6. Finnian O’Connell #2
My heart stops for a beat. I look at him, searching for the fog, but right now, he’s entirely there. “That’s the one, Dad. She’s my agent. She keeps me in line. Even if she drives me crazy.”
“She’s pretty,” Mom adds, a devious little glint in her eye. “I saw her on that interview you did last month. She has very sharp suits.”
“She has very sharp everything, Mom. Including her tongue.”
“Just don’t fall in a canyon,” Dad says suddenly, a mischievous twinkle appearing. “Your mother would never hear the end of it, and I’m too old to come dig you out.”
“I’ll try to stay on the flat parts, Dad.”
After dinner, the house settles into a heavy, suffocating quiet.
I help Mom guide Dad to his recliner in the living room, setting the television to a baseball game he isn’t really following. We sit in silence until his chin hits his chest, his breathing slowing into the heavy sleep of the sick.
I find Mom back in the kitchen, leaning against the sink, staring out at the dark backyard where the old hockey net I used to shoot against still sits, rusted and sagging in the weeds.
“You okay, Mom?”
She doesn’t turn around immediately. She just keeps her hands pressed against the edge of the counter.
“Some days are better than others. Today… today he asked Maeve who that nice lady was in the kitchen. He thought I was the hired help, Finnian. He thanked me for making the coffee.”
The words hit like a physical punch to the solar plexus, knocking the wind right out of me.
Fifty years of marriage, fifty years of building a life, reduced to a polite conversation with a stranger.
But I don’t let it show. I can’t.
If I break, she breaks.
I walk over and put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her tight into my side, letting her lean her weight into me.
“He’s still in there, Mom.”
“He’s disappearing,” she whispers. “And I’m just standing here watching it happen. Every single day, a little bit more of him goes away, and I can’t stop it. I can’t fix it.”
I swallow the massive lump in my throat. “Hey. Remember when he tried to fix the dishwasher and ended up flooding the basement, and he told the insurance guy it was an ‘indoor pool installation’?”
A small, watery laugh escapes her. “He was so proud of that lie. He stood down there in his rubber boots with a beer in his hand like he’d done something brilliant.”
“He’s still that guy,” I say, kissing the top of her head. “You’re doing great, Mom. Better than anyone could.”
She pats my hand, wiping her eyes with the corner of her apron, but the brief moment of levity quickly dissolves back into a quiet sadness. She looks over her shoulder toward the living room, where the faint sound of the baseball game is still droning through the room.
“How are Callahan and Iveline holding up?” she asks. “With only three days left, the house must be absolute chaos. Is she handling the stress well? I know how much goes into planning a wedding of that size.”
“Ivy’s fine,” I say. “She’s running the whole operation like a military general. And Callie is mostly just trying to stay out of the firing line.”
Mom smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.
“It breaks my heart that we won’t be there to see it, Finnian. It really does. I feel so terrible about it. Callahan was like a second son to us when you boys were growing up. Please, tell him how sorry I am. Tell them both we send all our love, and that I’ll be thinking of them the entire day.”
“He knows, Mom. Don’t worry about it. He understands.”
“Finnian, you really should just tell him the truth,” she says, her tone shifting to something more pleading.
“Tell him what’s going on so he actually understands why we can’t come.
Your father just doesn’t do well with new environments anymore, let alone a massive crowd of people he doesn’t recognize.
He’d be terrified, Finn. If you just explained the diagnosis to Cal—”
“No,” I intercept quietly, my jaw clenching as I cut her off.
I look away, staring out the window into the dark backyard, unable to meet her gaze.
“He has his own life to worry about right now, Mom. He’s getting married in three days.
He doesn’t need the weight of this hanging over him while he’s trying to stand at the altar with Ivy. He doesn’t need my problems.”
“But he’s your best friend,” she presses. “He loves this family. If he knew Matthew was sick, he would understand. He wouldn’t be burdened; he’d be supportive.”
“He doesn’t need to know.”
The last thing I want is Callahan looking at me with pity during his wedding week, or letting the shadow of my family’s reality touch his joy.
He thinks my parents are just getting older, preferring the quiet of Winchester over a loud, crowded life in Boston.
It’s a clean lie. It’s an easy lie.
It’s better that way.
“Let him have his week. I’ve got it covered.”
Mom looks at me for a long moment, seeing the wall I’ve built up, and lets out a soft, defeated sigh.
“Alright,” she says. “Go. Callahan’s probably vibrating with anxiety about the centerpieces. Go be a best man.”
“He’s actually currently stressed about a Craigslist goat, but that’s a story for another time,” I mutter, forcing the easy, careless smirk back onto my face. “Drink some water, Mom. Go to bed early. I’ll call you before the rehearsal.”
“Drive safe, Finnian.”
I walk out to my truck, the night air crisp against my face.
The silence of the driveway feels massive now, echoing with old memories of slapshots against the garage door and a loud voice telling me to keep my knees bent, to watch the puck.
The garage door still has the black scuff marks from my old rubber pucks.
The memories are everywhere, trapped in the paint, but the man who gave them to me is fading like an old photograph left in the sun.
I climb into the cab and start the engine, but I don’t pull out immediately.
I look back at the sunroom window, seeing the faint silhouette of my father sitting in the dark, looking out, still waiting for a version of the world that has already slipped through his fingers.
I shift into reverse, the headlights cutting through the dark, and turn back toward the highway, forcing the mask back into place before I hit the first light.