LITMIR.BIZ

       CHAPTER FIVE

      FINN DROVE SLOWLY down the main drag of Fairhaven, keeping his eye out for Rufus’s red-gold coat and the fringed tail that waved like a flag. The town had changed since he’d lived here. The Mexican restaurant was still there and the secondhand bookstore. But alongside the historic buildings there were trendy stores selling eco-this and organic that. The Alaska ferry and a cruise ship were in port and shoals of tourists roamed the streets.

      It took all of three minutes to drive through town and then he was heading south on Chuckanut Drive. Now that his pulse had finally slowed and his breathing was even, he tried to put the incident at the café into perspective. Maybe sixty people witnessed today. What exactly had they seen? A guy declining an invitation to get onstage. Big deal. They didn’t know he’d broken out in a cold sweat or that his heart rate had shot to two hundred plus beats per minute.

      Get over yourself, Farrell. Nobody ever died from embarrassment. He might be well known in songwriting circles but hardly anyone outside that world had heard of him. And that was just fine.

      But it bothered him that Carly had witnessed his humiliation—again. He cared about what she thought of him. Twelve years on the shame of that concert still burned hot and bright, the pain still raw.

      He slowed as he passed the mudflats at the mouth of Chuckanut Creek and came to Teddy Bear Cove. Irene used to walk Rufus here but the pebbled shoreline was empty. It didn’t seem likely the dog would have gone this far overnight. At the end of Chuckanut he looped back to Fairhaven along the freeway.

      Taking the off-ramp back into town, Finn turned down a side road where the houses were smaller and the cars older. The Mustang’s engine rumbled as he cruised through the quiet, familiar streets. Slowing, he pulled to a stop outside the house where he’d grown up, gray stucco with an asphalt tile roof. The trim had been painted a cream color and the gravel driveway was paved. His parents were doing better since he’d left. Well, sure, they had more money to spend now that they weren’t paying for his musical tuition.

      He saw the house as if with X-ray vision. The small bedroom he and his big brother Joe had shared, their walls covered with posters of rock bands and hot cars. The living room and the upright piano his mom had bought secondhand. She’d been his first teacher, showing him the scales and how to play simple tunes. There was the kitchen where the family had sat around the table playing board games in the evenings. And the backyard, scene of extended family gatherings with aunts, uncles and a mess of younger cousins.

      A man with close-cropped gray hair and glasses, dressed in jeans and an old sweatshirt, came through the carport pushing a lawn mower. It took Finn a moment to recognize with shock that it was his dad, Ron Farrell. Twelve years had wrought big changes—the gray hair, creased forehead, a mouth bracketed by deep grooves. The signs of aging brought home just how long Finn had been away and how much of his parents’ lives he’d missed. He knew some things from talking to his brother but that wasn’t the same as spending time together, or hearing about the day-to-day stuff. He ached for that lost time.

      His father was about to start the mower when he noticed the Mustang idling at his curb. “Can I help you?” Then his head jerked as he recognized his son. “Finn.”

      Finn turned off the engine and got out of the car, searching his father’s face for signs of welcome but finding only a wariness that increased his sense of isolation. Awkwardly, he went in for a brief man hug. “Good to see you, Dad. It’s been so long.”

      “I guess you’re in Fairhaven for Irene’s funeral.” Pain flashed in Bob’s eyes as if at the thought Finn wouldn’t have come to town to visit them. “Your mom and I were both working and couldn’t make it.”

      “I missed it too but went to the reception.” Had he subconsciously skipped the funeral to avoid possibly running into his parents? He glanced at the house. “Is Mom home?”

      “She’s at the store. Won’t be long.” Bob hesitated. “Can you stay? I’ll put a pot of coffee on.”

      For a moment Finn imagined setting aside the past and making a fresh start. And then he remembered the last time he’d spoken to his mother, Nora, on her sixtieth birthday. Her stilted surprise that he’d called, her terse, cool replies to his queries about the family. He’d heard the party going on in the background and cut the call short to let her get back to her guests. What if when she saw him, she rejected him in person, told him she wasn’t interested in reconciling?

      “Sorry, Dad, I can’t.” He slid back into the car. “I was just passing.”

      Bob’s mouth drew down and he took off his glasses to rub them on the hem of his sweatshirt. “Your mom will be disappointed.”

      “Will she?” Finn asked. When his father didn’t reply, he started the engine. “Thought so.”

      Estrangement was better than another fight. Nora hadn’t cared about what he wanted, only about raising a prodigy. The bitter accusations and recriminations that had flown between the two of them in the weeks before the concert had escalated into a massive fight just before he’d walked onstage. He’d sat down at the piano shaken and scattered, not focused the way he needed to be. No wonder he hadn’t been able to play or even remember the piece. His brain had been a seething mess of fury and righteous indignation. The emotional repercussions stayed with him for days and weeks—years—afterward.

      She’d never forgiven him for making a fool out of himself and her. It was as if she thought he’d choked on purpose to thwart her ambitions for him. As for him, his anger and resentment simmered undiluted. If he was stubbornly unforgiving it was because he’d gotten that trait from her.

      Coming by the house had been a mistake. Nostalgia was insidious. It sucked you in and wrapped its tentacles around you, trapping you in a rose-tinted past colored by wishful thinking and stained with broken dreams.

      Finn drove to Dingo and Marla’s house a few blocks away. They weren’t back yet from the café so he grabbed

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