Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Declan
Leaving Evie and Charlie at my house on a sunny morning feels wrong. But I do it.
If I learned anything last week, it’s that Evie’s going to need space. If I can give that to her, especially now that we’re sharing a home, then I need to.
So I keep my usual every-other-Sunday commitment and meet May after church to help distribute items from the community food pantry. It’s run by the several denominations that use the church’s space, and the town is very supportive.
When my sister told me about it, I caught myself thinking there shouldn’t be anyone in Juniper View who needs food assistance.
But I know better than that—I’ve seen food insecurity all over the world and frequently in the military.
It’s certainly possible in a small town with major fluctuations in seasonal tourism.
“Shouldn’t you be home with your wife?” May winks, her long red hair wavy down her back.
She’s wearing a bright blue sundress that matches her eyes, and she looks both like the lovely grown woman she is and like the little toddler I remember from childhood, too.
We’re six years apart, and she was the consummate baby of the family.
Even before she got sick.
We quickly set up folding tables and lay out the produce she manages to get donated every other week while other volunteers haul over the boxes of pantry staples. She’s got a recipe sheet and ingredient list, so then we line up each item.
“I like how you have different options here.” I nod to the peanut butter section where there are creamy, crunchy, and the abomination that has both peanut butter and jelly in the same jar.
She smiles. “There should be choices here. I like to make sure there are at least a few places where preference instead of need can lead the way.”
I nod, my heart squeezing for her soft, thoughtful way.
In another twenty minutes, the distribution begins.
People make their way from the check-in down the line.
May mans the last part, where she pulls out frozen chicken thighs or wings and ground beef or pork, depending on the person’s preference.
Clementine comes through as we’re wrapping up. Her cheeks are flushed and she’s not meeting eyes. Admittedly, a small jolt of surprise hits me, but I’m not about to let on.
“Hey, Clementine. Do you prefer Gala or Pink Lady apples?”
Her eyes meet mine finally.
“Pink Lady, if you have them.” Her nerves are on full display as she grips the canvas tote where she’s tucked the other items.
“We do.” I hand her the bag of apples, give her a smile, and May takes over.
May has the gift that makes people instantly comfortable and un-self-conscious, and she works her magic now. She cracks a joke about the weather while she pulls out Clementine’s options, tucks them in a plastic bag, then hands them over.
“We’re back here in two weeks, but you know where to find me if anything pops up.” She winks at Clementine, who grins, though her smile ripples in a way that feels like she might be holding back tears.
“Thank you,” she says, then turns to leave.
And runs directly into Finn.
“Clementine? What are you—”
“You okay, Clementine? Good grief, just like a man to railroad a woman on a beautiful Sunday afternoon, am I right?”
May has somehow rounded the table and ushered her away from Finn, who’s still standing there as though stunned.
May keeps walking with Clementine, all the way to her car in the lot.
Finn’s frown is full-body as he continues over to me. “Why the hell is Clementine McClain getting food here?”
I shoot him a glare. “You need to lock that up until this is over, or better yet, forget you saw her.”
“He’s right.” May’s voice has an edge. “And if I hear you talked to her about this, you’re going to find more than a few things you love ruined.”
We all share a beat of silence, likely all remembering the various vengeances May has wreaked on Finn and whatever it was he loved at the time.
Her many hobbies led to different outcomes—when she dove deep into a chocolatier phase, she dipped his flip phone in chocolate while he took a shower after he refused to help her with something.
When she was considering cosmetology, she bleached his hair while he slept after he embarrassed her at school.
Lucky for her, somehow everyone loved the look on him, so he actually had the win.
The list goes on, and Finn knows not to ignore her warning.
He holds his hands up. “I wouldn’t. I just…” He exhales, eyes tracking to where Clementine’s car was parked but is now long gone. “I didn’t realize.”
May literally slaps him upside the head. “Don’t think about it. This is none of your business. I love you, but you can be a busybody, and no one here needs that. That’s why I don’t normally ask you.” She says this last sentence through her teeth.
He scowls. “Rude. Just because I’m social doesn’t make me a busybody. You’ve got your finger in every pot in town, so—”
“Um, rude and gross. What does that even mean?”
His face drops into a serene mask. “I’m just saying, I came because I thought Dec wouldn’t make it.”
That judgement swings my way.
