Chapter 22
VIOLET
I DO SEE FINN THE next day—and the day after that—even as we get sucked into a vortex of plans with our friends. But several more days pass in a blur before we find ourselves planning another outing just the two of us.
Finn knocks on my cabin door a few minutes after six o’clock to head out for our drive to Ingonish.
There’s an easy silence between us. It’s so early, neither of us is inclined to talk much. We cycle through playlists and I fight the urge to doze off, horrified by the idea of falling asleep with my mouth open—or snoring god forbid—in front of Finn.
But it’s easy to stay awake once we take the five-minute Englishtown ferry ride and get onto the Cabot Trail itself.
My mouth keeps popping open at the huge, rolling green hills and the cliffs overlooking the ocean on my right.
Some parts of the road are a little too close to the edge for me, and I feel thankful I’m not the one driving.
We stop for coffee and breakfast at a place called The Clucking Hen, which Alba recommended when I texted her last night to say Finn and I would be going along the Cabot Trail today.
She hadn’t said much else, only sending the smug-looking emoji as her initial reply before following up a few minutes later with the breakfast recommendation.
I wonder if that nicety had actually come from Rose.
I feel badly that I’m not spending time with Alba today. But she is working, I remind myself, and everyone has more time off closer to the wedding.
Once we’ve eaten and are both highly caffeinated, I start pestering Finn about his work, about Scotland, about his life in general.
Now you can answer one of my questions, he says, voice teasing. I feel my stomach drop, worried he’s going to ask me something that requires opening up more than I already have to Finn. Instead, he asks, What’s your favourite film?
Well, My Fair Lady is definitely the one I’ve watched the most. It reminds me of spending time with my grandparents. But there are a lot of problems with it, I say.
Finn chuckles. Like what?
First of all, it should have been Julie Andrews, not Audrey Hepburn.
She was the one who made it a Broadway success, but they wanted someone with more star power.
And Audrey has too much star power, it’s hard to believe she’s the poor flower girl in the beginning.
Then there’s the ending. It’s a completely different ending in the original story, and I don’t think Eliza— I stop myself abruptly, suddenly embarrassed that I’ve launched into this rant about My Fair Lady.
Go on, finish your thought, Finn prods, and I worry that he’s humouring me. He doesn’t really want to hear about this.
When I only shake my head at him, he says, I guess I’ll have to watch it for myself and figure out what you were going to say about the ending.
Eager to move this conversation along, I ask, “What’s your favourite movie?
Finn shrugs. The Princess Bride. A snort escapes me—this was not the answer I was expecting. I was sure it would be something like The Godfather or a Marvel movie I couldn’t name.
He gives me a scandalized look. Have you ever seen it? I tell him I haven’t and he tuts at me in disdain. A lot of assumptions being made on your part, Violet. Both about me and the film, I think.
We pull up to the parking lot for the Franey trail. A few other cars are already parked, but there isn’t another person in sight. There’s a thick brush of trees surrounding the area, and signs pointing in the direction of the trail.
Here we are, Finn says, who also navigated the entire way here.
Something in me eased at not having to show him the way or take responsibility for the directions.
That’s usually my job, both with my family and with my work—to be the planner, the organizer, the one who will figure it out for everybody else.
We step out of the car and while it’s warm, it’s not the sweltering heat I know we’ll experience later in the day. I’m dreaming of the beach already.
Grabbing our backpacks, Finn reaches over to adjust the ballcap I’m wearing. It’s pale pink and has a tiny cartoon image of a seagull.
Ready for our adventure, Violet?
We hike in silence for a long time. I don’t want to admit that partially, for me, it’s because I’m so winded making my way up the steep incline. While I used to spend a lot of time outdoors growing up, my time in Toronto was pretty limited to sporadic gym memberships and running around to events.
Finn seems lost in thought, and I don’t want to disturb that either. But I wonder if something else is on his mind, or someone.
I resist the urge to get to the root of all his problems and fix them.
I think about my own family and their never-ending list of issues. More nudging texts had come in from some of my siblings last night. I’d ignored them all and called to check in on my Nan instead.
Are you having fun Violet? Is it beautiful there?
It is beautiful, I’d told her. Very different from B.C. somehow, and the trees aren’t nearly as tall here.
