When The Rain Falls

42. What’s Wrong

42 WHAT’S WRONG

FINN

"Ok. What's happening in here?" Rebecca peeks her head into my office where I'm slowly pounding my head against my desk.

"Get off my case, Rebecca. I have shit to do." With that, I sit up straight and lift the cover of my laptop. I've been in my office for an hour and I'm just now powering it on.

"Yeah, clearly,” she says sarcastically. “Finn, you look terrible. You haven't looked like that since the last time the Mariners blew it in the playoffs."

“How can you tell, Rebecca?” Jane’s voice joins Rebecca’s in the doorway. “He always looks like that to me.”

"Thanks, Jane ." I stare numbly at the screen saver. A pretty green meadow somewhere I'll probably never visit. Because Ma is right. I never fucking go anywhere. Because I’m a fucking coward. One who wallows in pain instead of fighting it off. I can’t wait until this day is over so I can crawl back to my cave.

I’ve been trying to call and text Aimee since I pulled myself out of my drunken stupor yesterday but she’s not answering. Not that I blame her. After what I said. After I let her leave questioning how I felt.

Fuck. Watching her leave had been hard. But going after her, in that moment, it felt impossible.

Ann squeezes between Rebecca and Jane with a notepad clutched to her chest. "Want me to hold your calls and reschedule your appointments?" she asks sweetly.

I rest my head on my desk again. "I don't know," I mutter. Nausea hits me like a bat to the chest and bile rises in my throat. "Garbage pail," I moan miserably, reaching a hand weakly towards the trash can. I can’t tell if I keep dry heaving because I’m hungover or because my life is in shambles and I don’t know how to fix it.

I told Aimee to leave because I didn’t trust myself with alcohol in my system. I told her to leave because I was wrestling with the fact that Laurel is fading and Aimee is growing like a burning, hot sun over all the parts of my life. And it’s got my insides tied up in knots. But most importantly, I told Aimee to leave because I was trying to figure out how to tell Laurel goodbye.

Saying goodbye is fucking hard.

Because I couldn’t say goodbye to Laurel, Aimee said goodbye to me. And now I might have lost her. But maybe it’s for the best. She’s better off without me.

Rebecca hands me the garbage pail just in time for me to dry heave into it. Jane steps back a couple steps and wrinkles her nose. “Why would you come into the office sick? You're going to give it to us."

"I don't think it's contagious," Rebecca says softly. I feel her hand on my back, rubbing in gentle circles.

"Finn. Tell me," she coaxes softly.

I just groan. “I did something I shouldn’t have done," I murmur once the dry heaving has stopped.

"Is there a body? Do you need help hiding a body?” Jane offers.

"What? No. Jesus!" I yell, my forehead resting back on the desk. Suspicious how she’s usually so unhelpful until she thinks it’s time to hide a body.

It’s quiet in the room and I imagine that disapproving looks are being exchanged behind my back, but I’m not lifting my forehead from my desk. It’s far too heavy. So I focus on the soothing motion of Rebecca’s hand on my back.

"Finn. What did you do?" Rebecca asks.

"I think I ended things," I sigh.

"Ended things, like a human life? A heartbeat?" Jane asks.

"Goddamn it. No. With Aimee!" I yell. I place my hands on the side of my head, hoping to ease the dull ache that’s pounding in my head.

"Who’s Aimee?” I hear Jane ask.

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” I mutter. I roll my head from side to side, like it's a stamp being rolled onto an ink pad. Because maybe that will stop the pounding. Suddenly, there are two pairs of hands rubbing my back. Great. I'm now the center of the office pity parade. “Just that I met someone. And I fucked it up. Like I fuck up everything,” I mutter.

“You do tend to do that,” Jane says.

"Thanks," I tell her dryly.

I hear Ann and Rebecca whispering to each other behind my back. I know they’re talking about me. Wondering what they’re supposed to do. I don't even care. Because I don’t know what to do, either. I just stare at my shoes. And the worn blue carpet. And wish the floor would eat me up. I should have stayed home today.

I finally sit up and the rubbing on my back stops. "Oh, hey," I say with false enthusiasm. "You'll enjoy this, Jane. I'm going to take the stipulation. The deal. You won't have to deal with me for two fucking months."

