Finn’s gaze traveled down the length of the alley, toward the busy street at the end. “We’ve got good lives, don’t we? We got jobs, and money in our pockets, and cars to drive, and girls who–” He glanced over at Will with a quick, teasing grin. “Well,someof us have girls who think we’re tolerable.
“And the reason we have that – all of that – is because people older than us fought to keep it. What if no one fought Hitler? Where would we be right now? What if we didn’t hit back when the Japs bombed us? What would America look like today?”
Finn sighed, like what he was about to say was heavy in his chest. “There’s always going to be wars, Will, and we’ll always have to send people out to fight them. My old man couldn’t take it. He came back wrong. But I…I’m stronger than him,” he said, just a whisper. Ferocious and sure. “IknowI am. And if I’m strong enough to take it, isn’t it better that I go and fight, and let the gentle boys stay home this time? Somebody’s gotta fight, and I can take it. So it seems only fair.”
Later, when he examined this moment in his memory, Will would realize that something fragile broke inside him that day. Because in that moment he realized the truth about Finn. Reckless, joyful, pack-leader Finn, always wanting a laugh and an adventure, didn’t see himself as any of those things. In his own mind, Finn was a weapon, and he saw himself as useful in a world where spilled blood watered the roots of freedom.
He wanted to gather Finn against his chest, wrap him up tight, and never let go of him.
He said, “If you’re going to war, I’m coming with you.”
Finn shook his head, expression sad. “Nah. You’re one of the gentle ones.” His smile couldn’t reach his eyes.
“That’s horseshit. We’ve always done everything together. Why not fight commies together, too?”
“Well,” Finn said, eyes brightening. “Why not?”
///
That night at the Maddox house there were guests in their party finest, cake and punch and finger sandwiches. There was music and lively conversation.
At one point, on his way to the kitchen, Will ran into Leena and she shooed him back into the corner behind the stairs. She had a punch glass in one hand and held the other in a way that could have been a threat, pink-polished nails aimed at his heart. She lifted a manicured brow. “You talked to him?”
Will nodded and it was an effort to get his tongue working. “I did.”
Her eyes swept him, down and then up, lingering on his face, her own impassive. “Good,” she finally said, and stepped away.
It was a shame, Will thought, that Leena wasn’t off to fight the commies. The poor bastards wouldn’t stand a chance.
At eight o’ clock, Helen set the cake out at the head of the table, its frosted top studded with lit candles, waving and spitting wax. The room erupted into a hearty rendition of “Happy Birthday,” and Will watched Finn’s eyes move around the room, taking them all in.
He landed on Will last, and held his gaze a moment. Then he winked, leaned forward, and blew out all twenty candles in one breath.
