“Of course,” Angie says.
Finn’s eyes dart to me. “Are you ready, Marlena? Or should I come back later?”
“Finn is giving me a ride home,” I explain to Angie, and as a way of giving Finn an answer that yes, I’m ready. I watch for Angie’s reaction. I don’t want Angie to think that Finn and me leaving together is a big deal, even though it’s the hugest deal. The biggest deal in my entire, sheltered life.
“Okay,” Angie says, the wheels of her mind clearly turning. I wish I knew what it was telling her. She stands up and so I do. “When will I see you next, Marlena?”
I bite my lip. “I don’t know.”
Angie looks at me hard. “Don’t forget, I’m here if there’s anything you need. If you have questions. You don’t even have to call.”
I nod. We hold each other’s stare a moment longer.
Then Angie goes to her desk, picks up a book, and flips through it, looking for something, as though Finn and I are already gone. But as he and I exit the center and cross the parking lot toward his truck, I wonder if she has made the connection, the one that has to do with my break from healings and Finn and me spending time together. This thought prompts me to glance back. When I do, I see Angie standing by the windows of her office, watching us. I can’t make out her face. The shine on the glass obscures her expression.
TWENTY-TWO
The envelope of money cracks and crinkles in my pocket as I hop into the passenger seat of Finn’s truck, like it keeps wanting to remind me that it’s there. The driver’s side door slams shut and Finn looks at me. He’s in jeans again, and a black T-shirt, sleeves long enough that no ink from his tattoo peeks out from under them. “So, Marlena, I had some thoughts about our outing today.”
The sound of his voice is like an on button, erasing everything else in my mind. I’m with Finn. He said outing, but we both know what this really is. We’re going on a sort of date. “I’m up for anything.”
“I thought we’d start simple, from your list.”
“Oh?”
We are both acting casual. I don’t know about Finn, but I don’t feel casual right now. I feel like there’s a million things I want to ask him. That I want to know.
Finn puts the truck into gear and soon we are on our way out of the parking lot and driving down the road by the sea. “An afternoon movie, and then maybe something to eat?”
“A movie in a movie theater?”
Finn laughs. “Yes, since you said you’ve never been to one.”
“I haven’t. We don’t even have television in my house. Or a computer. Well, my mother has a tablet, but I’m not allowed to use it.” But my life is changing. Maybe soon I’ll have this, too, and more. Oh yeah, and Finn, you have a photographic memory, huh?
He shifts gears and the truck goes a little faster. I roll down my window. The breeze is cool and soft.
“So you decided to take a break from healing,” he says.
I watch him as he drives, so relaxed at the wheel, and wonder if I’ll ever drive like this one day, if it will feel second nature. “I told my mother that I’m on vacation. And, surprisingly, you were right. I told her I wanted a break and now I’m on one. It’s weird, how it was so easy.” The movie theater comes into view ahead. It’s a huge gray cube of cement designed to keep out the light. The very opposite of Angie’s glass-windowed center. The sign next to it boasts sixteen options for what we might see.
Finn turns into the parking lot. “I’m hurt you’re surprised I was right. You do know I’m pretty much a genius.” He smirks a little. “Seeing that I’ve got a photographic memory and all.”
“Yeah, I did hear that.” I try not to smile. “But we’ll have to see. I have a lot of questions and I’m just not sure if I believe in your genius or not. Yet.”
He laughs as he drives down an aisle looking for a spot, then pulls into one not far from the entrance. “Touché, Marlena.”
By the time the theater goes dark, I am holding a bucket of buttery popcorn, my second candy bar of the day, and a large sugary soda. So much to take in, to eat, and so very gluttonous of me. As Finn and I sit down in the middle of one of the rows, what I really want is to hold his hand. We decided to see some romantic comedy that I’ve never heard of, because it’s not like I’m up on the latest movies. I pop the crunchy, squeaky puffs of popcorn into my mouth to give my fingers something to do, in between sips of Coke, eyes on the screen, not really seeing anything. My brain can only process Finn, Finn, Finn, the nearness of his shoulder, his skin, his palm on the armrest, so close. I want to touch him, turn my head and stare.
At one point I actually think, My mother was right about boys. Having an interest in a boy, desiring his attention, just wanting one can apparently become so all-consuming that I can think of nothing else. I don’t know if it’s just because Finn’s my first crush or if it’s specific to him, but I do know that I am consumed by Finn in a way I’ve never been consumed by anyone in my life. I mean, who could perform miracles in such a state?
My insides are fluttery and woozy and drunk. Teresa of Ávila believed she had to shut out the world so she could wind her way to the center of her soul where she believed God awaited her, while all sorts of creatures and obstacles battled her progress. In Teresa’s visions, she fought her soul demons with sword in hand. But I feel like I’ve been residing at the center of my soul for years, and my task is to fight my way out, push past Teresa on my way.
The darkness of the theater makes everything surreal and magical, makes me bolder, like how my anger yesterday made me throw mugs and call Finn and get in his truck. I set the bucket of popcorn on the floor and shift just a little in his direction, tiny increments, closing some of the distance between us. I lean on the armrest.
What will happen if I touch him, this time? What will I see? Something? Anything? Nothing at all?
His cheek is so close. If I turn my head my lips will brush his skin.
The movie plays in the background. I hear it like music in a restaurant, distant and faint. “Is this really happening?” I ask Finn, and I don’t mean the movie.
He turns. The two of us stare at each other in the shadows. “This is really happening,” he says.
“Can we go?” I ask.
“But the movie,” he starts, yet he’s already up out of his seat.
I’m up in a flash, too, following him out of the theater, my heart tripling the speed of my steps, my breath doubling it, the air and my mind fizzy and sparkling. The light of the theater lobby is blinding, my surroundings a blur as we push our way through the doors into the afternoon, returning to Finn’s truck. He drives out of the parking lot without speaking. It isn’t until we are on the road by the sea that he asks, “Where to, Marlena?”
“I know a place,” I say. And I do. I want to share something of me with Finn. No, I want to share everything. “Just a little farther down the street, there’s a place to pull over.” Finn lets me guide him where to go. He parks in a narrow lot along the low-lying park by the ocean. “This way,” I tell him after we’ve gotten out of the truck.
We slip off our shoes and pick our way across the grassy bank and over the rocks, some of them round and difficult to cross, all of them ringed by seashells underneath, some broken, some whole, and small white pebbles, smooth from the ocean. The rocks are dry, the tide low, everything dusty with sand and salt. We keep going, me leading, until we reach three great boulders that rise up to form a wall of sorts, a tiny cove of granite and slate. Beyond it is a wide gray ledge. This is where we stop.