“Yeah. He took some job…something financial.”
“Well. Whatever,” I say, with a shrug. I’m disappointed for Nina but relieved for myself. “We’re going to have a wonderful time regardless.”
* * *
—
A FEW HOURS later, Dad and I are walking into the lobby of the Frist Center. He’s wearing his only nice suit and a light blue tie I feel sure Nina picked out for him.
“Okay. She’s up in the Turner Courtyard,” he says, flustered as he reads a text message. “Where the event is being held…Do you know how to get—”
“Yes, Dad,” I say. “I know.”
“I better go before she walks down here and sees you.”
“Go. Go,” I say. “I can fend for myself.”
Dad kisses my cheek and thanks me, his unease seeming to shift into excitement. Maybe even pride. After all, it’s his award, too, and he’s come a long way since his solo carpentry and Uber days.
As he turns to go, I head to the bar to get a glass of champagne, thinking that it’s nice to be back in Nashville. I really should visit more often.
And that’s when I see him, rushing into the lobby. With glasses and short hair and a little extra weight, he looks so different. Older. Somehow changed. But as he gets closer, I can tell that he’s still unmistakably Finch, and remind myself that people seldom really change.
My instinct is to duck away and avoid him, but I make myself walk directly toward him, looking right into his eyes.
“Hello, Lyla,” he says, breathless, with flushed cheeks. He nearly hugs me but then stops, likely thinking better of it.
“So you made it after all?” I say.
“Yeah,” he says, giving me a half smile. “My boss might fire me….But I made it.”
I smile back, though I don’t fully mean it.
“Did you get my letter?” he asks.
I nod and say yes. “Thank you,” I add, though I’m not really thanking him for his letter, but for being here tonight in Tennessee, wearing a crumpled overcoat that smells like an airplane. For showing up for his mother.
He nods, looking sad but determined. “Well…we better go up….Your dad said eight o’clock, right?”
“Yes,” I say, glancing at my watch and seeing that it’s a couple minutes past. I finish my champagne, put the glass on a highboy table, then follow Finch up the steps into the ballroom.
The lights are low, but as I scan the room, I see Bonnie and a few of my dad’s old contractor buddies. The others I don’t recognize.
There is a woman at the podium, talking about Dad and Nina and the work they’re doing for abused women’s shelters across the state. Plural. I thought there was only the one in Bristol.
“Wow,” I say to myself, though Finch must hear me, because out of the corner of my eye I can see him nodding.
“Yes,” he murmurs in agreement.
A second later, Dad and Nina walk onto the stage together as everyone applauds. She is wearing an Audrey Hepburn–style pale blue dress that matches Dad’s tie and, come to think of it, the lettering on their business cards. His hand is on her back as he walks behind her, guiding her. My father has always been a gentleman in his own way, but I’ve never seen him like this before. He looks so confident, sparkling. They both sparkle.
Dad takes the microphone first, thanking everyone. But then he steps back and Nina does the talking. She speaks about their journey together, how they both were looking for a way to follow their passion and also help others. There is a slide show of women and children, smiling, laughing, playing in tree houses and tranquil communal living spaces. She talks about how materialism can lead us astray, but that we all need beauty in our lives. And a sanctuary. A home and people who will always have our backs.
She finishes, thanking everyone again. As the crowd applauds, I feel my eyes welling up and risk a glance to my left. I’m surprised to see tears streaming down Finch’s face.
Still watching Nina, he whispers, “I’m sorry. I’m just so sorry….”
Then he tilts his chin down and looks right into my eyes, and in that instant, for the first time, I forgive him. Or maybe I don’t. I’m not sure how I’ll feel later, after the emotion of the evening has worn off.
I can sense that he wants to say more to me, but this is not the time. So before he can speak, I say, “They are amazing…aren’t they?”
“Yes, they are,” he says, as we both gaze back up at Nina and my dad. His hand is on her back again, protective, so proud.
“She saved me,” I say, putting it into words for the first time.
“I know,” he says again, his tears still flowing.
Maybe he’s thinking about his younger self—and what Nina saved me from all those years ago. But maybe, I hope, he’s simply thinking about his mother—and how she somehow managed to save him, too.