“Don’t go,” Finn says.
I stop.
He doesn’t move his hand. Instead, he presses it more firmly against me. His touch sends stars streaming before my eyes, bright and bursting. I can’t tell the difference between desire, longing, and visions when I’m with Finn. Maybe they’re one and the same with him.
“Please stay.”
“I’m such an idiot,” I whisper.
“You’re not.”
“Stop being so nice to me. I know. I know the deal. You’ll never want me now.” The glass has gone warm against my forehead. I slump back against the passenger seat. “And why would you? I try to pretend like I might be normal, like I could be, but I’m not and never will be. I was crazy to think someone like me might have a chance with someone like you.” My eyes are on my lap. “I’m so mortified,” I whisper.
“Marlena,” Finn says. “You’re not crazy. Don’t be embarrassed. Please.” His fingers slide along my arm until they reach my hand. He takes it into his and holds it. “I’ve thought about kissing you,” he says.
Red, pink, and orange flashes before me. I don’t know what’s real and what’s not. I turn to Finn, see him through the sunrise in my eyes. “You have?”
He stares out the front of the truck, but doesn’t let go of my hand. “Since the first moment I saw you.”
“Really?”
“Yes. You think you feel crazy, but I’m the one who’s felt crazy. I . . . I shouldn’t be thinking of you this way.”
“Why? Because of Angie’s study?”
He returns my hand to my lap and places his on the gear shift. The colors in my vision fade. He shakes his head. “Mostly it’s because of me. And because of who you are. Because I don’t know what to make of you.”
His words are vague, but I know where he’s going. “Because you don’t believe in me.”
Finn sighs. “That’s pretty much the first thing I said to you.”
“I don’t care.”
“Shouldn’t you?”
“What I care about is that you see me as Marlena. Not Marlena the Healer or Marlena the Saint, but just as me.”
“But you’re not . . .”
“I’m not normal?” I finish. I wait for Finn to confirm this, that no, I could never be normal to him, that he could never see me as just Marlena. Or to convince me that he could see me this way. That one day he will. Instead of responding to my question, Finn changes the subject. “Are you going to tell me what happened to make you call me?”
The air deflates from my lungs. Answers enter my mind and leave the other side.
It wasn’t because I wanted to try and kiss you.
It wasn’t to confess my feelings for you.
“I don’t know. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
Finn rolls down his window. I roll down mine. We sit there, watching gulls circle and dive, circle and dive. The sound of the waves slapping the rocks helps to lessen the tension. I hope the fire in my cheeks is fading.
Eventually Finn speaks. “Let’s go get something to eat. You won’t tell me what happened, but I’m assuming you’re not ready to go home yet. Right?”
“Yes. Right. I don’t want to go home.”
Finn shifts into gear and backs up the truck a little. “Okay, then.”
We pull out into the street.
“Where are we going?”
He shrugs. “You’ll see.”
I stare at my gauzy white sheath, the long pale sweater over it. The ends of Finn’s soft gray scarf. I wish I could go home and change my clothes. This is definitely not how I thought this day would turn out. The truck rumbles over a pothole and the two of us bounce. The bottom of his heart tattoo is visible, then hidden, visible, then hidden under his sleeve as Finn shifts and turns the wheel. It has the effect of seeming to beat.
“Marlena . . .”
I bite my lip. The heart on his skin flashes bright as the red sun of morning. Or maybe my eyes are playing tricks. “What?”
“I do see you as Marlena. But you are still Marlena the Healer. This . . . this magical creature who I watched walk among the sick on Saturday, like some sort of apostle. I can’t exactly forget that part.”
“Can you try?” I ask.
I expect him to say yes, but he doesn’t.
He presses his lips tight and concentrates on the road.
EIGHTEEN
“I’ve always wanted to do simple things,” I tell Finn.
He looks up, mouth full of lemon merengue. He swallows. “What do you mean?”