"Finn, don't make any decisions when you're like this," Rebecca cautions.

"I've been thinking about it all week. I already decided. My lawyer agrees. I’ll start in two to three weeks.”

"You really won't be here for two whole months?" Jane asks, not bothering to mask her excitement.

"You know, you could probably use the time off," Rebecca adds encouragingly.

I spin around in my chair to face them. "It's not time off. It's a fucking suspension.”

"But a short one. It will go by fast. Take a vacation," Rebecca suggests. I cross my arms over my chest and narrow my eyes at her. Take a vacation? Sure. Let’s treat a forced suspension from my career like a damned trip to Disneyland. I swallow a growl and take a deep breath.

Rebecca ushers Jane and Ann out of the office. Then she shuts the door and sits on the edge of my desk, next to me. She doesn’t say anything. After years of knowing me, she knows that I only talk when I’m ready. So, she just sits there. It’s what Aimee used to do, too.

Aimee.

I don’t know how it happened. How I unexpectedly found a friend in someone like her. Someone kind, and gentle, and patient enough to put up with my bullshit. The emptiness of our hearts brought us together. And I fucking pulled us apart.

Her emptiness nudges her towards comfort and light. And my emptiness just destroys everything around me.

Fuck. Do I even bother to go after her? I have no idea what to do. I feel like I’m straddling two worlds. The past and the future. I have to jump into one, but it means giving up the other.

I can’t figure this out on my own. I need someone to push me.

"Rebecca,” I finally say, studying my hands. “Am I supposed to let go?” I sit back and sign. “Of Laurel?” If anyone in my miserable life can help at all, it would be Rebecca. She’s patiently put up with my shit for nearly a decade.

“Finn,” she says carefully. “You’re raising her daughters. Your daughters. She’s part of your life.” I blink a couple times. Because this does not sound like it’s going where I thought it would. “You love her. And there’s no reason you have to stop just because she’s gone.” Rebecca crosses a leg and leans back a little.

I look up from my hands. When I catch Rebecca’s eyes, I find comfort there.

“So, no. You never have to let Laurel go. But I think you should let go of something. I don’t think I know what it is, but maybe you do.”

I shake my head. Because I don’t. I don’t know anything anymore. And what else would I let go of?

“Now,” Rebecca says. “Go home and do some thinking. And sleeping. And maybe take a shower. Just stop brooding around the office or else Jane’s going to complain about you sucking all the life out of this place.”

I’m in the middle of packing up my laptop to go home when my phone buzzes an alert. I quickly grab it from the desk. A glimmer of hope tells me it’s Aimee. But when I open my text messages, I see that the text isn’t from Aimee. It’s from Ruby.

Ruby

Can you pick me up?

Finn

Are you ok?

Ruby

No. I need to go home.

Finn

OMW

Fifteen minutes later, I pull up to the curb of the school. I don’t see Ruby where I would expect her to be, standing in front of the pickup and drop off zone. I drive slowly as I meander through the parking lot. Then I finally see her. Sitting on the curb, under the shade of a maple tree. Knees knocked together. Arms wrapped around her legs. Backpack thrown to the ground beside her.

I roll down the passenger window and call out to her, but she doesn’t move. I pull into the nearest stall, step out of the van, and approach her carefully.

"Ruby. What's wrong?" I ask, my shadow falling at her feet.

That’s when I see that her face is red and she’s been crying. Fuck. There’s been a whole lot of that happening lately. I take a deep breath and sit down beside her. I don’t expect that she’s just going to open up and share with me. We’ve been drifting farther and farther apart with each year. I really need to do something to change that.

I don’t press her for answers, but I wrap my arms around her and pull her into me. She leans awkwardly, teetering to the side, stiff and uncomfortable. After a bit of silence, Ruby leans her head against me and relaxes. I feel her body shaking with quiet sobs. "He kissed someone else,” she finally says. Tears falling freely from her eyes.

Rocky. The bastard. I should have known. I want to hunt him down and demand an explanation while I pull out his fucking fingernails one by one. But I feel the anger and then let it go. Because the last thing I need is a criminal record for assaulting a juvenile. My shoulders sag and I rest my chin on the top of her head.

