Purgatory, West Virginia
March 29
The minute Finn entered May’s house, he knew the time had come. Death loomed like an expectant father in a hospital waiting room. The air was still, the kitchen spotless. Even May’s old quilt was neatly folded on the back of the couch. With hesitant steps, Finn crossed to the bedroom. His knock pushed the door open.
May was in bed in a high-necked nightgown flipping through her photo album and laughing.
“Pull up a chair, Finn. You’ve got to see this.”
Finn obeyed, and when he leaned in to take a look, he couldn’t help but join her. She began to explain the photo, but Finn halted her with a hand. He stood and moved the chair around to the other side of the bed on May’s right. Questioning eyes met his, and he pointed to his unscarred profile. “I don’t smile that much. Figured you’d want to see it.”
May returned to her memories, but Finn knew she was pleased.
“Lennox wanted a picture on that rickety dock. Thought it would look real artistic with the sun setting behind us.”
“It’s pretty clear what happens next.” Finn touched the plastic page.
“Yep, fell right through the planks. His brother took the picture, and Lennox swore—standing knee-deep in the water—that if he took another, Lennox was gonna break the camera.” May flipped the page with a chuckle to show the next five photos of her husband struggling to pull himself from the lake.
“Oh, and this.” May pointed to the opposite page. “This was from our RV trip out west. Yellowstone.”
Finn narrowed his eyes on the picture. It didn’t look like he remembered from a family trip as a teenager. She must have sensed his confusion because she was quick to equivocate. “Or is this the Appalachian trail trip? Yes, that’s what this is. The RV trip is in another book. Damn brain,” she muttered.
May flipped the back cover to close the album and handed it to Finn. “Put that on the shelf for me, please.” Finn nodded and obeyed. He returned to his seat with another.
“You’re certainly agreeable today,” she said.
“Don’t get used to it,” he grumbled.
She smiled at that and patted his hand. “I won’t, but I know there’s someone else who would like to get used to an agreeable Finn.”
“I’m trying to be, May. You, of all people, know that. But between apologizing for the past and planning for the future, agreeable is running a distant third to shame and frustration.”
“Then live in the present. The present is eternal. It’s always now,” she said.
Finn started to protest but sealed his lips and nodded. This wasn’t about him.
May pointed to his mouth. “That, right there, is progress.”
“What? Not telling you you’re crazy?” he asked.
“Yes!” May drummed on the new album. “You’re not snapping off.” She pointed a shaking finger at him. “Lengthening the time between stimulus and response. Not everything demands you draw and shoot. Well done.”
“Thanks, I guess,” he replied.
“You better get going now. I have things I need to get to.” May opened the book.
“May.”
She shooed him with her hand, but he remained in the chair.
“Forget it, May. I’m staying.” Finn crossed his arms over his chest.
May sighed. “You know the dates on a gravestone?”
“What?” Finn asked.
“On a headstone, the dates. John Smith 1842 to 1910. Mary Wilson 1923 to 1999,” she explained.