“Yes.” His father nodded. ‘Yes. That’s the simple answer.”
Finn felt the anger burst in his chest like a bomb had gone off—a ticking time bomb, set and counting down since the day his dad had moved far, far away from his family, from his sons who had needed him.
“I need to get out, Dad.”
“Finn—”
“I need to get out, Dad!” Finn shouted, his hand on the door handle.
Jason Clyde pulled into the parking lot of a Chinese Restaurant with a quick squeal of tires and a tap on his brakes, and Finn was out before the car was completely stopped.
His father followed him, the doors to the grey rental hanging open, the car parked haphazardly, chiming insistently that the key was still in the ignition. It reminded him of the morning he’d kissed Bonnie in the Motel 6 parking lot, angry, frustrated, confused—already in love and unable to find a rational explanation for it. The memory made his legs weak, and he walked to the curb and sat abruptly.
His father sat beside him, leaving a few feet between them, but he reached out and touched Finn’s shoulder tentatively.
“Finn. You’re scared. Scared doesn’t mean weak. You’re not weak. Don’t misunderstand. You’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever known. You’re loyal. You’re steady. And I am in awe of you, son.”
Finn wanted to shake his father off, but he held himself still, waiting.
“I am in awe of you,” his father said again, emphatically, and Finn fought the rising flood inside of him with all his strength, feeling the cracks that raced and widened, threatening to break him open.
“But you are afraid, Finn. And as long as you’re afraid, you won’t ever get what you want. Take it from someone who has been afraid his entire life.” His dad’s voice broke. “You’re afraid of being like me. You’re afraid of losing yourself in the numbers, of not being there for the people who need you. You’re afraid of being who you are . . . and you’re afraid that who you are isn’t enough.”
Finn flinched, panting at the effort it took to keep his defenses in place. He wanted to bury his head in his hands, but his dad wasn’t through chipping away, though he did so softly, sympathetically, his hand never leaving Finn’s shoulder.
“You’re afraid you love Bonnie too much. You’re afraid that she’ll tell you to go, the way your mother told me to go. From the moment I married your mom, I was afraid of losing her. I fed that fear with the focus of a true mathematician. Mind over matter, they say. So when she told me she wanted a divorce, I wasn’t even surprised. I was almost relieved that I didn’t have to be afraid anymore.” Jason Clyde smiled sadly. “And if I know you, Infinity, you’ve been expecting this result from day one. You’ve been anticipating the end from the beginning.”
His father was quiet beside him for several long seconds, as if he were deliberating whether to say anymore.
“And you’re probably afraid she’ll be like Fisher, constantly getting you in trouble. And from what I can see, you might have reason to fear, in that regard.”
Finn’s dad wasn’t trying to be funny—he was deadly serious—which was what made his final statement hilarious, and Finn found himself laughing weakly as the remains of his fury receded—the flood of truth deafening and devastating, but mercifully quick and surprisingly liberating.
“If we’re being honest, that’s one of the things I like best about her,” Finn confessed. “It’s one of the things I loved about Fish, even though I pretended to hate it. I never felt more alive, more conscious, than I did with Fish. Not until Bonnie.”
“So what do you want, Finn?”
“I want to run far away and never look back. I want to lose myself in formulas and equations and patterns and numbers and never resurface. I never want to see my face on a magazine or a television show again. And I sure as hell don’t want to go back to jail.”
His dad’s jaw slackened in surprise.
“But I want Bonnie more. I want her more than all of those things put together.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to hope and pray that she still believes in Bonnie and Clyde.”
THE CHARGES AGAINST Finn had been dropped. I’d been in contact with my attorney non-stop since I’d been released, and I knew Tuesday night that he was going to be released. I called his dad. I told him Finn needed him, and I asked him to come to LA. Turns out I didn’t need to. He was already on his way.
I could have shown up at Finn’s arraignment and made a big scene for the reporters who had gathered just to see the spectacle unfold. I could have gone to the jail and waited until they released him, and we could have embraced and made a joint statement to the cameras. But I hadn’t. And I knew what some people might make of that. I knew what Finn might make of that. And that scared me.
But Gran had been right about one thing. I didn’t wish my life on Finn, even if I loved him so much I couldn’t imagine life without him. And because I loved him, I was going to give him the opportunity to walk away, if that’s what he wanted to do. Gran told me Clyde wouldn’t come. She told me he was only after one thing. Then she’d proceeded to tell me three. I told Gran he could have all of those things—sex, money, and attention—and that I would give him all of those things as often as he wanted them. Happily. For the rest of my life. And I told her to get used to it, because I was married to him, no pre-nup, no conditions, and she’d better be nice or he might divorce me and sue me for every last dime. Then where would she be?