“You do?” I wasn’t sure he would. When I asked him if he knew of a place made of walls he’d said no.
We’re half way there when he peers at me, a question in his eye. “A circle of walls outside—you meant The Pavilion?”
The Pavilion. “I just—I’d heard of a place like that but didn’t know if it was a joke or not.”
He rolls his head to the side. “I guess I should have realized. I’ve only been there once—we went to the ribbon cutting. I haven’t really thought about it again since. You described it so ominously, like it was a secret. I didn’t realize you meant an exhibit in town.”
In my defense—neither did I. I thought I was talking crazy when I asked him about The Pavilion.
We drive up from the south and at first I only see the art’s center. It’s modernly shaped with a lot of glass windows and doors, but it’s dark inside. It’s closed—just like Finn said it would be. The grassy space next to it is large and then I see them—the walls standing in the center of it all. From this angle, I can’t even tell they make up a circle. They each face the same way and are placed strategically, each perpendicular but inches down or out from the next, to form an inner circle.
I open my door before I’ve killed the ignition. A laugh bubbles from my throat and I wave Finn on. There’s no fence around the yard, so I only feel a little rebellious when I step onto the grass of the clearly closed exhibit. I walk around the structure, making a half circle before stepping through an open space between the walls and onto the cement. I know what I’ll find at the center—more grass. The space in the middle is larger than I would have thought, if it weren’t for my dream. It’s where you can really see that these walls placed so perfectly create a circular shape at the center. It’s wide and roomy—just as I knew it would be.
I sit and spread my fingers out, sliding them between the cool blades of grass. In that moment, I don’t worry about Rodrick or Summer, I don’t worry about going home or what Cytha is doing without me. I am in the center of this place and I know it’s right where I should be.
Finn pokes his head around the corner. He walks the full circle of the outside walls before coming in to this open place that feels private. “I never made it this close the first time.” He sits next to me, stretching out his legs, and leaning back onto his elbows.
Neither of us wears a jacket and, though it’s cooler than Reno in June, it’s not bad. There’s no wind and the sun has just set behind some mountain whose name I’ve forgotten. I lay flat on my back and wait for the stars to come out.
“I don’t think I realized there were this many stars in the universe.”
Finn lays back too, and we stay there a long time, watching the sky come to life and listening to the sounds of the outdoors. Occasionally, I think I hear Finn’s heart thumping in his chest.
“Do you miss your aunt?” he asks after a while.
“Lisa?” I’ve never really talked about Lisa to anyone here. “Yeah, I do. Lisa had this way of loving you without smothering you. After my family—I needed space and love. Somehow she gave me both.” I rest my hands on my stomach. “But to be honest, I miss Cytha more.”
“Huh.”
“What?” I look over at him, but he doesn’t move. He looks up, studying the sky.
“I just wonder sometimes if anyone will miss me when I’m gone.”
“Okay, cryptic.” I roll to my side and prop my head up with my hand—letting him know I’m staring at him now. “Where are you going?”
“I’m dying, Essie.” He’s never called me that before, and the name and his words, they make my insides roll with pain. He still doesn’t look at me.
I poke him in the arm, willing him to look at me. “You aren’t dying,” I insist, “your heart is just—it’s just broken a bit.”
Bad choice of words.
He finally turns his head, his blue eyes roving over my face until they connect with my gaze. “And what do you think happens with a broken heart? The organism dies. It’s simple biology.”
“Marley said—”
He scoffs in that way that makes me want to turn away from him—but I can’t. His coarseness is like one of these walls, it’s there to keep feelings and people out. “Marley and Danny think they’re going to save me with a heart that isn’t coming. If the universe wants me, the universe will take me.”
“The universe? You mean God?” I sit up, still facing him, but I need the blood in my body to even out, to rush to my brain and give me something intelligent to say. “According to Marley, God already saved you once.”
He sits up too, his sandy hair mussed where his head lay flat on the ground. “Curing my cancer to give me cardiomyopathy isn’t exactly saving me. It’s more like dragging out the inevitable.”
“You talk so big, but maybe you should look at what you have to be thankful for. You aren’t dying, Finn, but you’re so busy being afraid of dying that you don’t live. You grouch and groan and make no life plans—besides fire night—because you’re just giving up, expecting there to be no life.”
“Doesn’t that make me a realist?”
“Or a coward.” I grab hold of the grass, fisting my fingers in the long blades.
“You’re one to talk. You call me a coward, but you’re the one afraid to get close to anyone.”
I scoff. “Sure, that’s why I invited you to go out tonight.” I was starting to regret that I had.
“Exactly,” he says, his eyes steady on mine. “I’ve seen the way you treat your aunt. I’ve heard you talk about your uncle and those kids. You act like the minute you get close to them they’ll drop dead—just like the rest of your family. So, you’re making friends with the one guy you already know is doomed to die.”
My eyes brim with tears. I stand and brush the grass from my legs.
Finn jumps to his feet and holds out a hand, grabbing my wrist and stopping me from leaving. “I’m right, aren’t I?”
My heart pinches with pain because he is partly right. Why would I take the time to love someone like Summer or Harmony or Uncle Rodrick only to lose them? Who haven’t I lost? Mom, Dad, JoJo, Lisa—to some extent even Cytha is lost to me. But I’m too angry to admit to any of that, so I throw it back at him. “Is that why you treat your parents like crap?” I spit the words.
He drops my arm and runs a hand through his hair. “No, sometimes I’m just a jerk.”
I quirk one brow, “So you aren’t afraid to die?” Cytha would smack me—how could I say such a thing, to Finn of all people.
“I’m really not.” His eyes are steady on mine. “I am terrified of someone else having to die so that I can live.”
My anger falls to the pit of my stomach. “What do you mean?”
He scoffs, but the resentment is gone from his tone now. “How do you think that list my parents are banking on works?” He steps closer and my fingers itch to reach out to him. “I can only live if someone else dies.” He shrugs, like he can’t think of anything to say or do to fix everything that’s wrong.