When The Rain Falls

47. Goodbye

47 GOODBYE

FINN

“So, you can fix it?” I look across the counter at the technician in the black polo shirt. He’s typing something into his computer as he nods.

“Sure,” he says. “We can keep it running for a little longer. If that’s really what you want.”

The damage to the van was worse than I originally thought. The body work repairs are going to cost me more than it’s worth. But still, it’s probably cheaper than buying another vehicle.

“A little longer? How long is that?” I prod as I rap my knuckles on the counter.

“If you want it to be reliable, there’s a lot we’re going to have to replace,” he explains. “I don’t know if it’s really worth it. Have you walked our lot? Don’t you think it’s time for something new?”

An hour later, I’m walking to the van. Someone brought it out to the parking lot for me. It’s leaning heavily on one side. The front is smashed in. The front side panels are crumpled. I open the door and ease myself into the driver’s seat. I run my hand along the dash. Grip the steering wheel. Feel the familiar grooves in the surface from over sixteen years of use.

I lean back for a moment and run my hand along the console.

“Alright, girl,” I say quietly. “It’s been a pleasure. Time to let you go.” I give her one last look over then, reluctantly, slowly, I open the door again. I step one foot out before I pause. I lean back in and grab the heart charm from the rear-view mirror. When I step out of the van, I walk away and make a point not to look back.

I pull out a brand new key fob, one that works, and walk towards my new vehicle. A shiny, maroon minivan. When I press the button, I hear the satisfying click of the doors unlocking. I ease into the seat and hang the charm from my rear-view mirror.

When I start the car, the dash lights up with all kinds of new technology. A rear-view camera that actually works. Navigation maps. Bluetooth speakers. It’s a lot. And it’s going to take me a while to get used to it all.

Before I drive away, I hit the call button on the dash. The salesman already helped me connect my phone.

“Call Aimee,” I command.

“Sorry, there is no one named Aimee in your contact list,” comes the computerized response.

Goddammit. I forgot she changed her name in my phone. I chuckle under my breath.

“Call Finn’s darling.”

The phone rings and Aimee picks up quickly.

“Bear? Are you on your way? Dinner’s almost ready and I can’t hold Tyler back any longer.” I hear some muffled noises and Aimee yells for Tyler to stop. It’s family dinner at my house tonight. And Tyler brought a girl over. Tammy something. I can’t fucking wait to torment the shit out of him.

“On my way,” I assure her. Because I don’t want to miss a second of the shit show that’s about to go down.

“Did you get the call?” I ask.

“I got the call,” Aimee says cautiously.

“And?” I prod her.

“And I also got the client!”

“Of course you did. Because you’re fucking amazing,” I coo at her as I slam my palm against the steering wheel. Aimee just recently started her own graphic design business. After she gave her notice, that outdoor retailer she was always complaining about sought her out.

“They’re my best client.” She chuckles. She chuckles because, right now, they’re her only client. But I know that will change.

“Hey,” she says, changing the subject. And she’s using that tone. That tone I’ve come to recognize as the precursor for something I probably won’t like at all. I take a deep breath and brace myself as she continues. “How do you feel about catios?”

Goddammit.

Traffic in front of me has slowed so I turn on my blinker and merge into the left lane. “Aimee, what the absolute fuck is a catio?” I think I know. But I’m hoping against all hope that I’m wrong.

“A patio,” she says matter-of-factly, “for cats.”

I rub a frustrated hand across my jaw. This is an argument I can’t seem to win. Chase, the fucking couch-pissing asshole of a pest, belongs at Alicia’s house. But Aimee keeps sneaking him into our place. Yes, our place. Aimee stayed over one night and she never went back home. And, honestly, I probably wouldn’t let her. Because I want her with me.

“We’ll talk later,” I grumble.

“I found the perfect one, bear. It’s on sale.”

Deep breath, Finn . One. Two. Three. But I'm not just counting numbers. I'm counting all the reasons I love her. Because that’s my new strategy for dealing with anger.

“So, how’s the van?” she asks. And when she changes topics that quickly, I realize she already bought the fucking catio. She’s not really asking for permission. But I’m going to make her beg for forgiveness. On her knees.

“Was it expensive to fix?” she prompts.

“Actually,” I say, “I bought something new.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. Something red.”

“Ooooh.”

“And shiny. And something with a removable top.” I press a button and watch the moonroof slide open.

“Oh my God! You bought a convertible?” Aimee squeals.

I tell her goodbye and hang up quickly. She’s going to fucking kill me. But possibly not if my family is there.