We are sitting at a picnic table by the ocean. Long flat rocks jut out toward the sea. The sky is still gray. This setting, the peace and beauty of it, clashes with the angry chaos of my morning. My heart keeps speeding up, skipping, then abruptly slowing down, a child playing tag. But I like the world at this odd, heady angle.
Finn brought us to a ramshackle cottage on the side of the road, painted a pale blue. On the shingled wall next to the windows is a homemade sign that says “THE PIE SHOP” in block letters. Each one is a bit imperfect, slanting to the left or right, wider in some places and narrower in others. Inside the shelves are packed floor to ceiling with chocolate bars from all over the world, the kind that are hard to find. The rest is a kitchen where three people are hard at work cutting and chopping and baking. A long display case brims with all kinds of pies. Savory, sweet. Some vegan, some vegetarian, and plenty for carnivores.
I’ve lived here my entire life, but I didn’t know this place existed.
Shows how much I get out.
I look down at the oblong pie I’ve been devouring, half of it gone, the crust crumbling where I’ve attacked it with my fork. Steak and cheddar. I don’t know why I picked it, but it’s delicious. “Simple things like, I don’t know, this, for example,” I tell Finn. “Eating with a friend.”
“So we’re friends?” Finn asks.
Something flutters in me. Do I want to confirm that we’re friends, when what I really want is for us to be more? Finn answers before I can respond.
“Wow, I see how it is, Marlena,” he says, but he is laughing. “Don’t let me pressure you or anything. We don’t have to be friends.”
I hesitate, sensing this moment is important. An image flashes. Is it a vision or a simple thought? It’s of me, reaching out, taking a step. Finn is waiting for me, a few feet away. The picture fades. “It’s just that, well, um.” How can I explain? “It’s difficult for me to know what a friend is. I’m only recently learning what it means to have one. I’ve been sheltered from other people. Everyone but my mother. She keeps me, our life, very private. But lately I don’t want to live like this anymore, and the more I want to be free, the more my mother wants to imprison me.” I stab at the pie to give myself something to concentrate on other than Finn. “Hence, I do things like demand a kiss from a boy I hardly know at the absolute wrong moment because I have no idea what I’m doing. Or what other people do in such situations.”
Finn lays his fork on the table. “I wasn’t making fun of you. Or, if it seemed that way, I didn’t mean it to.”
I resist the urge to dig into my plate again to distract myself from the nervous feeling in my chest. “I know. It’s okay.”
Finn’s hand is flat across the weather-worn boards, not far from my own. “I’m glad you called me,” he says quietly. “You should consider me a friend.”
“Are you sure that’s what you want?” At first I don’t realize the different ways this question might be interpreted, but I don’t take it back. The breeze floats around us. As I wait for Finn to answer, I want to inch my fingers toward his hand. A car drives by on the road beside us. It sounds loud, like someone turned up the volume on the world. Finn’s eyes drop to the table, and he pushes the conversation in a different direction.
“Tell me about the simple things you’ve wanted to try. I want a list.”
I grab my fork, stab
bing the pie, trying not to be disappointed. “I don’t want to bore you. Or make you think I’m even more of a freak than you already do.”
Finn raises one eyebrow, something I’ve read about in books but never seen anyone do. “I don’t think you’re a freak, but obviously you think you are. And I’ll remind you that technically, I’m kind of freakish, given my age and that I’m already getting my PhD. So let’s just say I want to know some of the things on your list so maybe I can assist in the effort to defreak you. Or maybe we can normalize each other, since it hasn’t occurred to you that I also might need help in that department.”
I swallow the bite I’ve just taken, then laugh. “I’ll tell you some of the things on my list, but only in the effort to help you out.”
“Of course. I really appreciate that.”
Things pop into my mind. I try to pick through them. There are so many and they appear at random. “Going for a swim on the beach.”
“You’ve never been swimming?”
“Not like a normal person. Not in a bathing suit.”
