Finnie Walsh by Steven Galloway Page A

this?”
    “Definitely.”
    So, for the rest of the way, my father worked the pedals and the gearshift and Finnie sat sideways on his lap to steer. Finnie was not a small boy, so it was cramped for both of them, but we made it safe and sound. My mother was put into a wheelchair and she and my father were whisked toward the delivery room. Just beforethey went through the doors, my father turned around. “Good job, Finnie,” he said. He looked at the three of us sternly. “There will be no more driving until you are 16. Understood?”
    My mother was in labour for a little over an hour, far less time than it had taken her to have me or Louise. Once Sarah was out of the womb, however, things got complicated. She was born with what appeared to be jaundice, but tests soon revealed that this was not the case. After a wide array of treatments and procedures performed by various doctors, her skin remained yellow. There wasn’t, as far as anyone could tell, anything physically wrong with her. She was just yellow. She was a strange baby who did not laugh or cry; she just lay there and
watched
. She was so quiet it was easy to forget she was even around.
    I didn’t know what to make of her at first. Both Finnie and I were disappointed; we had wanted a boy and we had ended up with a girl, a peculiar girl at that. But Finnie quickly got past this and it wasn’t long before he began to think of Sarah as his own sister. I soon followed suit.

    That summer Mr. Walsh hired us to paint the wrought-iron fence that surrounded his estate. For three weeks we covered bar after bar after bar with black metallic paint. It was backbreaking work, but it allowed me to save enough money for the league registration fee. I even had a bit left over for some new skates; my old ones were too small.
    After we finished the job, Finnie came over to my house almost every day. My mother was on maternity leave and I soon realized that Finnie was more interested in following her and Sarah around than playing with me. Once again I was left to my own devices.
    With the warmth of summer, my father and Pal had taken to the back deck, Pal being safe from bronchitis. They continued theireducation with wholehearted enthusiasm, debating an infinitesimal number of points. On Thursdays they went to the library; this was a solemn but exciting occasion and children were not invited.
    One particular Thursday Finnie was helping my mother with the laundry and I was bored to tears, so I crept down to the basement to see what Louise was doing. The room that my father and Pal had built was by no means impenetrable. There were cracks in the walls that eyes, if so inclined, could easily peer through. As silently as I could, I peeked into Louise’s room.
    She was sitting cross-legged in the centre of the floor, surrounded by toys I had assumed had been sold at a garage sale back in September. How she had managed to fool us I had no idea. I remembered what
I
had been forced to give up, though, and in a flurry of rage I burst into the room.
    Before I could even start in on what would have undoubtedly been a heck of a rant, Louise grabbed me and pinned me to the floor, holding me tightly by the throat. “Listen to me, Paul. If you tell anyone about this, you will definitely regret it.”
    I was stunned. Never in my life had I seen such a ferocious look. I honestly thought she was going to hurt me. Her calm manner, her assured threat, was very convincing. “All right. Let me up,” I said. Her grip on my neck was tight and I was having trouble breathing.
    “Just remember, this is a secret. Don’t tell anyone.”
    She let me up and I scrambled out of the room. As I climbed the stairs, I heard her door close softly.
    In the laundry room, Finnie was helping my mother fold sheets. When my she saw me, she stopped folding. “Jesus, Paul, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
    “I’m fine,” I said.
    “Well, go and eat something. You’re pale.”
    Finnie was watching me like a