Page 67 of Finn

That would suck.

We talk a few more minutes, and then wrap up.

Afterward, I sit and think about how life is full of constant changes—some good, some bad.

In the “bad changes” column, if I lose my teammate, it’ll be sad. But it’s not like we won’t keep in touch.

Now in the “good changes” column, I’m officially with Sammie now, and we’re in love.

Truly, nothing can beat that.

Sammie

The last couple of weeks Finn and I spend in Alaska are the best.

I still have moments of doubt within myself.

Like, am I really good girlfriend material?

Or am I still too broken?

Then there are my feelings of guilt. They creep in at the strangest moments.

I try to let Finn know when I’m feeling off, and he helps me work through it.

The other day was one of those times.

We were doing laundry together and goofing around. Finn had me laughing at the stupidest things.

During one of my fits of giggling, I suddenly had a flashback of a memory with Amanda, one where we had been sitting on my bed telling jokes. She told me the silliest one that was so dumb it was funny.

I was giggling like crazy that day too.

That’s how grief works. It never really leaves you, so a memory like that can come up out of nowhere and knock you on your ass.

That’s what happened that day, and my giggling all of a sudden turned to crying.

Finn didn’t even question what had happened. He knew it had something to do with a memory of my sister.

He just took me in his arms and held me, soothing me as he rubbed my back and murmured, “It’s okay. Let it out, sweetheart.”

We didn’t discuss it then, he just comforted me.

Later, I told him why I’d lost it.

He understood, of course. Actually, when I tried to apologize for ruining our good time, he was having none of it.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. We were at the kitchen table, and he placed his hand over mine. “You never have to say you’re sorry for how you feel, Sammie. Someone wise once told me”—he nodded to me—“that healing doesn’t happen in a straight line. I haven’t forgotten that.”

“It doesn’t,” I agreed softly, looking down at our hands joined on the table.

He cleared his throat, then said, “Can I bring up something, something that could be a sensitive subject?”

“Of course,” I replied.

He blew out a breath, and then continued, “I don’t know how you feel about it, but I think it could help if you went to some therapy sessions.”

I sighed.

---