“Normal for you is skinny-dipping?” Finn asks, laughing again.
“That’s not what I meant.” I shake my head, cracking up. “Okay, moving on. Going to a party. You know, with people my age.” I keep going. “School. I’ve never been to school or class or had a locker. I’ve only read about those things in books.” Finn is staring like he wants to speak, but has decided to be patient so I can get through my list. “I’ve never been to a movie. I’ve never gone on a road trip. I’ve never had a sleepover. I’ve never been allowed to dress like a normal person, at least not openly.” My heart rushes forward, beating at the insides of my rib cage. “Even though I’m eighteen, I’ve never driven a car, never even sat behind the wheel of one. And I’ve never been . . . out on a date.” My eyes dart toward the spray of ocean rising up from the rocks. “There’s plenty more but I’ll stop there.”
Finn says nothing.
“What? Now you realize what you’ve gotten yourself into, offering to help me out with this list?” My question sounds cheerful, but underneath it is insecurity.
“No. It just makes me sad that being a healer has kept you from . . . from living.”
“I’m living.” I swallow. “Right now.”
The silence that follows is frustrating. I can tell Finn is holding back again. He’s like a soda can that started gushing after being shaken but then somehow stopped. I want to shake him up again, like I did when I told him I wanted to kiss him in his truck.
“You’ve never been out on a date?” Finn asks finally.
And here we are. Where I want to be. But will the outcome be bad or good?
I bite my lip. Then shrug. “Maybe not.”
“Ever?”
What is the right answer here?
“Maybe never?”
“Okay,” Finn says.
“Does that freak you out?”
There’s a beat before he answers. “Stop saying that word. And no.”
“Does it surprise you?”
“No,” he answers, this time too quickly.
“Is this a date?” I ask, just as quickly.
There is a long pause.
“Maybe?” Now it’s Finn’s turn to be uncertain. “Do you want it to be?”
I nod, but don’t speak. Words might shatter the moment.
“I want it to be, too,” he says quietly.
I smile, but only a little so as not to wear my joy too boldly. I look down at my thin cotton sheath and pull at the ends of Finn’s scarf. “This isn’t how I imagined I’d be dressed for my first date. Like an escaped mental patient.”
Finn laughs, loud this time. “You do not look like an escaped mental patient.”
“You said it yourself once, when I was visiting Angie’s office!”
“I was kidding!” He holds out his arms and appraises his T-shirt. The heart tattoo is in full view.
“You literally wear a heart on your sleeve,” I observe.
“Oh.” He drops his arms and it disappears under his shirt. “Yeah.”
“What’s the tattoo about?”
He looks at the sea. A little slice of sun has peeked out from the clouds and soft yellow rays slant over the water. “I’ll tell you another time.”
“Look who’s being mysterious.”
He shakes his head. I guess he’s not giving out this information today.
The breeze has picked up. The afternoon is waning. “My mother is going to kill me when I go home.”
Finn’s eyes narrow.
“What?” I ask him.
“Your mother . . .”
“My mother . . . ?”
“You can’t let her rule you.”
I press my fingertip into one of the crumbs on my plate. “Easier said than done.”
“You have more power than you realize.”
“Right.”
“Of course you do. I was at your audience. You have all the power, not your mother. I saw what you did.”
My eyes flicker up. Seek Finn across the table. “And what did you see?”
“I saw . . .”
What?
“What?”
“I saw a girl performing . . . miracles.” This last word is a disbelieving whisper.
“Did you?”
His eyebrows arch. “Did I?”
I remember the rush of faith I felt this morning. “Yes,” I tell him, and in this moment, it is the truth. I believe in myself. I was there, after all, on Saturday. I am Marlena, the Healer, the Saint. It isn’t a fairy tale. I am not a fairy tale.
“What does it feel like?” Finn asks.
