Twenty-Two
When Finn first started confiding in Helen Harper that he was unhappy in his marriage, she told herself not to read too much into his ramblings.
As a person who’d spent most of her working life in male-dominated rooms, she was used to a whole string of odd confessions and personal remarks.
Some of them had intent behind them—sexual, romantic, malicious, condescending—but most were simply because men were accustomed to dumping their frustrations and anger and grievances onto the nearest woman, no matter who that woman was.
No matter if she was their secretary or boss or coworker.
What Helen was to Finn—he often told her—was his right hand, the other half of his brain, the person (unsaid but implied: other than him) most responsible for all the good things happening at Finnegan’s Grocer.
The best thing he ever did was hire Helen Harper, who loved nothing more than getting into the nitty-gritty of any kind of spreadsheet.
She was a math prodigy who’d gotten into college at sixteen and blazed through graduate school before she was twenty-three.
As he told her again and again, they had a beautiful professional marriage.
Many nights, he hung out in her office later than needed, shooting the shit.
Many weekends, she’d find him roaming the aisles of one of the stores.
Chatting up the cashiers and then joining her for lunch.
Helen had had her share of romantic entanglements.
None of them lasting long because there was always a moment when the man in question would make it clear he didn’t approve of her job and ambition.
“When we’re married,” “When we have children,” “When I get a promotion,”—all phrases concluding with the assumption she would leave her job.
Helen would smile and nod and stop returning phone calls and that would be that.
She loved her work. She loved the life she’d made for herself in Rochester.
At first, Finn Finnegan was a father figure to her, but it became apparent he needed mothering much more than she needed fathering.
She would remind him to have something to eat midday and gently steer his sometimes-wrongheaded ideas into good ones and his good ideas into better ones.
She commiserated over how nobody could understand the demands of running a business that had so many moving parts and touched so many lives in town.
People took it for granted, he’d passionately lecture her, the choir, how they could stroll into one building and find everything they needed to provide for their families.
Then, seemingly overnight, the complaints about Honey became less frequent and his demeanor took a turn for the brighter, the livelier, the slightly more flirtatious.
Interesting, she thought. She didn’t want to be with Finn—he was too old, they were colleagues—but a workplace fling?
A little affair? She could make that work.
She would bide her time until he made a move. She was patient.
When Finn called her into his office on a Monday morning and closed the door, she knew something was up.
He loved trumpeting his open-door policy, which he’d read about in a business magazine and implemented immediately and which mostly meant everyone could hear his booming voice all day.
He gestured for her to sit and was uncharacteristically hesitant as he started talking.
“I’m leaving town tomorrow for a few days,” he said.
“Okay,” Helen said. “Business or pleasure?”
He smiled briefly. “A little bit of both, I guess you could say. I wanted to give you a heads-up because it’s going to impact you.
I’m leaving Honey.” Helen had a lot of practice not reacting to the things men said in meetings; she knew how to look interested and nonjudgmental and conceal any expectations.
“A lot of things are going to change when I get back. Not for the stores necessarily, but personally, and I wanted you to be one of the first to know.”
She lowered her head to hide her smile. She was surprised but not surprised.
She could hear her heart thumping a little harder.
He picked up a sealed envelope and handed it to her.
“If you need to get in touch with me, that’s where you can reach me.
” Helen nodded. “Only in case of a real emergency. Something you can’t handle on your own. ”
“Got it,” she said. “I can’t imagine needing to disturb you.”
“Great.”
“And there’s something else, Helen. Something I’m only telling you. I hope I’m not jumping the gun.”
“Yes?”
As he finished his explanation and stood, looking relieved and more relaxed than when their conversation began, he opened the door and saw the note taped to its surface. He read it and looked back up at Helen. “Want to check those new refrigerators they installed yesterday? Might be an issue here.”
“Love to,” Helen said. “Give me a minute. I’ll be right down.”