Never Eighteen (13 page)

"Me too."

"I wish we could just hit the road and drive forever into nowhere." I look up at her, hot tears still stinging my eyes. "Until the end of time, just you and me."

"I wish we could too."

We sit in silence for a moment, just breathing, just being. "We could keep driving today. Did you have someplace else you wanted to go?" she asks, although I'm sure she already knows the answer.

"My dad's," I say.

Kaylee shifts the car into drive, as she's done so many times already this weekend, and heads toward the Narrows Bridge.

My dad moved out to Gig Harbor after he and my mother separated. They've been apart for five years now, though never brought themselves to divorce. Seems hopeful to me.

I've driven this bridge a million times, this old steel bridge built after the wind took the Galloping Gertie, the first bridge to span this section of Puget Sound. I respect its height and length. I know it's not as big or long as the Golden Gate and others, but it seems huge to me.

We cross, heading west toward Purdy, a drive of fifteen to twenty miles. We reach our exit; come to yet another bridge, this one diminutive and quaint, the kind you find in a small rural town. We pass a tiny grocery, ice cream parlor, and video store and continue across the spit through the windy, wooded roads leading to my dad's house.

We roll slowly, twisting and turning down the long unpaved drive, gravel grinding beneath the tires. Giant trees mark the edge of the driveway, stand as sentries guarding a hidden kingdom. Kaylee swerves to avoid a squirrel, almost smashing into one of the tall, impressive cedars.

"Smooth move, Ex-Lax," I say. She smacks my arm.

We come to a stop outside my father's little cabin. He lived in a travel trailer on the five-acre property, while building this place with his own hands. It's perfect for him, really; he always loved nature more than he ever loved people. I climb the stairs to the homey porch, one you might see in a Norman Rockwell painting, complete with swing, muddy work boots, and my dad's bulldog, Dog. I asked my dad once why he named him Dog, and he said, "Because that's what he answers to. I say 'Come here, Dog,' and he comes. Seems silly to call him anything else." Reasoning I was unable to argue with.

I pat Dog on the head, approach the knotty pine door, and knock. No answer. I knock again just to make sure. Again, no answer. My dad's truck sits in front of the house, so I know he's home. I begin to hear a thunking sound coming from around the back of the house. I work my way back and find him chopping wood. I think he might be the only person left on the face of the earth that still chops wood. Everyone else just buys Duraflame. Yes, he's quite the outdoorsman—strong, rugged, wears flannel a lot, and always smells of Irish Spring. I've inherited his mouth, his height, and his outlook on life. He used to be clean-shaven, but since moving out to the woods, he's grown a mustache and beard. I hate the facial hair. I think I'll tell him.

"Hey, Dad," I say, approaching slowly. I don't want to startle him while he's holding an ax.

"Austin!" he greets me, throwing the ax dead center into a stump twenty feet to his right. He approaches me, arms outstretched, but stops short when he sees my face, recently beaten in by my old friend Bertie Brewster. "What happened to you?"

"I got into a bit of a fight."

"A bit of a fight? It looks like you got hit by a bus!"

"He was slightly smaller than a bus," I say.

My father looks at me with disappointment and concern. "You shouldn't be getting into fights," he says to me, as if I didn't know.

"It's not like I planned to get the shit beat out of me. Anyways, I had it coming," I say.

He puts an arm around my shoulders and leads me around to the front door. Upon seeing Kaylee relaxing in her car, he says, "What's Kaylee doing sitting out there in Glory? Does she want to come in?"

"No, I've asked her to stay in the car," I say. He lowers an eyebrow. "And the name is no longer Glory, it's Scarlet. Glory was like three names ago."

"How many times is she going to change the name? That poor car is going to have an identity crisis." We laugh.

"I guess as many as it takes to find the perfect one."

"So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?" Dad asks.

"I came here to talk to you," I answer. "Okay, let's talk." He leads me into the cabin.

I do love this place, so close to the world just beyond the trees, yet so secluded, so quiet. The woodstove in the living room, set inside a hearth created out of nothing but river rock and pine timbers, already blazes with heat from the fire within. Above the stove hangs a picture of my parents and me during one of our hiking trips at Mount Rainier. Mowich Lake, if I remember right. The Comet Falls hike has nothing on the Mowich Lake hike. Switchbacks all the way up then down again to the lake. Once you enjoy your picnic and the view, you have to do it all over again to get back to your car. Takes the entire day and is quite painful. Well worth it, though.

It's rustic for sure, this cabin, almost looks as if it's been here one hundred years instead of four. I take a seat in the antique rocking chair next to the fire; my dad sits on the couch across from me.

"So, what is it you want to talk about?" Dad asks.

"Mom," I answer.

"Mom? Austin, there's nothing to talk about there. That chapter of my life is closed."

I said that two bad things happened in sixth grade: the first was Kaylee's dad dying, the second was my dad leaving.

"If it's a closed chapter, why haven't you two ever divorced?"

"It's just easier not to. Divorces can get sticky. You know—paperwork, custody, property division," he answers. "If your mom ever wanted to remarry, I would gladly sign the necessary papers."

"She doesn't want to get remarried," I say, getting irritated. "She still loves you."

"No, no, she doesn't. She made a choice, and she didn't choose me."

"I don't even know what happened. Why did you guys fall apart?"

"It's complicated."

"Why do people always say it's complicated when they don't want to talk about something?" I ask.

"Well, because it's easier," Dad replies.

"So, is that your answer for everything? To take the easy way out?" I ask.

"Sometimes things just aren't meant to be. We came from different backgrounds, different lifestyles. She couldn't get past our differences."

"Or maybe you couldn't," I say.

