Page 114 of Wood Riddance
As soon as Adele broke the news about her pregnancy, I called Owen and filled him in on all the details. He hooked me up with a lawyer, and together, the three of us got to work on my business plan. This was happening.
Despite the recent friction between Owen and me, he was and always had been dependable. If anyone recognized my need to build something of my own, it was him. He was even coming with me to Bangor this week to meet with the bank and had offered to handle all the accounting for me.
I was searching real estate listings for a piece of property where I could build a hangar and small runway and set up my base of operations. I’d also been in contact with a few ski resorts in the area about potential helicopter contracts. Our projections showed that I was a few years away from being able to purchase a helo, but I’d get there.
I’d been out of the Navy for more than two years, and every day, I’d struggled with feeling adrift. Going through the motions while doing everything I could to be the best father I could be to Merry while simultaneously living in a town that hated my entire family.
But my life and outlook were changing. Adele had changed me. Her belief in me had helped me bust through so many silly barriers I’d created in my mind. It wasn’t only the big stuff, either. She listened to my ideas and asked thoughtful questions. Her unwavering faith in my abilities as a pilot and to build my own business fueled me to keep going. With Adele, I was finally ready to turn my dreams into reality.
I was better for it. For her. More patient, more hopeful, and more grateful. And now we were having a baby. Keeping this secret from Merry was damn near killing me, but I was committed to taking every step alongside Adele. Our first step, though, had to be tackling her family. When I finally broke the news to my little girl, she would be so thrilled.
Adele might not have been ready to accept the eventuality yet, but she was going to be my wife. Like I’d done at every turn, I had to give her time and space to get used to the idea, but I’d be locking it down in the not-so-distant future. Together, we’d build a beautiful life that was completely our own. It wouldn’t be easy or simple—the best things never were—but it would be amazing.
Every day, I itched to see her, desperate to fill her in on new details and strategize side by side. The whiteboard she’d surprised me with a few weeks ago was already hanging in my living room, covered with scribbled notes and ideas. That woman sure loved a whiteboard. Recently, she’d been going on about some Japanese organization technique using Post-its, which made my brain hurt. But once I had a real office, I’d give it a try. My girl ran a tight ship; I could learn a lot from her.
My fingers itched to text her, to tell her about my calls this morning. But I couldn’t intrude. Today was the big adoption day. Her family had been looking forward to this for years, and although I longed to be with her, this was not the time to fill her brothers in on our relationship. This day was about Tucker and Marigold and Alice and Henri, and I refused to dampen their joy or steal an ounce of the attention they deserved.
So I did what I always did when nervous energy was threatening to bubble over. I grabbed my sneakers and went for a run.
Early October was breathtaking up here. The leaves had already turned, creating an epic autumn wonderland. I headed up the hill and began the full loop around town, crossing the river and waving to the group of old men who were fishing from the bank.
I was bursting with excitement and ideas. My brain was running at a pace my feet could only dream of. As I made my way back through town, I headed down Birch Street toward my childhood home. I figured I could refill my water bottle and see if Mom was home.
I didn’t visit my mom nearly enough. Merry spent a lot of time with her, but since moving home, I’d struggled with how to kick-start our relationship. We’d never had a falling out, and there was no bad blood, but for years I hadn’t put in much effort. Now, each time I thought of her, shame washed over me. I should do better. No. I would do better.
“Finn!” she squealed when she saw me on the porch. “Get over here and hug your mother.”
“Mom,” I huffed, pulling in deep breaths, “I’m all sweaty.”
She waved me off. She was dressed in leopard-print scrubs and her nursing clogs. “I don’t have to leave for a bit. Get in here.” Debbie Hebert was a tall woman with shoulder-length gray hair and a peaceful, calm demeanor. She loved astrology and crochet, and she had created an environment that allowed us to live somewhat free-range while still sheltered within her loving support. My days spent in her home were the kind most kids dreamed of.
Unlike my father, she never yelled and she rarely lectured. Instead, she let us make our mistakes, knowing we’d grow from each one. Yet she was always there to help us pick up the pieces in the aftermath.
No sooner had I sat down at the kitchen table than she was trying to cook for me. The tiny kitchen where I had inhaled so many meals as a kid and teen looked different.
“Did you get new countertops?”
She smiled widely. “Oh yes. Quartz. Backsplash too.” My mother’s house was within walking distance of the small downtown area. She’d bought it after she and Dad divorced, and she’d spent the last thirty years fixing the place up to her exact specifications.
“That awful laminate needed to go.”
“Looks gorgeous, Mom.” It truly did. The home was a small cape, with three bedrooms and a large white porch, complete with rocking chairs. The large yard had been home to hundreds of football games and dozens of Easter egg hunts over the years. The place wasn’t grand by any means, but it had always felt like home.
She beamed at me. “I enjoy it—choosing things, doing the renovations. Now that you’re all grown and out of my hair, I can finally have nice things. There were some years, God… I should have bought a barn and given the five of you each a hay bale to sleep on.”
She wasn’t far off. With five massive boys in the house, six when Cole was around, we put a lot of wear and tear on the place. We’d all learned to patch drywall and replaced cracked tiles. They were necessary skills after arguments between brothers or roughhousing that got out of hand. And I’d need at least an extra set of hands to count all the broken windows we’d had to replace over the years.
“To what do I owe the pleasure, hmm?” she asked, raising one brow.
I gave her a soft smile, still feeling nostalgic as I scanned the room. “I missed you.”
“Oh Jesus, are you okay? Is Merry okay?” Her brow was furrowed, and her mouth was turned down in a concerned frown. “Something is off, isn’t it?” She put her hands on her hips and stepped closer. “Out with it.”
“It’s not like that, Mom. Everything is amazing, actually.”
She scrutinized me, no doubt searching for the lie, and waited me out. Unlike me, my mom had no trouble being still. It had always unnerved me, and it got me talking every time. It was one of her mom ninja tricks. She’d sit still and stare at us until we spilled.
“I’m finally starting my business. Filed the papers and got insurance. Owen and I are going to the bank on Wednesday.”
