Finn heard Bonnie behind him. The snow crunched beneath her boots, and her breathing was ragged. He noticed suddenly how ragged his own was.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I told you I had a brother named Fisher.”
“But a twin? Finn, I . . .” her voice trailed off. She seemed as lost for words as he had been. Then she slid her arms around his waist and pressed her face into his back. She never failed to surprise him. He thought she would grower colder with the revelation—that she would feel betrayed that he hadn’t shared all there was to share. Instead, she held onto him. For a long time, she just held on. And they stood there in the road, surrounded by white and nothing else.
“He died?” Her voice was a stunned whisper, more a statement than a question, though her voice rose a little on the end like she couldn’t believe it.
“Yeah. He did.” Finn hadn’t wept for Fish in a very long time, but his mouth trembled as he verified that truth. Fish had died. And that had been far worse than what had come next.
“Why did they send you to prison?” Bonnie asked, the question muffled, her face pressed into his jacket, but he heard her.
“Armed robbery. Seven year maximum sentence for a first time offender.”
“But you didn’t shoot anybody or take anything, right? You didn’t even have a gun.”
“I took the gun out of Fish’s hand. I threw it in the backseat on the floor. My prints were on it. I was there with him. I helped him get away,” Finn said humorlessly. He’d helped him get away. And Fish had gone far, far, away. “It wasn’t hard to assume I was in on it. We were both high. And Fish shot the owner of the store. The guy almost died.”
Finn could almost feel Bonnie’s dismay, her wonder, gauging his remorse, the truthfulness of his tale, but she stayed silent.
“They offered me a deal. It was three days after my eighteenth birthday, and I had no priors. Five years and no attempted murder charge if I would plead guilty to possession and armed robbery. I would have been out in less time, but I didn’t adjust very well.”
“So you got a tattoo of a swastika . . .” Bonnie moved to stand in front of him. She was biting on her lip, worrying it between her teeth like it held the answer to her dilemma. “I still don’t understand that. Was that something Fisher was involved in too?”
“No!” Finn shook his head vigorously, not wanting Bonnie to lay that on his brother’s head. “I got that tattoo a month after I arrived at Norfolk. I’d tried to impress some people by showing them what I could do with numbers, with cards. It didn’t go over very well. I got beat up, they marked up my back, and I was sure if I didn’t find a gang, I was going to die just like my brother, and die soon. So I joined up with the only gang who would have me.”
Bonnie’s eyes were wide like she was putting it all together.
“Funny,” Finn said, though it really wasn’t funny at all. “What feels necessary on the Inside makes you a freak on the Outside.”
“The inside?” Bonnie asked.
“Inmates call prison the inside.”
“And the outside is . . .”
“Life. Freedom. Everything beyond the walls. I thought the tattoo was necessary. I thought it was survival. In the end, though, the tattoo didn’t save me. I was saved by numbers. I was attacked, yeah, but I’d made my point, and eventually I had people coming to me, powerful people, and I didn’t need the tattoo after all.”
There was a long silence between them, Bonnie staring wordlessly at him, Finn staring back, wondering if she could really understand. Finn touched his chest and her eyes followed his fingers.
“The tattoo is a reminder that choices made out of desperation are almost always bad choices.” Finn paused, hoping Bonnie was thinking about her choice to climb the bridge. She’d been desperate too, and it had been a bad choice. “I don’t take off my shirt at the beach or in the weight room or when I go for a run or play ball with my friends. And I would never have shown you. It’s there, over my heart, making me look like something I’m not. Pretty hard to get past, I know. But it’s over my heart—not in my heart. And hopefully that makes a difference.”
Bonnie nodded and reached over and placed her left hand over his right one, peeling it off his chest so she could hold it. Finn was so surprised that he let her. It hung between them, and she wrapped both of her smaller hands around it, cradling it.
“I’m sorry about Fisher,” she said sincerely.
Finn snorted in disbelief and pulled his hand away. She grabbed it back and swung on him fiercely, bringing their conjoined hands to her chest, his arm resting between her br**sts, her right hand clinging to his forearm.
“I’m sorry that happened to you, Finn.” She repeated the words with a vehemence that had him snapping back at her.
“Don’t do that, Bonnie! Don’t be one of those girls who thinks I’m something to save! You can’t save me. I can’t save you. I sure as hell didn’t save Fish, and you couldn’t save Minnie, could you?”
Bonnie’s brow was furrowed, resistance written all over her face.
“Could you?” He was being a son-of-a-bitch. But it was the truth, a truth he didn’t think Bonnie had come to terms with.
“No.” Her lips trembled, and she shook her head. “No. I couldn’t. I didn’t.”
Finn swore, an ugly word for all the ugly feelings in his chest, and he tried to pull his hand free. Instead he just pulled her with it.