I push my plate to the side and lean my elbows onto the table. “Honestly, it feels amazing. Like the most intimate moment you’ve ever had with another person, like your soul and theirs are connected. An instance of perfect unity.”
“Wow.”
“And it’s not just emotional. I see so much. There are colors, and I can hear everything. Like the essence of a person is composed of music.”
“Marlena,” Finn breathes.
I can tell he is rapt. “Yes?”
“But?”
He knows. He knows there is more. And there is. The anger, the uncertainty bubbles up, as I think of how to go on. “But there is a dark side to my healings. It’s exhausting, and it gets more so as I get older.” I think of the people Mrs. Jacobs brought to my audience a few months back. “Sometime I wonder if my gift is waning, or growing more unpredictable, if sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t. And sometimes I’ve wondered if my gift is not from God like my mother says, but from the devil, like I might be dipping into a spring in hell and pulling up water from its fires for people to drink.” I shiver. “Wow, that is something I’ve never said out loud.” I pause, and Finn leans forward. “Sometimes, I wonder if the cost of healing someone is my own well-being. Like, I’m draining my health and passing it on to them. Like, maybe one day, I’ll end up depleted and sick and incurable. That death will be my punishment for keeping people alive.”
“That’s horrible.”
“But even worse,” I go on, because I can’t seem to stop, “I’m just . . . alone. We don’t even have other family. I have my mother and . . . no one. Nothing. Healing and some books about women who lived hundreds of years ago. It’s been nice to have Angie. And you. It’s the first time I’ve disobeyed the rules of this life so that I can do something I want. Something my mother didn’t approve.”
Finn is thoughtful. Calm. Some of that calm reaches across the table and flows into me, like a balm. “Why don’t you take a break?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know, take some time off from healing?”
I shake my head. The idea seems ridiculous. Impossible. “I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because being a healer doesn’t work that way. Because my mother would never allow it,” I add, realizing this is true.
“You said she would never
allow you to meet with Angie, but you’re doing it. You’re eighteen. You can make your own decisions.”
A giant wave slaps into the rocks, followed by a loud splash. The force of it matches the feelings surging in me. “But I’ve never known anything different.”
“And you never will, unless you allow yourself to.”
Could I really do what Finn is suggesting?
“But my mother . . .”
“Can’t force you to do anything you’re unwilling to do.”
“It’s complicated,” I say.
He takes a deep breath. “Life is complicated. That’s never going to change. It’s not a reason to avoid doing something you want to do. And need to.” The look in Finn’s eyes is sincere and beautiful and open. No one has ever looked at me like this, not even at my healings. I don’t think I knew until now how much I’ve yearned for someone to see me this way. I don’t know what to say. I almost want to run away.
“Finn.”
He waits for me to go on.
“I should go,” I whisper.
“Oh.” He sounds disappointed. “I’ll take you home.”
He starts to get up and so do I, but my dress gets caught on the bench and I go tumbling to the ground.
“Are you all right?”
I try to laugh off my spill. “I’m fine.” There are grass stains on the white sheath to add to the coffee-stained slippers. What a mess. I hope that Finn will hold out his hand to help me get up, but he doesn’t.
“You’ve given me a lot to think about.” I look at him from my crouch on the ground. “But there’s one thing I don’t have to think about.”
“What’s that?”
“I want to see you again. I mean, not just at Angie’s center.”
“Okay,” he says.
“All right.”
“All right.”
Finn reaches toward me.
When I take his hand, as he pulls me up, I see suns and stars, streaks of color. I see a swirl of red at Finn’s center, vibrant and beautiful. But there is something else. Sorrow. A sorrow I can’t quite explain or express, a pool of it collecting behind the red.
Once I am standing, Finn lets go. The joyful colors, the suns and stars, the watery sorrow fade. I wait and breathe, breathe and wait, until eventually they disappear. The only thing that remains is the knowledge, the certainty, that my life, my real life, is finally about to begin. That, in fact, it already has.
The Healer Page 12