Chapter Fifteen #2
“I guess I could simply assume you used me as an emotional baggage carrier. But I think I understand that you don’t understand how much of an effect I’ve had on you. And you don’t want to.”
Finn couldn’t meet her eyeline.
“You thought you were conning me, but you were really conning yourself.”
Flora sighed now, shaking her head.
“I can’t convince you of anything, Finn. And I don’t want to. Grand scheme to keep me away from your brother or not, it worked. To both of our detriment. I’ve been made out to be a fool, and you’ve ruined the one good thing you’ve had in years.”
Finn didn’t argue.
“I’m going to go now,” she said. “For good this time.”
A long pause followed.
“I am going to ask one thing of you, though.”
Finn looked at her, barely able to do it.
“Leave me alone.”
A moment passed.
“Forever.”
***
Finn couldn’t do much for the rest of the week.
No one had ever seen him like this before.
No one had ever seen him willingly take time off work or call in sick.
People assumed it was a complication of the accident—and he let everyone believe that, complaining of chest pain.
But it was no chest pain. He was physically fine.
Emotionally, though, worse off than ever before, which was saying something.
Mrs. Woodhouse had just come back from a spa in Utah.
Upon hearing the news, she was tempted to call the doctor regarding Finn’s heart, but Roman stopped her from dialing.
He informed her that it was something much different than another medical emergency.
It was his heart, yes, but this time it was broken in a different way.
“Mum,” Roman said, eyes wide. They were whispering in the hallway outside his room. “It’s Flora…”
“F—Flora Fairchild? What could she have to do with him feeling ill?” she asked, and then her eyes got wide. “Oh dear… are you telling me that Finn is sick because of what he did to her or because he is in love with her and he doesn’t rightly know it?”
“Both would be the answer,” Jane called from behind the door where she was hiding. She poked her head out. “Both, Clara.”
“Well, where is Flora?” Mrs. Woodhouse asked. “I assume she likes Finn just as much as he likes her.”
Roman and Jane were silent now, eyeing one another.
“She’s gone,” Roman said sadly. “She left for Paris last Saturday. I saw her leaving with Allison.”
“Does Finn know?” Clara asked.
“Yes,” Roman replied. “He is well aware. He told her what he’d been doing the day before she left.”
“And?” Clara pressed.
“Don’t know the details,” Jane added, “but it seems like Flora told him never to speak to her again.”
Clara always tried to make sure Finn got what he wanted.
Her son deserved nothing less than the best, in her opinion, but on this occasion, she couldn’t help much.
Flora Fairchild had always been herself and no expensive gifts or trips to Montenegro would change her opinion of Finn.
Which was, in all honesty, rightfully low.
“He hasn’t left the guest room in four days,” Jane reported. “And he won’t speak to anyone. Roman offered him Cheetos and he turned them down. And then Rosa offered him lemon bars, and he turned those down too.”
Mrs. Woodhouse sighed and traipsed her way to the guest room which Finn had turned into a hole. The light was off and the TV was blaring reruns of Parks and Recreation when she opened the door. Finn looked at her and his shoulders sagged.
“I’ll be out in a bit, Mum,” he said, pulling a blanket over his head. “I’m just not feeling well still.”
“Well, should I call for Doctor Dover then?”
“No…”
“I spoke to the Carlisles and they’re coming over for dinner tomorrow night, does that sound alright?”
Mrs. Woodhouse wondered if this might be the breaking point, if he’d get up and shout “NO!”, but he merely rolled over and shrugged.
She cleared her throat and eyed Roman and Jane who were standing behind the door eagerly waiting to see what might happen.
Clara walked up to the edge of the bed and sat down.
“You know, Finn, your father would have wanted you to follow your own path… not his…” she said, adjusting her tone to a more serious one, since the other was obviously not working.
“Whatever path it led you down, I’m sure he would have thought it was wonderful—save being a clown at a circus.
He was your biggest fan, and I doubt anything you do would have disappointed him.
I’m not entirely sure what this is about and while it is cliché to say we only have one life, it’s true.
As your mother, I don’t want to see you looking in your rearview mirror when you’re my age and wishing you would have done things differently. ”
She patted his shoulder and moved the blanket back a little to see his face.
“Life is made of many decisions, some bigger than others. That was your father’s favorite saying, simple as it was.
