She takes a breath. “They said you can be released to home next week. We’ll set you up downstairs. Steps will be too tricky with your cast. You should be able to get it off in four to six months. After going through physical rehab, you’ll go to stay at the inpatient facility.” She pulls the pamphlet from her purse. “We brought you some information. We found a nice place. We’ve called and spoken with the director and some of the staff, and they plan on working with you for grief therapy in addition to the alcohol treatment.”
He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even acknowledge that she’s speaking.
I give her an encouraging smile, and she continues.
“It’s like a resort, really. They have a gym and a pool, lots of different forms of entertainment, and a whole staff to cook and clean.”
It is the best place we could find. I offered to foot the bill, but Mindy had already covered it.
When Finley finishes speaking, he doesn’t say anything or respond in any way, his face a blank mask. Silence fills the space like an invisible, poisonous gas.
Part of me wants to shake Jacob until he sees reason, but it won’t help. He’s hurting Finley. Can’t he see that? Doesn’t he know how much love he still has in his life?
“You’ve got it all figured out, I guess,” he says finally.
Her jaw tightens. “You still have a say in some things.”
“Do I?” His tone is belligerent.
“We all have to deal with the consequences of our actions. So you’ll deal, and then things will get better.”
He stares at her for a second and then rolls his head away toward the window. “It’s fine, Finley. I’m tired now.” His voice is dull, lifeless.
“Okay, Jakey.” She squeezes his shoulder. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”
Her eyes are shiny. She leaves the room.
I stand to follow Finley out but only make it one step before I turn around. I wasn’t going to get involved, but I have to say something. “If I had even one person in my life who loved me as much as Finley loves you, I would fight like hell to keep it. I know you’ve been suffering for a long time, and I can’t pretend I could even fathom the losses you’ve been dealt. But grief is the price we pay for love. Given the choice between grief and nothing, I’d choose grief. Every time. You would too, even though you can’t see it yet.”
“Can I ask you a question?” Finley lets go of the hand sander and sits back on her heels.
“You can ask me anything.”
We’re fixing the hardwood in what we now call the raccoon cabin. Finley has been sanding down some of the deeper scratches left behind on the floor by our furry friend, while I’ve been working on cleaning up the smaller scratches.
Taylor left a couple hours ago, and now it’s only the two of us. There are no guests in residence; Finley had to block out reservations over the next few days because of everything going on, and Taylor couldn’t stay. Her high school volunteers have school and other obligations during the week, so it was the best choice.
“When do you have to leave again?” Her gaze is steady on mine.
I put down the cloth I’ve been using and wipe my hands on my jeans. “I’m not really sure. Are you sick of me already?”
She rubs her lips together. “No. If I’m being honest, I’m scared you’re going to leave someday soon, and I won’t have any warning.”
“Finley. I’m not planning on going anywhere any time soon. Unless you want me to?”
“Of course not. But I know you have a job. You have work that you need to travel for, and I don’t want to take you from your life because of my family drama.”
I crawl toward her. When I get close enough that our knees are touching, I cup one side of her face in my palm, tilting her head toward me. “I travel so much because I haven’t had a home in over a decade. Not a real home. Before you came into my life, I was . . . I was lonely.”
Her mouth opens, her eyes widening.
I speak again before I lose my nerve.
“I don’t have to travel like I was. I never had to. I just didn’t have anywhere else to go. I’ll have to go out of town for a few days here and there, but there’s a lot I can do remotely. Plus I have Nora, and if you were to have fewer obligations around here, you could come with me sometimes when I have to leave.”
She stares at me, stricken.
My heart stops beating. “Is it too soon for this conversation?” My head drops, and I let go of her, pulling away. “It’s weird, isn’t it? Did I make it weird? Forget I sa—”