it.
Finn was still sitting on the sofa, staring at the wall. ‘You gonna stay like that for the rest of the night?’ Sally asked.
He turned and looked at her. She was standing in the doorway wearing an over-sized T-shirt and leggings. She looked at him the way an oncologist might examine a patient in remission, searching
warily for any sign of disease – some indication that the patient might convulse at any moment. ‘You were listening,’ Finn said.
‘Yeah,’ she replied without hesitation. ‘I was.’
‘So you heard.’ He didn’t like the fact that she’d been eavesdropping. His childhood abandonment was a window into his psyche he’d have preferred she hadn’t
looked through.
‘That was the basic point of listening,’ she pointed out. Finn closed his eyes and tilted his head back, but said nothing. He was exhausted. ‘You didn’t even know
her,’ Sally said. ‘And from the way everything looks, she didn’t want to know you. I say good riddance.’
Finn opened his eyes and looked at her. ‘Is that what you’d say if it was your mother?’
‘My mother?’ Sally looked down, and for a moment Finn was sorry he’d asked the question. ‘I knew my mother, so I could say a lot worse than that about her.’
‘Would you?’ Finn asked. ‘Say worse?’
Her expression was serious. ‘No. I probably wouldn’t. My mother’s such a fuckup, I’m not even really mad at her anymore, I don’t think. We’ve all got our
problems; she’s got hers. The world turns. At least your mother sounds normal.’
‘A normal mother who gives up her child?’ Finn said. ‘Doesn’t seem possible to me.’ He rubbed his forehead with the palm of his hand. ‘You should go to
bed,’ he said. ‘It’s a school night.’
‘What’d you say in the letter?’ she asked. She had a way of asking the most personal questions directly and somehow making them sound reasonable. Finn admired that skill except
when she directed it at him.
‘I don’t even remember,’ Finn lied.
‘Yes, you do.’ He had to admit she was smart, and she could read people. She didn’t take people at their word. It was probably one of the things that had kept her alive.
‘What’d you say?’
Finn leaned forward. ‘I told her she was going to hell,’ he said. ‘I told her about every bad thing I could remember that happened to me when I was growing up, and I blamed it
all on her. I told her about the beatings; about the fights; about the gangs I used to run with and the terrible things I used to do.’ He stood up and walked to the same window where Long had
stood, taking in the view from the top of the hill. It was impressive. Sometimes it amazed him how far he’d come. ‘I told her I hoped whatever she’d gone through was at least as
bad, and that whatever was going to happen to her in hell would be even worse still.’
‘Huh,’ Sally said. He could feel her looking at him. ‘So . . . not exactly a Hallmark card?’
He snorted an involuntary laugh. Thank God she had a sense of humor. ‘Not quite,’ he said. ‘I called her every awful name I could think of. I was immature.’
‘How old were you?’
‘I was in law school at the time, and still dealing with some of the things I had to do to pull myself out of the street life. I wasn’t entirely happy back then.’
‘How about now? You happy now?’ Looking at her, Finn could tell it was an honest question. He wasn’t sure how to answer it honestly.
‘I’m better now,’ he said. That much, at least, was true.
‘Law school,’ she said, marveling. ‘Isn’t that, like, in your twenties?’
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘About there.’
She shook her head incredulously. ‘You mean my childhood is gonna keep me fucked up for another decade?’
He smiled sadly. ‘If you’re lucky. If you’re like the rest of us, it’ll mess with you a lot longer than that.’ He walked back over to the couch and sat down. He
frowned at her as he spoke. ‘You
Finn was still sitting on the sofa, staring at the wall. ‘You gonna stay like that for the rest of the night?’ Sally asked.
He turned and looked at her. She was standing in the doorway wearing an over-sized T-shirt and leggings. She looked at him the way an oncologist might examine a patient in remission, searching
warily for any sign of disease – some indication that the patient might convulse at any moment. ‘You were listening,’ Finn said.
‘Yeah,’ she replied without hesitation. ‘I was.’
‘So you heard.’ He didn’t like the fact that she’d been eavesdropping. His childhood abandonment was a window into his psyche he’d have preferred she hadn’t
looked through.
‘That was the basic point of listening,’ she pointed out. Finn closed his eyes and tilted his head back, but said nothing. He was exhausted. ‘You didn’t even know
her,’ Sally said. ‘And from the way everything looks, she didn’t want to know you. I say good riddance.’
Finn opened his eyes and looked at her. ‘Is that what you’d say if it was your mother?’
‘My mother?’ Sally looked down, and for a moment Finn was sorry he’d asked the question. ‘I knew my mother, so I could say a lot worse than that about her.’
‘Would you?’ Finn asked. ‘Say worse?’
Her expression was serious. ‘No. I probably wouldn’t. My mother’s such a fuckup, I’m not even really mad at her anymore, I don’t think. We’ve all got our
problems; she’s got hers. The world turns. At least your mother sounds normal.’
‘A normal mother who gives up her child?’ Finn said. ‘Doesn’t seem possible to me.’ He rubbed his forehead with the palm of his hand. ‘You should go to
bed,’ he said. ‘It’s a school night.’
‘What’d you say in the letter?’ she asked. She had a way of asking the most personal questions directly and somehow making them sound reasonable. Finn admired that skill except
when she directed it at him.
‘I don’t even remember,’ Finn lied.
‘Yes, you do.’ He had to admit she was smart, and she could read people. She didn’t take people at their word. It was probably one of the things that had kept her alive.
‘What’d you say?’
Finn leaned forward. ‘I told her she was going to hell,’ he said. ‘I told her about every bad thing I could remember that happened to me when I was growing up, and I blamed it
all on her. I told her about the beatings; about the fights; about the gangs I used to run with and the terrible things I used to do.’ He stood up and walked to the same window where Long had
stood, taking in the view from the top of the hill. It was impressive. Sometimes it amazed him how far he’d come. ‘I told her I hoped whatever she’d gone through was at least as
bad, and that whatever was going to happen to her in hell would be even worse still.’
‘Huh,’ Sally said. He could feel her looking at him. ‘So . . . not exactly a Hallmark card?’
He snorted an involuntary laugh. Thank God she had a sense of humor. ‘Not quite,’ he said. ‘I called her every awful name I could think of. I was immature.’
‘How old were you?’
‘I was in law school at the time, and still dealing with some of the things I had to do to pull myself out of the street life. I wasn’t entirely happy back then.’
‘How about now? You happy now?’ Looking at her, Finn could tell it was an honest question. He wasn’t sure how to answer it honestly.
‘I’m better now,’ he said. That much, at least, was true.
‘Law school,’ she said, marveling. ‘Isn’t that, like, in your twenties?’
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘About there.’
She shook her head incredulously. ‘You mean my childhood is gonna keep me fucked up for another decade?’
He smiled sadly. ‘If you’re lucky. If you’re like the rest of us, it’ll mess with you a lot longer than that.’ He walked back over to the couch and sat down. He
frowned at her as he spoke. ‘You
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