I just go with it. “Okay, no blue.” My finger keeps scrolling.
“You’re just going to pass right by orange?”
Yep—my brain has created an aversion to the color. I push down my loathing. “Orange, huh?” I pick up a bright obnoxious color named tiger.
“Not like that. Like a sunset.” He hands me a different swatch called marmalade.
Before a week ago I would have liked the color. I don’t exactly dislike it. And somehow it does look like Finn. “How much power are you willing to give me?”
He laughs. “What does that even mean?”
“Do you trust me?”
He squints and purses. My eyes draw down to his mouth. “Ah, yeah, I guess,” he says.
Not exactly a five star review, but I’ll take it. “Perfect. I have an idea.”
We drive back to The Bookcase and I walk four cans of paint—two marmalade orange, one cream, and one tree bark brown, the same I used in Angelo’s room—up to Finn’s bedroom. His space will not be one hundred percent orange—I refuse. Besides, Finn will thank me for that later.
“What happened to no brown?” Finn asks, sliding off his oxygen pack and plugging it into the charger. He swaps out the tubing of his portable tank for his cannula stretching from his home concentrator at the bottom of the stairs.
“What happened to trusting me?” I set my hands on my hips, staring at the paint cans.
“Did I say I trusted you?”
“I’m afraid you did.” I look around at the room. Finn isn’t a pack rat which will help a ton when it comes to moving things. “Here, sit,” I set my hands in his and walk him backwards until his calves hit the side of his bed. We walked a lot—a lot for Finn—this afternoon and I know he’s tired. “I need to think for a minute.” I have a picture of his room in my head already, but I want him to rest without complaining about it.
He rubs his thumb over the back of my fingers, sending sparks through my insides. I let go of his right hand and sit beside him on the bed, leaning my head onto his shoulder. It’s a quiet moment and I find myself talking to God—again. I should have paid more attention to Lisa when she tried to teach me to pray because I always end up muttering a bunch of—pleases or talking to him as if He’s Cytha—which Lisa would have said isn’t respectful.
“Esther,” Finn’s voice is quiet in the dim room, “I’m sorry you didn’t have your mom for very long, but I think you must be like her.”
My chest tightens. “Why do you say that?”
“My grandpa died before I was born, but my Mom is always saying that I’m just like him. Obviously, I’m not like him because I was around him, but because part of him lives inside of me. I think you’re probably braver because of the things you’ve been through, but I think you’d still be the same person.”
I’m not sure about that—and really he doesn’t know. It’s just his thoughtful, honest opinion. Truth or not though, it makes me feel better. He makes me feel better. I look up, knowing I’ll meet his gaze looking down at me. I’m ready for his kiss—I need it. Either he knows it or he needs it too because he’s already leaning down. His nose brushes mine before our lips meet, fervent and eager.
A ring, like a siren, sounds from Finn’s phone, breaking us apart. His cell spins on his desk, the noise blaring. Before I can ask what it is, another phone—an old phone—like one with a cord and a dial tone sounds from the floor below us.
“What is that?”
Sudden perspiration pools at Finn’s forehead. He grabs the phone from his desk and stares at the screen, but he doesn’t silence the alarm.
“Finn!” Marley yells from the lower floor. “Finley!”
“What is that, Finn?” My pulse spikes and my breath catches in my throat, afraid as I wait for him to speak.
“It’s a heart.”
27
There is a whirlwind of flurry around us, and for a brief time, it’s almost as if Finn and I aren’t even there. Danny gathers a file from a cabinet and a bag from the closet, Marley makes two phone calls as she pulls different medications from a kitchen cupboard.
Finn’s breath is audible, and when he looks at me his blue eyes are a mess of fear and anxiety. I hold his hand to my chest and try to smile. This is what I’ve been praying for—right?
Marley hurries over, pulling a digital ear thermometer from the bag she’s stashed all Finn’s meds inside and without a word to either of us she takes Finn’s temperature. “97.8,” she says into the phone at her ear. Caressing a hand to Finn’s cheek, she ends the call. “Let’s go. The helicopter’s waiting.”
We start down the stairs, when Danny taps me out of the way. With his arm around Finn’s back he hurries him down the stairs. “You have the key to the store, right Esther?”
“Uh, yes.”
“And you’re good to lock up?”
“Um, yes.”
Marley hugs me, but I’m looking at Finn. “Thank you, my dependable girl.”
They need me here—even if it’s just to get the remaining customers out and lock up the place. They need me to do that so that they can fly to Salt Lake City, to the University of Utah hospital. I know this. We’ve talked about this. But I want to go. By the time I get to the hospital, Finn will be back in surgery—or possibly out of surgery. I don’t get to fly. It’s a four hour drive.
“Esther.” It’s the first thing he’s muttered since the alarm went off, and they all pause at the door. “Give me one minute,” he says to his parents.
Marley’s lips pinch and Danny looks down at his watch. “Come on, babe.” Danny pulls Marley out the glass door of the store.
One minute. My head and heart are full of trepidation, but I don’t have time to be nervous. Still, Finn is the one to step over to me. I wrap my arms around him and he buries his head into my neck.
“What happens to someone else could never be your fault,” I say, remembering the wisdom of Summer’s words.
“Or yours.”
“I know.”
He pulls back to look at me.
“I’m still praying.” I sound just like Lisa. I swallow down the tears and ache with the sob that begs to come out. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say, because I can’t utter the words goodbye.
He nods, his arms still around me. I thrust up on my toes and press my mouth to his. The kiss is urgent and wanting, but cut short by a tap on the glass. Finn backs away from me, and my arms fall to the side, feeling empty and heavy all at once. He opens the door and steps through, but peers back at me.
Don’t say goodbye. Please don’t tell me goodbye. It’s too final, it’s to ending.
“And Esther,” he says, a smile teasing at his lips, “don’t screw up my room while I’m gone.”
I’ve asked the man sitting in the back cove, reading Mary Shelley, three times if I can help him—if he’s ready to make his purchase. I’m shaking and wiping at tears as they just seem to stream like a leaky faucet. Finally, with trembling hands, I pull out my cell, my finger hovering over Cytha’s name only for a second before I scroll down to find Summer.