“Charlie’s doing a bit better this morning, and Evie and he were going to play for a while, then nap. I thought I’d give them some space.”
There is no doubt we all hear it—the odd reality that I’m declaring giving my newlywed wife space a week after we married. Bless them, they don’t comment on it.
Soon, the second round of folks is coming through, and Finn jumps in to help. He’s charming and light, and I see May give him a big, likely conciliatory hug when it’s all done.
She assures us she’s almost finished and there are a few other volunteers hanging around, so Finn offers to walk me home.
My rejection of this goes exactly nowhere, so I end up strolling back toward home with Finn yammering on about when Gus will be back and what he wants to do with his old best friend first.
“How’s he doing?”
It’s not a given that people leaving the military after nearly twenty years will have PTSD or some other form of trauma. Sometimes, I think civilians are disappointed when veterans lack a certain sensitivity to fireworks or large groups.
But even without diagnosed or observable PTSD symptoms, I know a bit about Gus. No matter what he did in the military, coming home was always going to be bittersweet. Frankly, there’s part of me that’s surprised he’s coming back at all.
Finn shrugs. “Seems good. But Gus isn’t going to say anything negative over the phone. I won’t know for sure until he’s back.”
He cracks a knuckle, one of his nervous tells, then kicks a pebble down the street. “So what’s happening with you?”
As much as I’ve been dreading this question, I understand the topic change. Finn has been back in Juniper View for several years now, but he’s admitted it doesn’t feel “the same.” I’m not sure what that means, what he’s looking for, but I hope having his old friend back will help.
Time will tell how everyone else does with Gus’s return.
“Charlie’s better—or he was before I left earlier. Hoping he’s continuing to improve. I don’t think Evie got much sleep last night.”
He snorts, then eyes me. “Don’t think, huh? So you weren’t keeping her up, I take it?”
Refusing to dignify this, I shoot him a glare.
“I don’t get it.” He shakes his head, evidently truly mystified.
“What?”
He stops, hands on hips, and gives me the most Grant Ryan look I’ve ever seen from him. He must’ve been studying up lately.
“You have a woman you are low-key obsessed with as your new wife and you seem like you’re hardly spending time with her. And I know it’s not Charlie, because he’s awesome, and I’m pretty sure you were obsessed with him first.”
I don’t love his use of obsessed here, but he’s not wrong. Yet, what can I say that won’t give me away? Finn’s never going to let up—it’s just who he is.
“It’s all a bit tense. I think we’ll relax when the legal part of this is over.”
As much as we don’t want everyone focused on the custody hearing, we weren’t going to try to hide that from family. Davis already knows about it, and while technically bound by client confidentiality rules, it seems inevitable someone would catch wind. So Finn isn’t in the dark on it, either.
He shakes his head, clearly revving up to lay into me more.
“I promise you, I don’t need a lecture on loving my wife.”
“Like hell. You’ve been so buttoned up your entire life, you don’t know how to relax. You don’t know how to let someone love you and love them back. You have a perfect little family, a dream, and you won’t reach out and take it.”
He huffs out a breath and scrubs a hand over his face. I’m silent, bereft of a response to him, because he just gutted me, no knife required.
“Listen, I’m sorry. That was harsh. I just…” His shoulders fall and he studies the sidewalk for a beat before looking at me. “Not everyone can have the dream. You do.” He claps me on the shoulder. “Don’t waste it.”
I nod, my feeble attempt to show him I hear him, and he backs away, tipping his chin up in farewell. I’m two blocks from home and I need every second of the walk to comb through the tangle of thoughts buzzing in my head.
He’s wrong about me and Evie. But he’s not wrong about me.
I’ve known it for years, and it’s one of the reasons I tried to make myself believe I didn’t want this.
I don’t know how to give myself to someone else, not the way others seem to innately.
It’s undoubtedly why I failed with Mallory—though I have had enough distance from it to accept she had her own work to do after treating our relationship the way she did.
Me, though? This distance I set between me and possibility?
That firm grasp on self-preservation I cling to?
It’s the root of why I didn’t try for so long.
And yet, I’ve never wanted to the way I want to with Evie.
Second, I can’t unhear the raw edge to Finn’s words. He’s talking about me and what I do have, but I can’t ignore the other side—what he doesn’t have, and apparently desperately wants.