And the fun part, are you remembering that? Nan often teased me for being so busy I forgot to have fun.
By the time I was ten years old, I had four younger siblings, all in need of watching and feeding and having their diapers changed.
While dad was at work, I stepped up to help my mom–whether I was asked or expected to, or did it of my own volition, I’ve never been sure.
I had once overheard my Nan chastising my mother for putting too much responsibility on me.
She should be out having fun, Nan had urged.
My mother had only said, But she’s such a good helper—and she loves to help, don’t you Violet?
I’m having fun, I told Nan, feeling exhausted even here from the weight of responsibility that isn’t mine. I launched into a description of the beach day and Louisbourg, leaving out Finn entirely.
Even though tricking my family was my entire reason for doing this whole thing with Finn, Nan wasn’t really included in that, though I didn’t doubt she’d be ecstatic about it.
But saying the words out loud would mean admitting that all of this was just an act, and I’m not ready to do that yet.
So instead I’d glazed over who I’d been spending my time with in Cape Breton.
While there’s a clear path up the mountain, the trees alongside it are thick and a deep, lush green.
Spending my childhood bouncing around Vancouver Island, I’m no stranger to the open expanse of wilderness.
But the woods in Cape Breton feel different to what I’m accustomed to—younger, almost playful.
We’re shaded by the trees, thankfully, from the sun that’s rising higher in the sky now. We seem to have the trail to ourselves.
Not far ahead, there’s a crackling of branches. Finn stops abruptly, jutting out his hand in front of me. For a split second, I think he wants to hold my hand. But I realize he’s only wanting to pause my walking, too. The disappointment is sharp and immediate.
There’s something over there, Finn says, his voice low. But before I can ask him what the hell that means, he asks with a tone of awe, What is that?
I put aside my momentary devastation that he wasn’t trying to hold hands, and look through the clearing at the tall creature walking slowly through the bramble of trees.
It’s a moose, I whisper to Finn. I’ve actually never seen one in the wild before, we don’t have them on Vancouver Island.
We don’t have them in Scotland, either, he says, before adding in a low voice, That thing is fucking huge.
I giggle at how uneasy he seems.
Are you scared, Finn?
I don’t think I can take that thing, if it comes down to it, he says, assessing the animal from a distance.
Why would you have to take it? I ask, a little aghast.
If it attacks, he says, as if this is possible.
If we leave it alone, it’ll leave us alone, don’t worry.
He hasn’t taken his eyes off the moose and I reach over to pat his arm, forcing myself to do it in a friendly, affectionate way, and not the soothing caress I’m tempted to give him.
We wait in silence, letting the moose pass across the trail and back into the woods. Finally, once we can’t hear it any longer, Finn lets out a long breath, running his hand through his swoopy hair. I wonder if it’s an anxious tell of his.
It was so tall, Violet. Why was it so tall?
I start laughing. Moose are huge. They’re a lot bigger than deer.
Yeah, no shite, he says, which only makes me laugh harder. That thing was bigger than a car!
Are you ready to keep going? Or do you need a moment to compose yourself?
He gives me a scathing look that has the opposite effect he’s intending. Rather than a reaction to his scowling irritation, I feel only a swell of rising affection and a sweep of butterflies through my stomach, before he turns away and continues up the mountain.
THE PATH EVENTUALLY STARTS TO flatten out, and I spot a clearing not far ahead.
Is this the top? I ask Finn, pulling him from wherever he’s been, lost to his thoughts again.
I think so, he says, exhaling a breath, like he’s trying to shake off whatever’s been nagging at him this morning.
Sure enough, we leave the edge of the trees on the mountain top to reveal the great expanse of green forest below. Where we’re standing there’s only a bit of jagged rock, like we’ve stepped out of the mountain itself and onto the stone.
To our left, we can see all the way to the ocean, sparkling in the summer sun off in the distance. A river flows from the water through the mountains in front of us, as green trees lay out as far as the eye can see.
It’s breathtaking.
I turn and smile at Finn, feeling accomplished and sweaty and delighted by this view. He smiles back, almost tentatively, before it turns into a wicked grin.
That sight is class. He’s beaming now. Stay there Violet, just like that.