Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
THOMAS
Seeing Finley this afternoon is even more uncomfortable than I thought it would be. I mean, I knew it wouldn’t be easy, but even so, I was prepared to persevere and get the job done. Then I got here and woke her from a dream she was having about “Pirate Thomas,” and my plan fell apart.
Finley is not your average bear. She’s completely unexpected and adorable.
Imagine making someone dress up like a pirate when they were there to have a business picture taken.
The whole thing is too funny to believe.
That’s why when I see her looking at those very images, I have to say something. “Those are pretty awful, huh?” I ask.
I expect her to laugh with me, but she doesn’t. Instead, she demands, “Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t here to have pirate pictures taken?”
“I did,” I tell her. “Repeatedly.”
Her indignation turns to embarrassment in a split second. “It’s just that I thought Constance was talking about Margaret Rogers.” She sounds so disappointed, I want to console her.
“It was an honest mistake,” I say. “Really, it could have happened to anyone.”
Her mood shifts back to angry. “No, it couldn’t have,” she snaps. “Any normal person would have figured out there had been a misunderstanding.”
“Misunderstandings happen all the time,” I tell her. “That must mean there aren’t many normal people out there.” I walk back to the set and sit down on my stool.
Finley eventually picks up her camera and joins me. “Why are you trying to make me feel better. You should be mad.”
“What’s the point?” I shrug. “And now, just think, I have all these amazing pirate pictures of myself that I didn’t before. I’m thinking of using one on my Christmas card.”
“Did you look at them closely?” She doesn’t seem to get the joke.
I snort laugh. “I was teasing.”
Finley’s head bobs up and down three times. “You’re a terrible model.”
I figure that now is as good a time as any to tell her the truth. “I did it on purpose.”
“Sure you did.” The accompanying eye roll makes it clear she doesn’t believe me. She really does think I’m a lousy model.
“I didn’t want those pictures to be used in a calendar, and you told me that’s what Constance was going to use them for if they were any good.”
“I’m sure she wouldn’t have used them if you asked her not to. What kind of girlfriend exploits her boyfriend?”
Boyfriend? “I’m not Constance’s boyfriend,” I tell her.
The camera shakes in her hand. “Oh?”
“She’s my boss,” I clarify.
Suddenly Finley turns around and bends over.
Her entire body heaves and her shoulders start to shake convulsively.
Is she crying? I get up from my perch and walk over to her.
“Finley, it’s okay. Really, there was no harm done.
” That’s when I realize I’ve gotten it all wrong. She isn’t crying, she’s laughing.
“Your boss?” she demands between hiccups of merriment.
“Yup. My boss.”
Tears are pouring out of Finley’s eyes as she gasps, “I took pirate photos of you and … and … sent them to your boss?”
“You did,” I tell her. “But that’s not the worst part.”
She stands up and stares at me with a look of trepidation. “What’s the worst part?”
“My boss now knows what a horrible pirate I am.”
Finley practically spits during her next bout of laughter. Her amusement is so contagious, I join her. “Can you imagine the look on Constance’s face when you emailed those to her?”
“She must have thought it was some kind of pitiful prank.” She hiccups again. “Can you imagine pulling a trick like that on someone? Who would do something that awful?”
“My family is known for pulling out all the stops on April Fool’s Day,” I tell her. “We get really competitive about it.” She looks surprised, which confirms that most people don’t take it as far as the Culpepper clan.
“What was the worst prank they ever played on you?” she asks.
An image immediately pops into my head. “We were going on vacation one spring, and my mom told me we were leaving the morning of April first. She said all pranks were called off that year because we’d be traveling and she didn’t need the extra stress.”
“And that was a lie?” Finley’s eyes opening widely in what can only be construed as fear for my tweenage self.
“Oh, we went away. Just not like to Hawaii like we were supposed to.”
“Oh, dear.” I appreciate her sympathetic tone. “Where did you go?”
“Cleveland.”
Finley exhales loudly. “No.”
“Yes,” I confirm.
“Cleveland? As in Cleveland, Ohio?”
“My dad had a medical conference. He and my mom concocted the story about Hawaii.”
“Thomas, that’s not a prank, that’s just mean.”
“It is and it isn’t,” I tell her. Then I explain, “We actually went to Hawaii two weeks later.”
“Still.” Her expression makes it clear she’s appalled on my behalf. “What did you do in Cleveland?”
