Finch Brothers and Me

Chapter 2:

I climb into the driver's seat of the truck, give one last final wave to all my siblings who are living in the house, and start pulling out of the driveway. I take one last deep breath before turning the truck onto the road and towards the highway. After many months of research, I found a small town in Creede, Colorado. Not only was The Lone Ranger movie shot there, but the history of polyandrous relationships is long.

It's not unusual to find groups as such, and many people move there for the fact that people searching for polyandrous go there. Of course, I know that I'm not going to find a relationship overnight, but I think if I meet enough people over an unknown amount of time, I find people (siblings would be great) that would like to try and maybe successfully have a relationship. 

The exhausting trip takes about two days, with one night's rest at the creepiest motel ever. I enter the town, and everything about what I've just done comes crashing down on me. After living with my parents for my whole life, only having an associate's degree in college, I have walked out of a stable home to come to a town I've never visited, fourteen hours away, to find a relationship with multiple men involved.

What the fuck am I doing?

It's too goddam late now, I'm not turning back, but shit. I didn't know I could make that stupid and impulsive of a decision. Maybe my dad was right. Maybe I should go back. No. I can't. I haven't even tried yet. If my mother knew I was thinking of turning back, she would call me crazy. I've already done it. I've already left.

I glance out of the windows, trying to find a coffee shop to sit at, when I find a bookstore. Oh, perfect! I can go in there, look for some books, see if they have any coffee or tea, and maybe ask when I can find someplace to stay. I carefully park my truck in front of a bustling diner with what looks like an overwhelmed staff and try not to slip on the snow-covered sidewalk. I'm so used to Texas, that it's weird to see this much snow. 

Fucking Colorado. 

I only just got here, and you've got to make me all cold. I shiver as I watch my breath exit my mouth is a small cloud of perspiration. Looking both ways, I cross the empty street and open the door to the bookstore. A small jingle above my head practically welcomes me home as I breathe in the famous and lingering smell of ink-printed pages. 

My fingers tingle at the idea of getting a new book, and both my mind and heart race at the possibilities of diving into a new story. A new world. I hear a gruff hello behind me, and I turn to find an older man, around I would say seventy, holding up a book on sailing.

"Can I help you with anything, darling?"

"Can you guide me to the classics?"

With an unexpected bright smile on his face, he nods his head, leading me away from the cold entrance. He leaves me to look through the rows of shelves designated to the classic literature. I pass by each book, in my head calling out, 'white man's book, white man's book'. 

I breathe a sigh of relief when I find what I'm looking for Brown Girl, Brownstones by Paule Marshall. I peel it away from between the neighboring books, practically hugging it to my chest as I look for another few. 

After picking out three more books, because two are never enough, I walk back to the counter to find a boy sitting there. He kicks his heels, so they hit against the counter with a soft thump as he tries to pronounce a difficult word in his book. Silently, I stand beside him, waiting for the older man to come over and help me check out.

"Miss."

I turn my head to eye the young boy softly.

"Yes?"

"Can you help me read this word?"

"Of course. Show it to me."

We put our heads close together, and he points to the word 'favorite'. I smile up at him, remembering how my younger siblings always had a hard time with certain words.

"Let's break it up okay. The beginning five letters spell out?"

"Favor!"

"And the next two?"

"It!"

"So put it all together."

"Favor..ite. Why do they add the 'e' at the end?"

"I have no idea, young man."

"I'm no man. My father is though. Big and strong."

I'm just about to answer the boy back when a loud, ringing voice bursts into the quiet bookstore. I flinch back as it hits my eardrums.

"Carson Bailey Finch!"

The boy tilts his head towards the book, his neck bending into submission. The voice belongs to an older, frail-looking woman who definitely is not happy about Carson running away. She gives me a soft smile before turning back to the teary-eyed boy.

"You know better! I am your grandmother, and we both know you cannot run away like that!"

"I'm sorry, Meemaw. But I wanted to read with Grandfather."

"Your grandfather has a bookstore to run, boy. You can't be taking up his time."

"My dear, you are scaring away our customers."

"Oh hush, George! He knows better."

"He's coming to read, Bertha. I see nothing wrong with that."

"Running off! Neither of you can argue that it was a good way about reading!"

"Of course, dear. Carson, why don't you go with your grandmother. We can read later tonight with your father."

"Okay. Thank you, Miss, for your help."

I grin back at the boy, nodding in greeting to Bertha before the two exits the shop. George makes his way around the counter and takes the books I've placed on the top to the back.