31
TRIGENTA UNUS
Calla
In the morning, I want to go see Dare. But at the same time, I don’t want to be desperate. I don’t want to play games.
The memory of his piano music drifting through my house last night buoys me, though, keeps me from panicking.
He’s trying to do an honorable thing. I feel it in my bones. And just as much, I feel the connection to him, loud and strong, tugging and tugging me toward him. I know he feels it too. And because of that, I can’t let myself worry.
It’ll work out. It has to.
So with a last glance over my shoulder, I walk away from his door, certain that I’ll see him sooner rather than later.
With the sun shining on my shoulders, I decide to take a walk.
I wind through the trails, working my way up toward the cliffs rather than down toward the sea.
When I get to the top, I’m surprised to find Finn sitting too close to the edge.
Startled, I stop, my pink chucks freezing in place.
Finn’s black ones dangle over the side and he kicks his feet casually, not looking one bit concerned that the edge could break away at any moment.
“Finn,” I say slowly, trying not to startle him, “Move away from the edge.”
He looks over his shoulder at me, unconcerned. “Hey, Cal. Did you know that nutmeg is incredibly deadly if it’s injected?”
This freezes me, too.
“You don’t know that firsthand, right?” I stare at him, examining his arms for injection marks.
He rolls his eyes. “You know I hate nutmeg.”
I can’t breathe. “I also know you’re sitting too close to the edge. Move back. Carefully.”
He doesn’t move, and I see tiny balls of clay rolling around him, dropping off the edge. My heart pounds in my ears.
“Want to go to the lighthouse today?” he asks, like he didn’t even hear me. He stares out over the water toward the beacon, watching the gulls fly around it.
“Yeah,” I tell him quickly. “Let’s go right now.”
With another shrug, Finn clumsily gets to his feet, one of his shoes breaking off a piece of the edge. It plunges over the side, but Finn doesn’t even notice. He just walks to me like sitting on a cliff is the most natural thing in the world, like he is completely oblivious to the danger.
I throw my arms around him and hug him tight.
“What is wrong with you?” I whisper into his neck, inhaling his sweaty skin. “Why would you do that?”
“Do what?” he asks innocently. “I just wanted a good view.”
“You know it’s dangerous.” I pull away and stare into his eyes. “You know that.”
“And you know that I was far enough back to be safe.”
He tells me the same thing I told him the other day, only it’s not true in his case.
“You were on the edge,” I tell him shakily. To that, he shrugs.
“I still am.”
He walks away down the trail, whistling a tune that sends goose-bumps down my spine. The song that Dare played on the piano last night.
He heard it. He knew Dare was in the house and it upset him. That’s what this has to be about.
I skid down the trail to catch up.
“Are you upset because I’m close with Dare now? Because you have to know that you’re the most important thing to me, Finn. You’ll always be the most important thing. No matter what.”
He pauses and looks back at me.
“Calla, you’re overthinking this. Nothing is wrong with me. I’m not mad at you.”
And then he continues on his way.
I trip along side of him, trying to stay calm, and I do a very good job of it, too, until we walk halfway up the beach, and I see something silver glinting in the sand. Jogging ahead, I bend down and pick up Finn’s St. Michael’s medallion.
Speechless, I let it dangle in my fingers while Finn catches up.
“Why did you throw this out?” I demand. “I get that you don’t want to wear it right now, but this was a gift from mom. She gave it to you, Finn. You can’t just throw it out.”
He shrugs and I’m getting tired of all his shrugs.
“If you want it, you can have it,” he tells me nonchalantly and I want to scream.
“I don’t want it. I want you to want it. It’s yours. Our dead mother gave it to you. You should want it.”
I’m practically yelling now, and Finn doesn’t flinch, and doesn’t react at all. He just stares at me, with his pale blue eyes the same color as the sky.
“But I don’t,” he says lightly. I stay frozen in place, the necklace clutched in my hand while Finn walks out onto a rock walkway and sits staring out at the water. He’s quiet, he’s pensive, and something is most certainly wrong.
I feel it in my bones, in my heart, in the hidden and dark place where a twin knows.
So I do the only thing I can.