“We swam in the hotel pool, a lot,” I tell her. “My mom took us to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and to the house where they filmed A Christmas Story. I wore Hawaiian shirts the whole time.”
Finley’s eyes fill with moisture and I’m not sure if she’s going to laugh again or cry. I’m not sure she knows either. “Did you ever forgive them?”
“Two weeks later when we landed in Kauai,” I assure her. “But I never forgot.”
Her posture relaxes. “Have you ever gotten even?”
“I’ve tried,” I tell her. “But nothing I’ve ever done has come close to that practical joke. They truly are the masters.”
A determined look comes to Finley’s eyes. “You have to get even.”
“Twenty-five years later?” I ask. “There must be a statute of limitations on that kind of thing.”
She shakes her head which causes her sleek blonde bob to sway back and forth. I’m busy wondering if it’s a soft as it looks when she replies, “Not on something that diabolical.”
“My mom and dad are in their sixties,” I tell her. “I don’t want to do anything shocking enough that I’d give one of them a heart attack.”
“You don’t have to fill their house with boa constrictors or boobytrap their front door with a bucket of red paint.” What kind of pranks is Finley used to pulling?
“I would never do anything like that,” I assure her.
A thought suddenly pops into my head and before I can censor it, I blurt out, “I could move back home and tell them my relocation was the prank. Neither of them was happy I left New York.”
Finley’s frown causes her eyebrows to nearly touch. “Move home? Why would you do that?”
“I’m not sure this was the right move for me,” I confess. “Don’t get me wrong, there are parts of being here that I really like, but it’s also very foreign-feeling.”
“It was the pirate pictures, wasn’t it?” Her shoulders sag in defeat. “I’m truly sorry about those, Thomas.”
“If anything,” I tell her, “That was the highpoint of being in Elk Lake. I can assure you I would never have had that experience back home.”
“Maybe I should move there,” she teases. “It sounds like they might need me.” Her green eyes sparkle mischievously.
“You’d have more business than you’d know what to do with,” I tell her. I’m not sure that’s really the case, but then again, I’m not sure it isn’t. People in New York City are known for being quite adventurous and what better undertaking than playacting?
Finley stands up and stretches her arms above her head before walking back to the set. I follow behind and take my place in the spotlight. “I could never live in a big city,” she says. “Too much noise.”
“You get used to it,” I tell her. “I’ve lived there my whole life, and I barely hear it anymore.” That’s the truth, too. The silence of Elk Lake is way more disconcerting than the noise of the city.
“I wouldn’t get used to it,” she assures me.
For some reason, I feel the need to challenge her. “I bet you would.”
“No, Thomas, I wouldn’t.” She sounds so certain, I decide to let it go.
Finley approaches me and touches my face with her pointer finger. She turns my chin toward the light. “Where are you from?” I ask her.
“Central Illinois.” After a beat, she adds, “Small farming town.”
“Are your parents farmers?” She shakes her head, but doesn’t offer any other information. So, I ask, “Is your family still there?”
Her chin bobs up and down three times, which I’m starting to think is her standard.
“Do you ever think of going back?”
Finley’s eyes narrow like the very thought haunts her. “I will never live there again.” Emphasis on the never.
“Why is that?”
She lets her camera drop again. Then she approaches me slowly. When she’s within reach, she stops and adjusts one of the lights. “I’m going to need you to stop talking, Thomas.”
“But I want to know …”
“Now,” she orders. Except for small demands on her part—chin up, turn to the right, smolder more!
—the rest of our session is silent. While that can be a rattling experience with some people, it’s actually quite pleasant with Finley.
It’s rare to find someone you can be comfortable around without the need for constant chatter.
The only problem is I want to know more about her.
Finley is having an odd effect on me. I feel like I’ve known her my whole life, which is not a usual reaction I have to people.
I suddenly wonder what makes her tick. What are her likes and dislikes?
What are her favorite foods, books, and television shows?
That’s when it hits me. I like Finley Harper a lot. Her uniqueness makes her a thousand times more appealing to me than other women. Although, she’s currently not letting me talk, so I’m not sure how to go about asking her out on a date.
If I ask her when she’s in a bad mood, she’ll say no. But how will I get the opportunity to spend enough time with her to catch her at the right time?
That’s when the most surprising idea pops into my head.