answered.

  I nodded, accepting her answer. “You’re courageous, Fin.”

  “I don’t know about that,” she said, voice low, “but I’m trying.”

  I realized then I’d selfishly made it harder on her by encouraging her to stay, by giving her a hard time. “I’m sorry I gave you shit. You should go. Go but know that anytime you need me, you just call me and I’ll be there for you.”

  Finley wrapped her hand around mine and we stared at the top of the storage unit in silence.

  ***

  At two in the morning we left for Glacier Park International so she could make her six a.m. flight. It felt surreal that she’d be flying halfway across the world. I almost couldn’t believe the day had come. For some inexplicable reason I thought I had all the time in the world to spend with her before she had to go, but like so many things, I was mistaken.

  She was quiet most of the ride. Nerves, I thought, keeping her silent. When we arrived at the airport, I pulled into a garage and grabbed a time ticket. We parked and I got her door for her, followed by her bags, except her ridiculous carry-on which she insisted she could shoulder.

  I stacked a bag on top of her rolling luggage and we headed for her gate but she stopped in the middle of the pedestrian crosswalk, her hand gripping my forearm. Relief from the harsh anxiety I’d been feeling subsided with one breath. I slowly stared down at those soothing fingers, wishing I could glue them there.

  “I’m-I’m scared,” she said, her knuckles turning white.

  My gaze rose to meet hers. She was staring so firmly at my eyes, it sort of knocked me back a little. I opened my mouth to answer, but before I could, a shuttle bus honked at us to let him by. Startled, we both staggered back onto the sidewalk. I set her bag up to stand on its own and turned toward her.

  “Finley,” I whispered, sliding my hands between her hair and face and settling my palms against her cheeks and neck. Her hands raised and gripped at my wrists a little desperately. My forehead met hers and my hair slid forward, mingling with her own. “You’ve got this, Fin. You’ve got this, and I’ve got you.” She took a deep, profound breath, let it out slowly, then nodded. I stepped back a bit, breaking contact save for my hands on her face and her hands on my arms. “Acting bravely doesn’t mean there’s a lack of fear, Fin. It just means you overthrow it, stamp it down, and toss it in deep with the cowardice.”

  She took another rooted breath and found that very place. Her jaw clenched and she hiked her carry-on farther up on her shoulder. “Let’s go.”

  We stood quietly at the ticket counter, butterflies taking residence in both our bellies. It was written all over her face. Hers for obvious reasons. Mine because I was scared for her but was trying not to show it.

  There were surprisingly a lot of fliers for that early in the morning. Finley had two connecting flights, the first being in Seattle. She’d get there in only an hour and a half but she had an almost nine-hour layover when she landed. When she got her ticket, we discovered we had at least an hour to kill so I grabbed a couple cups of coffee along with a few warm croissants.

  I sat next to Finley, who’d removed her flip-flops, of course, and pulled her feet into her la
p.

  “If Principal Healy could get a load of you, dude,” I chuckled, gesturing to her feet.

  She rolled her eyes but smiled. “What an asshole, right? Why did he care if I did or did not wear shoes, anyway? He was obsessed with trying to catch me without them. He’d rant about how if I hurt my feet on school property, they’d be liable, blah, blah, blah. I asked if he was so concerned about it, why not just let me sign a waiver, and you know what he said?”

  “‘Where would be the fun in that, Miss Dyer?’”

  She did a double take. “How do you know that?”

  “’Cause I was there that day, Fin. You wouldn’t shut up about how ‘unfair slash creepy’ he was.”

  Her cheeks bloomed red. “Oh.”

  I don’t know why, but I liked the color on her. “I agreed with you, though. I thought he was a little too preoccupied with catching you. I remember telling you I thought it was disturbing the amount of joy he got out of sending you home.”

  “I know. What a douche canoe.” She raised her coffee in the air and announced with a terrible English accent, “His mother was a hamster and his father smelt of elderberries!” She brought her hand back down and took a sip of her coffee.

  A burst of laughter that’d been growing in me pretty much since she saved my life that first night exploded out of me, deep and guttural. It was the hardest I’d laughed in many, many months, and it was apparently catching because Finley’s shining eyes met mine and she joined me. We were both so loud, in fact, a few people stopped and stared. Tears streamed from our eyes. It was junior year bio all over again.

  “This is only funny because it’s four in the morning,” she said, giggling.

  “I know,” I agreed but kept laughing. After a while, I wiped my palms down my face and sighed. “Henry Kissinger, I’ve been missin’ yer.”

  She nodded as she ran her fingers under her eyes, wiping away all traces of happiness it seemed because her face sobered quickly. “I am going to miss you while I’m gone,” she explained.

  My face matched hers. “Same here, Fin. Same here.” I glanced down at my watch. “It’s time.”

  She looked at me and her eyes glassed over. One tiny tear escaped as she nodded her head, her smile strained.

  “Fin,” I quieted, my voice dropping a few octaves.

  She sucked in a breath. “I wasn’t so sad to leave before you turned up,” she explained, candid.

  I stood and pulled her up to me, wrapping my arms around her slender shoulders. Her hair spilled across the tops of my forearms and I tried to memorize how soft it was, tried to commit to memory the smell and color. It was such an unusual complexion, a mixture between tawny and deep red. It was a spectacular spectrum between bronze and auburn.

  I took a deep breath and secreted into that hair, “I’ll be honest, I’m glad to know you again.” I hugged her tightly. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, Fin, in-including Caroline.”

