Even though the cabin was outfitted with an alarm system, she and George rarely bothered to set it unless they were headed home to Ohio. It had been years since her in-laws had stored anything of real value here, and the kids were prone to tripping the alarm, a nuisance to the adults who did not always dial in the “all clear” code in time. But Caitlin needed that nuisance now. The problem was, she’d given Finn the security code yesterday, when he’d stood in her kitchen, making demands.
She walked deliberately to the keypad beside the front door, shielded the screen from Finn’s view, and began working her way through the settings. Finally, she found the reset option. She changed the code to her ATM pin, a number she wouldn’t forget and Finn wouldn’t guess. The system beeped three times to indicate that it was live, and Caitlin felt a little better. If any door or window was opened during the night, the alarm would go off. Caitlin would be right here in the living room to hear it, and even if she somehow failed to stop Finn from making off with Bear, the police would be on his heels before he could get far.
Of course, if that happened, they’d be on her heels too.
She stole a glance at Finn, but he was looking out through the sliding glass doors toward the lake—admiring the last silvery glint of daylight on the water or strictly avoiding her eyes, she couldn’t say. If Finn could manage to find a way to sneak out of here on his own—if she awakened here tomorrow to find only Bear, and not his fugitive father—that wouldn’t be such a bad thing, would it? Come to think of it, Caitlin would prefer it if he had a change of heart and opted out of this mess. She’d still have some explaining to do, but at least she could return Bear to his mother, with minimal collateral damage to her own family in the process.
She helped herself to a beer she had no intention of actually drinking and joined Finn on the couch, curling her legs beneath her on the opposite end. She knew the bond still existed between them. It was like a habit—and if they’d fallen back into it earlier, they could do it again. If she could manage to tap back into that mutual sense of familiarity while the kids were in bed, then maybe she could use it to shackle the elephant in the room—to actually reach Finn.
“It’s not as if I’m going to forget that we’re not on a pleasure trip here, Cait,” he said, and she was unnerved that his mind-reading abilities—always a marvel in their friendship—were sharp as ever.
“Let’s play that game we used to play,” she said. “Either Or.”
He rolled his eyes, but she pretended not to notice.
“This thing with Vi. Would you say it’s more about something, or someone?”
He tipped back his beer bottle and took a long swig. “Someone.”
“And is that someone Violet, or not Violet?”
“It depends on what you mean by that.”
“So not Violet.” She smiled. “Is this someone me, or not me?”
Another eye roll.
“Whew. Glad we got that out of the way. Is this someone from the past, or the present?”
“What the hell do you think, Caitlin?”
“I’m asking you.”
He didn’t answer. Caitlin pressed her bare toes into the soft leather of the couch cushion. “Do you remember what an asshole Jake was to me in college?” she asked suddenly.
“Jake the Snake? The serial cheater? Who could forget?”
“Well, before that, I was head over heels for the guy. As I’m sure you also remember.”
“Why are we talking about Jake the Snake?”
Caitlin picked at her beer label, the way she used to on first dates when she was nervous. “Because back when George and I couldn’t get pregnant, I found myself thinking about Jake. Wondering what might have been if things had turned out differently—if he hadn’t cheated. Or if I’d forgiven him. Wondering if he’d gotten married and had kids of his own. Wondering if he and I would have had an easier time having a kid.”
Finn gave a mirthless laugh. “You found a different solution to that problem.”
She ignored him. “The point is, it’s easy to romanticize the past. If I can do it with Jake the Snake, of all people, if I can daydream him back into a suit of armor after all the shit he put me through, imagine how easily one might retrospectively transform a good past relationship into a perfect one.”
“I’m not ‘retrospectively transforming’ it into something that was perfect. It was perfect.”
“Lots of things seem perfect at first. You think Maribel was your ‘one true love,’ is that what this is all about? Get real! You and Maribel just never had a chance to screw things up!”
At the sound of Maribel’s name, Finn’s whole body changed. Somehow his stiffened, hunched stance managed to look both defensive and defeated. Like a frightened, wounded, wild animal.
“Oh, I’d say I screwed it up beyond most people’s definition of what that could even possibly look like, wouldn’t you?” His voice was hollow, cold, and Caitlin at once realized both the insensitivity of her jab and the unreachable depth of Finn’s wound. Still, Finn was used to people avoiding the topic, or apologizing or backing down when it came up. To follow his lead as he retreated into that bottomless pit would only trap both of them. She had to steer him around it.
“Wouldn’t you say you’re doing the same with Violet now?” she countered. “The thing is, what happened with Maribel, everyone knows that was an accident. But what you’re doing now—there’s no excuse. You want to decide things with Violet are null and void, fine. I don’t get it, but fine. But this is so, so far from what’s best for Bear.”
But Finn went on with his rant as if he hadn’t heard her. “Never had a chance to screw things up with Maribel? I made the ultimate relationship-ending mistake. The only one, in fact, that you really, really can’t come back from, no matter how much you want to!” Even as he was folding inside of himself, shrinking into the couch cushion, he looked as if he could pounce on her at any second, overpowering her to the ground with misplaced rage.
Sympathy welled up in her, but she fought it back. “Quit with the sob story, Finn. This isn’t about that.” She was surprised by the firmness in her voice. “A little perspective here, please. All I’m saying is that what the two of you had, it was special, but it only lasted a year, okay? I know you didn’t think that was fast at the time, but think of it now. Now that you’re a father, you know as well as I do, a year is like this.” She snapped her fingers. “It’s like they say, the days are long, but the years are short. And Violet’s days are really long right now, Finn. The longest.”
Finn looked away.
She leaned forward. She was starting to feel desperate. “Okay. So it was the perfect year with Maribel. Is it really fair to Violet for you to put a perfect year with someone else—someone you can’t have anymore, as you so eloquently pointed out—up on a pedestal over her? Over a chance to have many years ahead of you with a real-life person who I’m sure has flaws as a wife but who loves you, and is the mother of your child?”
Finn didn’t answer.
“I thought you had worked through this,” Caitlin said quietly.
He turned his eyes on her. “What made you think that?” he snapped. “You never asked.”
Caitlin recoiled. “Well, gee, let’s see. You, um, married Violet. Excuse me for assuming that meant you had come to terms with what happened with Maribel. I’m sure only everyone else drew the same conclusion.”