Finn thought about the times undercover when he had done just that. “I’m not trying to shoot you.” He answered, still sighting the animal.
“I’m talking about him.” She jerked her head toward the wolf now running off into the trees.
“The wolf?”
“Of course, the wolf. He was here first. We’re the interlopers. Leave him be.”
“Fine.” Finn bit back the rest of his sentence, for now, and tucked the gun into the waistband of his jeans.
“Leave the firearm at home tomorrow,” Maybelle instructed.
“It goes where I go,” Finn replied.
“That’s part of your problem.” She placed another log neatly on the even stack of wood. “Not the gun.” She threw a dismissive hand in Finn’s direction. “You gotta pay attention to the moment between event and response. Don’t just pull a trigger. Hell, I’ve got half a dozen weapons in the house. The gun’s not the problem.” She tapped her temple. “This is the problem.”
“Shrink someone else’s head, lady. The gun stays with me.” Finn returned to his task.
“Every step with you is gonna be a struggle. I can tell already.” Maybelle turned to the cottage.
“Hey.” Finn gestured with the ax. “Your sister said you needed help. I’m helping.”
She stopped at the door. “If Philomena sent you here, it’s because you need fixing too.”
Maybelle pulled open the rickety screen. “If you’re coming inside for lunch, you’ll mind your manners.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The words were automatic, a rote response from childhood when his maternal grandmother would say the same thing.
Mind your manners, Finnie.
Yes, ma’am.
Maybelle masked her surprise with a brisk, decisive nod. “Good. You finish up. I’ll slap together some sandwiches.”
The pair ate in silence at the kitchen table, the loud ticking of a grandfather clock marking time.
“Tell me about yourself,” Maybelle said.
“Classified,” Finn replied around his second roast beef sandwich.
“You’re classified?” she asked.
“Pretty much.”
Maybelle nodded in understanding, pushed her plate back, and rested her forearms on the table. “So there was no you before all the cloak and dagger nonsense?”
“It’s not nonsense.” Finn set his glass down with more force than necessary.
“Just a turn of phrase.” Maybelle poured him more milk from the pitcher.
Finn stared as the white liquid filled the glass. “There was a me. He’s long gone.”
“Understandable.” She turned and grabbed a plate of oatmeal cookies from the kitchen island at her back as she continued. “Makes you wonder, though. Do we all just sort of molt personas? Does something happen, and it changes us, and we just say sayonara to the person we were and become this new person?”
Finn narrowed his gaze at Maybelle as he slowly chewed.
“Doesn’t make much sense. Considering life and biology and all. I think we change, sure, but some of the old stuff sticks around. Like an echo. Take me, for instance. I married Lennox Bloom when I was eighteen. We moved back here six years ago because he wanted to retire near our families. Three months ago, he bent down to grab a frozen turkey out of the freezer case at the local market and never got up. Heart attack.”
“Sorry for your loss,” Finn murmured.