"You really want to know the truth?"

"That's why I'm here," I answer.

"It's not pretty."

"Sometimes life isn't pretty, Dad," I say.

"Yeah. It can be downright ugly, can't it?"

"Yep. It sure can."

"I loved your mother from the moment I met her. That pretty porcelain face, raven hair, deep green eyes. She was more than pretty; she was gorgeous. Still is. But she came from money, and her mom never liked me."

"Peggy," I say.

"Yeah, Peggy. I used to call her Piggy."

"Not nice, Dad," I say, but laugh in spite of myself.

"I know, but I can't stand that woman. We snuck around behind her back and finally eloped to Vegas. An Elvis impersonator married us."

"Seriously? Elvis?" I had no idea.

"Yes, seriously. Hang on a minute." He stands up, leaves the room, returns moments later, and hands me a photograph. Sure enough, the photo shows Mom, Dad, and Elvis under a white archway.

"Your mom has the rest of the pictures. You should ask to see them sometime."

"I will. Go on."

"What it comes down to is that your grandmother hated the idea of us together so much that she sabotaged us."

"How?"

"By interfering, sticking her nose in, pitting us against each other. But one night, after we fought, she plied her with liquor and pushed her into the arms of another man. Your mom cheated on me," he says.

"What!" I yell. "Mom had an affair?"

"I wouldn't exactly call it an affair," Dad continues. "More like a fling. And don't judge her. You can never judge someone unless you've walked in their shoes. Her mom was pressuring her, and I was alienating her. She cracked."

"What did you do?" I ask.

"I left," he says. I bring up my memories of the day he walked out the door. After the yelling and crashing and things had quieted, I slowly opened my bedroom door and went downstairs. My mom sat there on the couch, crying into her hands. I asked her what was wrong. She told me that she and Dad were having some trouble. That Dad left. I remember asking if he was coming back. She said she didn't know. He never did. After that it was every other weekend and alternating Wednesdays.

"You left right then and there?" I say, surprised at how dejected I suddenly feel.

"Austin, she cheated on me. In essence, she's the one who left the marriage, not me. Plus, she didn't try to stop me. I think if she had just said 'Stop' or 'Wait' or 'Don't go' as I walked out the door, I might have turned around. But she didn't, so I just kept walking."

I stand, pace the room a few times, let myself simmer, relax, chill. Deep breath in. "You know, she hasn't talked to her mother since then."

Dad seems surprised. "No, I didn't know that," he says.

"How could you? You've barely spoken to her," I say. "She still loves you, you know."

"She made her choice," he says.

"She needs you now. Soon she'll need you even more."

He looks at me thoughtfully, knowing I'm right. "We have our own lives now, Austin."

"No, you don't. You hide out here in the woods away from people, the world. She does nothing but work and garden. She has no life outside our home." He looks as if this information wounds him.

"You still love her, don't you?" I ask.

"Yes. I've always loved her, never stopped."

"Then fix this," I demand.

"How? How do I fix this after five years have passed?" he asks.

"Forgive her."

He sighs deeply as if just relieved of a heavy burden. "I forgave her a long time ago, Austin, as soon as she apologized."

"She needs to hear it, from you. Go to her. Tell her."

"I don't know. It's been so long. I wouldn't even know what to say."

"Say, 'I love you; I forgive you.' It's easy."

"I'll think about it."

"I guess that's all I can ask."

We stand, walk to the door together; he hugs me tightly. "I love you," he chokes. He backs off, pats me on the arm, and brushes at his eyes to keep the tears from falling. I'm sure he wants me to leave before he cries.

"I love you too, Dad." I turn to go, but stop and turn back to him. "If you're going to do this, do it soon. Please?" He just nods.

"Thanks," I answer, beginning to tear up myself. "Oh, and one more thing?"

"What's that, son?"

"Lose the facial hair."

He gives me a surprised look and we both laugh.

I leave, shut the door behind me, slide back into Scarlet, and buckle up.

"Did that turn out the way you wanted it to, Austin?" Kaylee asks.

"I don't know. I hope so," I answer.

"Well, that's all you can do, right? Hope?" she says.

"Yes, I guess that's all any of us can do," I answer as we coast back down the long gravel driveway and back toward the highway.

"What's next on the agenda?" Kaylee asks as we reenter Highway 16 heading back toward Tacoma.

"Food," I answer.

"Thank God, I'm starved. Where are we going?"

"Frisko," I say.

"Mmmm, greasy goodness. I'm so there."

"There's one thing I want to do, though, before eating."

"Okay."

I have Kaylee take the Jackson Avenue exit off the new bridge, recently opened to control traffic flow and end the daily jams of the Gig Harbor commuters. I tell Kaylee to take the next two lefts. "Just park here," I say as soon as we turn the last corner.

We're sitting at the top of a hill overlooking the Sound, the bridges, and Gig Harbor. The homes in this area are new and big and must cost the bank for the view alone.

"What are we doing?" Kaylee asks.

"Just watch." The sun is close to setting, and on this clear September day, I'm sure it will be brilliant.

Kaylee cuts the engine, leans back, and says, "I love watching the sun go down. Have you ever been to the ocean and watched as it drops behind the horizon?"

"No."

"We should do that soon, maybe next weekend. I'll see if I can take the time off. We'll drive down Saturday, park on the beach, and watch the setting sun. Then we can get a cheap hotel room and come back Sunday morning."

"Sounds nice," I say, already imagining myself sitting on a blanket on the beach with Kaylee, wrapping my arms around her, keeping her warm, as the biggest star in the sky makes way for all the others. "But, no cheap hotel. We'll stay at a nice one, with a view. I'll pay."