Chapter 8

The landline phone rang and they both froze. Finn heard Mrs. Rand give a cautious hello and then her voice changed, becoming serious and questioning.

“No. He’s not here. What’s wrong? Oh no.” There was a pause and then, “Oh, I’m so sorry. No, I’ll ask Gabi. I’ll call back if I hear anything.”

Then came the footsteps on the stairs. Panicked, Finn started for the closet. Gabi shook her head, motioning him to stay put. The door opened, and Mrs. Rand’s face changed as she realized there was a sopping wet Finn standing in her daughter’s room. His cheeks grew hot, even though the rest of him was still chilled to the bone.

“Hi Mom!” chirped Gabi. She somehow managed to beam a smile as if the world was completely normal. “Don’t get mad. Finn is surprising his gran with her favorite muffins from the Inn before heading over. He got caught in the storm and was going to keep on going, but I forced him to come inside and wait till it passed.”

Gabi was the coolest liar in the whole world. He wasn’t sure if he should be impressed or afraid.

“Through the window?!” Mrs. Rand turned from Gabi to Finn, and the look on her face transformed from annoyance to sudden sympathy. “You—haven’t been to your gran’s yet, then?”

“No.” Finn hated lying. He was sure a giant red flashing sign appeared on his forehead whenever he tried. Yet, Mrs. Rand didn’t seem at all suspicious. Instead she looked positively miserable. She was steeling herself for what she had to do. She had the horrific job of telling him about Gran. He felt awful for her. He wanted to tell her he already knew, but Gabi was staring at him, silently willing him to be quiet.

He desperately tried to think what his reaction should be. He didn’t know the proper response to hearing Gran had died, especially when he knew he was still going to see her again. At least she had promised that, hadn’t she?

She’d also said he could trust Doc Lovell and then her note said the exact opposite. His shoulders gave an involuntary shudder under three layers of rain-soaked clothing.

“That was your great-aunt Billie on the phone. Dr. Lovell is at your gran’s now.” Finn watched Mrs. Rand’s neck quiver as she swallowed hard. She put her hand on his arm. “It isn’t good. I’m afraid your gran passed away in her sleep.”

Somehow, he felt as if he was hearing it for the first time it. Mrs. Rand saying those words made the whole thing real. In his world, Gran no longer existed. For the third time in his life, he had lost someone irreplaceable.

“I’m so sorry, Finn. She’s gone.”

He had an impossible memory of a state police officer saying those exact words—she’s gone—to his crying parents. There was no way he could remember that.

He remembered Dad saying those same words weeks ago when Finn screamed at him to go get Mom. Dad had been slumped in his office hair, face buried in his hands. He spoke through his fingers: “I can’t. She’s gone.”

He didn’t want to hear those words ever again. Still, they echoed inside of him. He tried to speak to Mrs. Rand, to Gabi. They were looking at him, waiting. He couldn’t say anything. He was falling deep inside himself. He no longer felt wet and cold. He was hollow, full of echoes. Falling, with nothing to grab on to.

She’s gone.

The tears didn’t come. The heart-thumping panic didn’t come. There was nothing but a sense of the world being wrapped in cotton, wound over and over again. Gabi asked something and Mrs. Rand responded quietly, but he couldn’t discern what their words meant. They weren’t words anymore, more muffled echoes. Everything was submerged and silent as he kept falling down and down.

He landed deep inside and stayed.

°°°

Over the next few hours a few things registered in his brain. Many voices. Some of the words would stay with him.

“She’d been gone for hours . . . in her sleep . . . a mercy.”

“Look at the poor boy, someone needs to reach James!”

“James is terrible about checking his messages when he’s deep in research. Always drove Liz nuts.”

“He can stay with us, Mom. Please.”

“I need to speak to the boy.” A man’s angry voice. Mrs. Rand whispered back harsh words. It sounded like she pushed the visitor out to the porch, shutting the door behind her.

Finn could hear him again. It was Doc Lovell. A dark fear quietly bloomed in Finn’s chest like a drop of black ink in water. Something about trust. He refused to let it wake him. He let the ink slowly dissipate and went back into his muffled world.

For the rest of the night, words and actions were performed around him. He was an uninhabited heavy planet, too full of gravity. People orbited him slowly, like cautious satellites.

Mrs. Rand gently forced him to eat something, and he took a few bites of what could have been cardboard for all he knew. This new world had no edges, no clear sounds, no taste.

At one point he found himself sitting in Gabi’s kitchen staring out the window at the birds going about their business, hopping through the wet grass and chirping as if the day were like any other. He was angry at the nerve of them. And the sun, too. There shouldn’t be any weather. There should be nothing at all.

She’s gone. She’s gone. She’s gone.

(Gone)x3. The Firth equation.

He imagined writing it on an old-fashioned green chalkboard. He saw himself small and meaningless, falling away from the green like a tiny remainder, exploding in chalk dust as he hit the floor.

The echoes died away and Finn heard something different. He opened his eyes and he was home—his living room, his couch.

Gabi’s hand was on his.

“Finn? Can I get you anything?” She squeezed his hand. He could feel that, a soft edge—suddenly his skin had a boundary. “We’re going to stay with you, Mom and I. That’s okay, right?”

There were sounds coming from across the living room, in the kitchen, nearly forgotten sounds that the house would make when someone was cooking. He looked up to see Mrs. Rand at the sink. How he wished it were Mom or Gran.

Just give me one of them back, he silently pleaded.

Gabi’s arms were around his neck.

He cried into her shoulder, burying his face so she wouldn’t see what he looked like raw.