19. Nineteen
“I swear, I thought we were going to capsize, it was so rough.” Finn shakes his head with a laugh. “And that water was freaking cold, like give you hypothermia cold. I did not want to end up swimming.”
Around the fire, eating hotdogs and s”mores for dinner, I’ve never seen him so animated.
“That’s nothing compared to the fright I had helping Mom with her wardrobe,” Marin says as she squishes a marshmallow between two graham crackers.
“Funny.” I cut my eyes to her as I poke a stick at the fire.
Tomorrow will be our last full day on the Pacific, and the word bittersweet barely touches the surface of how I feel. Even though we have six more weeks on the road, leaving feels like it’s the beginning of going home. I’m not ready for it.
“I’m pooped.” Marin yawns with a stretch as she stands. “I’m going to read a book and call Harper to catch up.”
“Thanks again for today.”
She leans down to hug me before disappearing into the Avion, and I snuggle deeper into my chair.
“You mind if I go hang out at the guys’ site at their fire? They head out tomorrow,” Finn asks.
“Go. Sounds fun. I’m going to make some calls.”
I pull out my phone, smiling as I watch him leave.
It has to be a dream because everything feels easy.
Soeasy.
I sip a glass of wine as I dial my parents.
“I was worried you forgot about us, Penelope,” my mom sings as she answers.
“Mom, it’s been four weeks, and I’ve texted you almost every day. Will you relax?”
She tsks me then says, “You can’t blame a mother for wanting to hear her only daughter’s voice, sweetheart. Now, where are you? Here, I’ll put you on speaker so your dad can hear.”
“We are in Oregon, and it’s beautiful here.”
“How’s that camper holding up?”
I blow out an amused breath. “The Avion hasn’t died on us yet, but the AC did stop working, so it’s hot as hell when we drive. That’s been a fun character-building experience.”
“It’s a miracle you haven’t killed each other,” my dad chimes in with a chuckle from the background.
“Hi, Dad. How’s the bar? Did you get all those notes I sent you from that guy in Maine I’ve been talking to?”
“Nel, I was running the bar before you came in with all your fancy ideas. I can manage one summer, thank you very much.” He huffs playfully. “And I did get your notes. Sounds involved, like maybe too much work for me this late in the game. But I’m thinking about it. Maybe ask him for his advice on making small changes.” He pauses long enough for my heart to flip-flop. “Or maybe schedule a call with him.”
I choke on my wine at the suggestion. “A call? Dad, no. You call him!” My throat feels constricted. I can’t call him!
“Richard,” my mom interrupts. “She’s on vacation, remember? Penelope, you can call him when you get home, sweetheart. Ignore your dad.”
The tension in my shoulders loosens slightly.
“Listen, love you guys, I’m going to let you go. Thanks for helping me do this.”
“Thanks, Nelly. Love you.”
“Love you, sweetheart. Tell the kids hi!”
I hang up, sigh lightly, and smile.
I’m happy. It’s as big and small as those two words. For the first time since Travis left, it finally feels easy. Mind, body, and soul—I’m calm like flat water.
I sit, breathing in that ease until I’ve burned through all the firewood and my eyelids are so heavy, I can barely keep them open. Finn is still gone, and with his phone in pieces in Marfa, I have to go get him.
It’s black and quiet as I walk on the damp leaves and pine needles, the faint smell of marijuana floating in the air. The earthy, skunky scent has become such a staple in almost every campground we’ve been to, I’ve almost stopped noticing it.
As I get closer, the boys’ voices float through the night—muffled conversation followed by an outburst of laughter. I smile.
Their campsite, the same as ours, is an enclave of trees that opens in the center. Three small tents surround a small fire, and a rope hangs between trees with towels and swim shorts hanging from it.
I open my mouth to let them know I’m here when the smell of marijuana, stronger this time, slams into me.
Then I see it.
A joint in Finn’s pinched fingers as he brings it up to his mouth.
A long inhale.
A tight, “Thanks.”
A small cough.
A pass to Donny.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
I have never cared about marijuana until this very moment, seeing it through the harsh lens of motherhood.
I stop behind a tree, waiting for what happens next.
The boys pass it around, each taking a drag.
Then, “Finn?”
“Sure, man,” he says, arm outstretched.
He takes the joint and another giant hit.
Jesus Christ!
This is happening. My son is doing drugs while I watch from the woods like a creep.
I’ve always imagined how these big moments of parenthood would go. I’d make a dramatic entrance, deliver a wise monologue, and stomp away, leaving in my wake a child who was wiser for having had the life experience. But in this moment, my mortality and lack of confidence bubble to the surface, rendering me dumbfounded and desperately wishing I could call in some backup.