I’ve got to get help from a professional, from someone who Finn tells the things he won’t tell me.
I rush back home and climb in my car. I drive down the mountain, through town and to the hospital. When I get there, I shove the medallion in my pocket. God knows I can’t give it back to Finn. He’s likely to throw it out and I’ll never find it again.
I walk numbly through the halls, past the abstract bird painting and into the Group room. I’m interrupting a session and everyone turns to stare at me curiously. Jason, the therapist, gets up and crosses the room. He’s short and blond, and his steps are long. He reaches me quickly.
“Calla,” he says, assessing my face. “Is everything all right?”
With his arm on my elbow, he leads me into the hallway, so I don’t instill panic into his precious patients.
“There’s something wrong with Finn,” I tell him abruptly. “I can’t figure it out, and he won’t tell me. Do you know?”
Jason stares at me, his hand patting my back, as he tries to figure out how to calm down a frantic woman. I’m annoyed, because like my father and his grieving clients, Jason is supposed to know how to handle upset people. He’s a therapist, for God’s sake.
Finally, he shakes his head. “I don’t know, Calla. He hasn’t said anything to me. But even if he had, you know I can’t share that with you. It’s confidential.”
“Even if he’s a danger to himself?” I demand. “He was on the edge of the cliffs this morning. And then he told me that he was on the edge and it wasn’t a metaphor, Jason. He’s in serious trouble. His hands have been shaking and I’m afraid he’s stopped taking his meds. Has he said anything to you?”
Jason hesitates, then stares seriously into my eyes.
“I can’t say. But what I can say is that Finn hasn’t been to group in weeks.”
Those words slam into me with the weight of a freight train and I stand limply in front of the therapist.
“Weeks?” The word scrapes my lungs. “That’s impossible. I’ve been driving him myself.”
Jason shakes his head regretfully. “You might be driving him here, but he’s not coming in. I’m sorry, Calla.”
He’s sorry. My brother is losing it, and his therapist is sorry.
My blood boils and I whirl around.
“Why didn’t you tell someone?” I demand before I walk away. “You’re supposed to be helping him, for God’s sake.
It’s no wonder Finn always calls out for me. I’m the only one he can count on.
I storm through the hospital and slam my car door hard enough to shatter the half-open driver’s side window.
I’m covered in pellets of safety glass as I sit hunched over the steering wheel.
Perfectus.
To make matters worse, because it’s Oregon, it starts to rain as I drive. I lean away from the door as the rain blows the precipitation in. By the time I get home, I’m drenched.
I slam the car door again, as hard as I can.
It echoes through the yard, or so I imagine.
I take the stairs three at a time, and before long, I’m standing in front of my father again. He’s startled by my drowned rat appearance.
“I just came from the hospital,” I tell him harshly. “Finn hasn’t been going to Group. So if you weren’t worried before, you should be now.”
My father stares at me blankly, something that infuriates me.
“Dad, you’ve got to live in the present right now. I know you’re sad. I know you have gin in that coffee cup.” He looks at his glass and then looks up me guiltily. “Did you wonder why your open bottle was gone the other night? It’s because I drank it and you didn’t even notice. Dare cleaned me up and took care of me, not you.”
My father looks horrified and appalled but I don’t pause.
“Finn needs you. He needs you right now.”
My father’s head drops and he stares at his hands, at the mug in his hands. “I’m sorry, Calla. I’m sorry that you think I’ve checked out. I haven’t. I love you, and I love Finn.”
My heart softens at the sight of his broken expression. “I know,” I tell him softly. “I’m sorry I’m so angry. I’m just… Finn. I’m worried about Finn.”
“I know,” he tells me. “We’ll figure it out. I promise.”
“Do you know where he is?” I ask as I head toward the stairs.
“No.”
I don’t turn back around, I just leap up the stairs. Finn’s not there. Not in his bedroom or mine or on the top floor at all. I go back downstairs and search every room, even the Visitation rooms. He’s simply not here.
As I stand in the kitchen, trying to figure out where he might’ve gone, my attention is drawn to a pad of paper lying on the counter.
One word is scrawled over and over.
NOCTE.
And with that, I know where I have to go.