"Shhhh,” I say as I try to calm her. I’m struck by a distinct memory of holding her to my chest when she was seven and took a tumble from her bike. It's hard to believe she's the same person. Her sunburned lips have been replaced with lip gloss. Her knobby knees replaced with slender legs. Pigtails with long, straight locks. She's not the same person. That Ruby left long ago. But this Ruby still needs me.

"He doesn't deserve your tears, Ruby," I tell her quietly.

"But I really liked him,” she sobs out. “And it really hurts,” she chokes the words out between painful breaths.

"Yeah. It does,” I agree. “But there’s going to be someone else. And that person will be just what you need.” I don’t add “ fuck Rocky ” or “ someone needs to kick him in the ball sack ,” but I definitely think those things.

"It still sucks." Ruby tips her chin to the sky and sniffles.

“I hate that I can’t protect you, Ruby. It kills me. Since your mom died, that's all I’ve wanted to do. And I hate that people are cruel. And that life is hard. And there’s nothing I can do about it.” I squeeze her a little bit tighter.

“I don’t always want you to protect me. I need you to give me more space sometimes. I won’t do everything the way you want me to. But I need to be able to do things for myself, you know? And I might mess up sometimes, but it’s better than just living in a bubble.”

“Ruby, I’m afraid that?—”

“Dad, you’re afraid too much.”

Fuck. That’s it. It hits me. As I sit right there on the dirty curb of the Pt. Evan’s High School parking lot. That’s what I need to let go of.

Fear.

Since Laurel died, my life has been ruled by fear. It’s why I’ve been clinging so tightly to my past. Not just because my past is full of cherished moments. But because, in my past, I know exactly where the heartache is. I can tense and brace for it. I know how hard it hits. I know how it feels when it strikes. The heartache of my past might devastate me. But it can’t surprise me.

And in some way, living in the past is like rewatching my home movies. The joy and the pain play out their courses obediently. They know their lines. They never go off script. In my past, nothing can break me. At least not the way Laurel’s death did when I experienced it the first time around.

But living in the past has taught me to be suspicious of anything new. It’s made me refuse to believe that joy can spring spontaneously from the pages of my life again.

And isn’t that exactly what Aimee has been showing me all these weeks? That joy is real. That joy is strong enough to exist alongside pain without being swallowed up by it? That joy is something I can have again. Something I can trust again.

I consider how brightly she filled my home. My life. My heart. I scrub my face and sigh. I want it. I want that joy. And I don’t just want any joy. I want her joy. I want her joy to fill all the rest of my measly days on this earth.

Fuck.

How have I been so stupid? How the hell have I been constantly looking backward with someone like Aimee standing in front of me?

I know what I need to do now. I know exactly what I need to do. I need to find her. I need to sit her down and make her stay. At least long enough to listen. Long enough for me to lay my heart out in front of her. All of it. With all its torn edges and broken parts. And then see if she still wants it.

Ruby elbows me. “Dad, you ok?”

“Yeah.” I rest a lazy elbow on my knee and pick at the grass between us. Then I look up and catch Ruby’s eyes. If I’m going to let go of fear. I better start with her.

“Ok,” I say, finally. “I’ll let you out of your bubble.”

“Really?”

“I guess,” I tell her, already regretful. “For some things. We’ll talk about it more later. But if you do get hurt or get into trouble. You tell me, ok?” I may not be able to protect her. But I can help. Because I know a thing or two about heartache.

Shit. I do not like this. Not one bit. But I let it go with an exhale that levels my chest.

“Alright, kiddo.” I stand and grab Ruby’s backpack from the ground. She takes my hand and I ease her up next to me before placing a hand on her shoulder.

“How do you feel about movie night?” I ask.

I feel Ruby shrug under my arm.

“I have some home movies that need watching,” I tell her as we meander back to the van. “And I don’t really want to watch them alone.”

“Home movies? Like of Mom?”

“Yes,” I say, “ and of you. You, forcing Vivian to play the evil witch in all your princess games.” I chuckle at the memories. A commanding six-year-old Ruby pointing wildly at her younger sister, who she forced into an oversized witch robe. Telling her where to stand and what to say and exactly how to say it.

Ruby raises her face to mine. There’s a trace of Laurel there. I press my forehead to hers. “You were so damn bossy. Mom called you sassypants.”

“I was not bossy,” she protests, but she’s smiling back at me. “But I remember her calling me that.”