It means more than you think. I don’t see the point in having all this,” she motioned to the estate, “yet living in a constant state of anxiety or worry or depression. Or making choices for the business and not for yourself.”
“Bit too far gone for that,” Finn groaned.
“Not really. You’re thirty now. Still young. Still with plenty of time to change direction.”
Finn moved slowly under the covers and then said, “Can you let Felipe know that I will be flying to New Mexico on Monday. Have a headache and don’t want to look at my phone.”
“Fairchild could drive you—”
“No. Don’t deserve to sit in that man’s car.”
Clara sighed.
“Finn—”
“Mum, please. Not now. Let me wallow in what I’ve done.”
Clara sighed and left, closing the door behind her.
Jane and Roman were outside, waiting. Mrs. Woodhouse waved her hand flippantly and walked back towards her office, as they followed her down the hall.
“What happened?” Jane asked.
“Flora frightens him. Always has. And it’s high time someone frightened him for a change. And not the other way around.”
“Mum! That’s the worst answer ever!” Roman exclaimed.
“He will do what he needs to do in his own time…” she said.
Roman and Jane thought this meant that by tomorrow, at the latest, he’d be on a flight somewhere to go find Flora, but the only thing that changed was his residence in the guest room.
He was back to work the next day.
“This is ridiculous!” Roman said, as he and Jane walked down the hall Sunday morning after church. “Are we going to let him pretend nothing is the matter?!”
“You can’t do anything, Roman. We can’t march in there and stage a coup d’etat. You don’t have the leadership skills to run this company while he runs off to find her.”
“I do too!” he said indignantly, straightening his tie. “I’m more annoyed than anyone about this and it doesn’t even involve me! I’m also hungry too.”
Roman paused in the mirror and eyed himself, checking to see if he was CEO material. Jane fixed his collar.
“He was in church, as if nothing was wrong, back to his old tricks. He even smiled, Jane. He smiled.”
“I know… just let Finn be Finn,” Jane said, and sighed. “And since we can’t change anything, let’s go get nachos.”
“Race you to the car.”
Meanwhile, Finn was sitting in his office—in his pajamas—staring at his desk as if it held the secret of life. It didn’t. Sadly.
A montage of sorts was flashing through his head—the drive with Flora to San Francisco, listening to records together, wrecking the old truck in the lake, sleeping the best he’d slept in years even on the floor, Fourth of July when he’d gone to her and left the party, dinner downtown, seeing her wander in from Kovac Hill with her watercolors, the Saint Ghost concert.
All of it bleeding together like paint on a canvas to make one picture he’d never be able to unsee.
“Should have known,” he muttered to himself.
Should have known when he began to spend an unnecessary amount of money on her.
Should have known when he saved the “I <3 SF” bracelet she’d bought for him.
Should have known when he missed a meeting because she wanted to show him a tree.
Should have known when he had canceled a phone call because she had called him…
Should have known he was in deeper than he thought.
He’d always been interested in her. He’d always wanted to know her better. Her and her strange ways. Her woods-wandering, cow-following, Latin-name-knowing ways.
Six days in bed helped him come to terms with the fact that he was in love, painfully in love, with Flora Fairchild, and that he’d ruined the one good thing he’d ever had, just as she’d said.
“Love feels different than I expected,” he murmured to himself, vacantly staring at the box of memories.
He didn’t know if or when she’d come back, but there wasn’t much he could do.
He began everything on false pretenses, and had, like she had implied, conned himself more than anyone else.
The worst part was he was going to have to live knowing she would never trust him and would never love him the way she once had for the rest of his life.
His entire plan had worked, but it had failed.
He kept looking out the window toward Kovac Hill, thinking at any moment Flora might wander in to tell him something random like: Did you know on the new one hundred dollar bill the time on the clock is 4:10? And then was reminded that she was gone and it was his fault.
Finn found himself standing on the deck nearly two weeks after she’d left, trying to fix part of the porch before wedding guests got here—he couldn’t get any real work done—sweating in the October sun. The sliding glass door shut, and his mother stood there, looking like she had something to say.
“Don’t say anything,” Finn said, wiping sweat from his forehead. “I’m punishing myself enough.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Mrs. Woodhouse remarked.
She tossed a file at Finn. It slid across the patio table to where he was standing with a crowbar in his good arm, ignoring the searing pain in his ribs.
“What’s this?”
“Just take a look and thank me later.”