  She sighed on a bit of a sob and nodded into my shoulder then lifted her head and looked at me, her cheeks wet. “And you’re the same for me, actually. Unrivaled.” She laughed. “Don’t tell Holly I said that. I love Holly like a sister, but you understand me more than anyone ever could, Ethan. Like we share the same sort of insides. As if we’re knitted from the same thread.”

  I pulled her back and studied her. “Go,” I ordered softly then added, “before I make you stay.”

  She smiled at me. I bent and grabbed her carry-on and rested it on her shoulder for her.

  “Thanks for everything,” I told her.

  She nodded, kissed my cheek, and left for security, not another word spoken.

  A funny, dull pain set up in my chest. My brows narrowed at that and my hand automatically lifted there. I examined my feet for a solid minute before realizing I’d been standing still like an idiot. When I looked up, she was already through. I couldn’t find her in the crowd beyond security either.

  Missing her already, I turned and headed for my truck.

  CHAPTER TEN

  When I got home that morning it was still dark and I felt an overwhelming urge to take a drink to take the edge off. I parked my truck beside my dad’s, got out, and reached for my spare bottle. I twisted the lid off the top before turning it over, dumping all its contents onto the gravel near my feet, then pitched the bottle with a grunt, my hair tumbling forward with the effort, as far as I possibly could into the field near the tree I’d broken down with Finley. I hadn’t had a sip of alcohol since the night we’d gone to the lake, and I didn’t plan on stopping there. She may have instigated the quit, but I would be the one who would keep it quitted. She’d reminded me I was capable of anything. Capable of horrible things, as any human is, but also of good, honorable things.

  My boots bit at the gravel beneath me as I approached the porch. I bounded up the steps onto the wraparound and reached for the handle but before I could pull open the screen door, my dad pulled open the front door, startling me.

  I swung back on my heels and stood still as he swung open the screen door, inviting me in.

  “Hey, Dad. Surprised to see you up this early. It’s your day off, yeah?”

  He nodded and I ducked to enter the house. “I got up to use the restroom a few hours ago and didn’t see you in your bed. I was wondering when you were coming home.”

  “I was home,” I explained, heading for the fridge for some orange juice. “I just got up early to take Finley Dyer to the airport. Want some?” I asked, holding up the carton.

  He shook his head and fell down into his chair, clicking on the television. “Where’s the Dyer girl goin’?” he asked, stopping on a rerun of Cheers.

  “Vietnam,” I said, that ache in my chest flaring up. I took a sip of my orange juice, desperate to relieve the sore and unfolded myself uncomfortably across the couch.

  “What?” he asked, meeting my eyes and surprising me. This was more emotion than my father usually showed.

  “She’s doing some charity there,” I explained.

  He nodded approvingly. “Good for her,” he said, tossing his head to the left once. “Glad she turned out as well as she did.”

  “How do you mean?” I asked, sitting up a little, considering his thoughtful expression.

  “Hmm?” he asked, distracted by the TV.

  I set down my cup. “You said you were glad she turned out well. What did you mean by that?”

  “Well, she was taken away from her mama when she was little. It was a scandal then. She seems to be doing well.”

  My heart beat harshly in my already sore chest. “I didn’t know she was taken from her mom. I thought she’d been abandoned. Why is Finley turning out well such a surprise, though?”

  He looked at me with curious eyes. “’Cause of what happened.”

  I sat upright this time, my left hand clenching the back of the sofa and my breath catching. “What-what happened?” I asked, not really wanting an answer.

  He continued to stare at me like he couldn’t figure me out. Understanding dawned on him and he settled in his chair restlessly. “I don’t wanna gossip,” he said, raising the remote.

  I scooted to the edge of the couch. “Dad, this is important to me. I won’t spread it around; I just need to know what you’re talking about.”

  He deliberated a moment, deciding something. His tense expression fell when he’d made his decision then he turned away from me, avoiding eye contact. “Her, uh, her mama got drunk a lot,” he began. I’d known this already. “And, uh,” he hesitated, which he never did, “I guess she would bring all sorts of men around she’d meet at bars.”

  “Yeah?” I asked, ready to scream at him.

  “Well,” he sighed, “I guess these men would do things to the little girl and the mother would either pretend she didn’t see them or, in my opinion, got paid for them.”

  My breath whooshed from my chest and my eyes burned. I fell back, stunned to learn what I’d just learned. My stomach churned with disgust for Finley’s mother and
the sick bastards she’d brought into Finley’s home. Memories of Doris Lake came flooding to my mind. Memories of things her mom said to her. Nothing at all. Her threatening her to give her to “the bad men.” I felt more sick than I ever had, repulsed by the mere ideas of her abuse. Imagine living them? I asked myself. My skin heated to an unnatural warmth and hate poured out of me in droves, making my whole body tremble.

  “Did they catch them?” I asked Dad.

  “No, son, I don’t believe they ever did.”

  “So, they just got away with doling out fates worse than death, did they?”

  My dad’s eyes bored through me. “No one gets away with that, Ethan. No one.”

  I took a deep breath through my nose.

  I stood up, forgetting my orange juice, and clomped across the aged wood floor, each step creaking under my weight. When I reached my room, I pulled my laptop out and pulled up a search engine. I had no idea what I was looking for in particular so I typed in “charity organizations Hạ Long Bay” and pressed enter.

  It yielded me a dozen or so links so I began clicking through each one trying to decipher which one I thought Fin would have chosen. The first two were environmental, which I didn’t think was Fin’s path, seeing as she had mentioned she could relate to the charity itself and I didn’t ever remember her speaking about it like it was high up on her radar. I knew what kind she would have chosen but, to be honest with you, I was praying it was something else. I caught a few pictures of Hạ Long Bay and couldn’t believe how freaking awesome it looked. No wonder it’s such a tourist destination.