I clear my throat to let them know I’m here. Finn’s spine stiffens, eyes widening as I walk into the site.
He drops the joint behind him on the ground, a failed attempt at discretion. I’d laugh if I didn’t want to scream.
“Boys.” I say it like I’m not about to attack my son with guns blazing once out of earshot. Then, turning to Finn and miraculously keeping my voice level, I say, “Time to head back.”
“Yeah, sounds good.” He turns and gives them a nod. “See you tomorrow?”
“Yeah, man, we head out late morning. We’ll see ya before,” Donny responds with heavy eyelids and a drawl to his voice.
I force a smile, but the walk to the Avion is a fury-filled silence. Finn may be stoned, but I have no doubt he also knows I’m livid.
He walks right to the door like he’s simply going to go to bed. I could laugh at his nerve.
I grab his bicep to stop him.
“Are you kidding me right now, Finn? You’re stoned!” I hiss.
He looks at me, eyes dilated nearly black. “Mom, relax. It’s just a little pot.”
He shrugs my arm off. A subtle yet unnerving move that makes my blood nearly boil through my skin.
“Just a little pot?” I ask in disbelief. “Finn, it’s illegal!”
“Not here, Mom. It’s Oregon. This isn’t a big deal. We were sitting around a fire—I don’t know what you’re so upset about.”
His tone is lazily defensive.
“One, you’re a minor, so yes, it’s still illegal. And two, is this who you want to be? Some... some... stoner?” I stutter the words out and barely recognize my hysterical voice as it cuts through the air.
The truth is, I don”t know if I actually care about the marijuana—hell, I grew up on a chain of islands where it’s tradition to smoke and walk around in bare feet—but this is different. This is yet another reminder I have no control over my son.
Over anything.
All traces of the playful little boy I know are gone, replaced by a stoned teen I don’t recognize. Finn could be a stranger as he stands in front of me.
Is he smoking pot at home? Is he using any other drugs? My mind races in a million different directions, and my pulse matches it.
“First, I’ll be eighteen in six months, so that’s dumb. And second, you’re making a big deal out of something that isn’t. Everyone smokes sometimes, Mom. You should try it.”
My mouth drops open. Stoned Finn has rendered me speechless.
Marin, now awake, stands in the doorway with confusion filling her sleepy face.
“Dad never would have reacted like this,” Finn mumbles.
My heart collapses in on itself.
Guilt is a sharp weapon, and even now, Finn knows how to use it.
“Well, unfortunately, Finn, he’s dead, and I’m the one here to deal with this, so I guess you’re shit out of luck.”
The words roll off my tongue and drop to the ground like a cinder block.
He looks away.
There it is.
Dead.
The ugly truth stings like acid in the middle of a marijuana-fueled argument in a campground on the Oregon coast.
I pick up the empty wineglass on the table. I want to scream or cry or break the damn glass.
So, I do.
With a guttural cry, I hurtle it against the Avion, and it shatters into a million pieces.
Marin and Finn stand like unbreathing statues as they stare at me, stunned.
“I said it. Are you happy now?” I bite out. “Finn, I know I didn’t handle losing him in the best way. I know I checked out. But I’m trying my ass off here. I’m trying not to obsess over the fact that I failed you for a year. And yet, the only time you want to talk to me is to tell me how badly I suck as a mother, and every look you give me is filled with annoyed disappointment.”
The words pour out of my mouth like water pushing through a broken dam.
“I know Dad was the fun one. He was a pilot, for God’s sake, I can’t compete with that! I can’t be him, but he’s not coming back. You know that, and so do I. And it’s shitty. You lost your dad. I lost my best friend. Neither of us can begin to know what the other one feels like with that specific piece of their puzzle missing.
“So maybe you were right when you said I was trying to prove a point with this trip. I wanted to prove we could still be happy without him. That I could be a mom you’re happy to be around and we could make memories that were our own. But even that feels impossible. You don’t want to be here, and you won’t give me a chance.”
Then, I’m quiet, the weight of it all threatening to drag my whole body down into the damp dirt.
There’s nothing else to say.
Travis isn’t going to walk up to play mediator. Not now, not ever again. We are on our own. Travis’ death may have made the mess, but it’s ours to clean up.
I squeeze Marin’s arm. “Let’s not quit on our worst day,” I say finally. “I’m going to bed.”
I don’t wait for a response before I push through the screen door and let the loud slam of the spring pulling it closed snap through the quiet night air.