CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Isaac watched Bass as he surfed his hand on the breeze out his open car window. They needed a day for just the two of them, but he couldn’t drop the feeling that Sanna would make a good addition to their outing, and not just because she knew all the best places in Door County. He didn’t know how to read her, not really. Sometimes it felt like she couldn’t wait to get away from him, and other times, like this morning, he was pretty sure she was checking him out. It might have been a while since he’d caught a woman admiring him, but even rusty, he could still recognize it.
He was happy to have been there to help when Einars fell, liked that she allowed him to help her, but he wanted more. He wanted to know how those long arms would feel wrapped around his neck, if there were hidden speckles in her blue eyes. He wanted to know the story behind the necklace she touched when worried or scared, drawing his eyes to her throat. But he couldn’t have that. His life—Bass, Paige, the inevitable truth coming out—was complicated, and he wouldn’t draw her into that.
But today was about spending time with Bass. Driving through Peninsula State Park was a whole different pace than what they’d seen of the area so far. If most of Door County was lined with rows of apple and cherry trees or else corn and summer crops, then the state park was its wild core, a hidden pocket free from the tiny gift shops and trendy eateries that lined the small towns up and down Highway 42. Lush forests edged the road, revealing orange-domed tents and cream pop-up trailers between the many tree trunks and shorter shrubs. A few campers still sat around fires, enjoying the last sips of fire-brewed coffee before going about their days, bedding slung over ropes tied between tree trunks.
As Isaac drove through the park, he and the handful of other drivers slowed for the abundant cyclists cruising the well-shaded byways. He looked at the map he had gotten at the ranger station and pulled into the parking lot for the Eagle Tower. The wooden tower rose four stories above the parking lot overlooking the water below, with three viewing platforms; halfway up, three-quarters of the way up, and at the top. After their early start, this seemed the right place to begin the day. Campfire and damp earth mingled on the breeze as Bass and Isaac stepped out of the car. Isaac double-checked that his backpack contained their water bottles, phone, and the poorly refolded map. He sprayed them both with sunscreen and topped their floppy curls with matching tan wide-brimmed hats. He’d taken Sanna’s advice and gotten them both decent ones for working in the orchard.
“You ready for this, Perch?”
“I own this.”
Isaac checked to make sure his backpack was secure and that there weren’t many people on the stairs before shouting, “Go!”
Isaac dominated the first two landings, his longer, stronger legs taking the worn wooden steps two at a time. He was a full seven steps ahead of Bass when they reached the halfway point, when gravity and age started working against him. Since Isaac and Bass had begun their road trip, he’d stopped his daily runs, never wanting to be even one mile from his son. Now he paid the price. His lungs burned and he had to start taking the stairs one at a time. He heard Bass’s quick, light steps gaining behind him as he dodged around a family of four.
“Watch out for the family,” he shouted between ragged breaths as Bass bounced off the railing to narrowly avoid a mom holding the hand of a toddler.
As they rounded the last flight, Bass pulled ahead, his lighter body and younger lungs unaffected by the rapid climb.
“Burn!” Bass screamed, and the handful of other people on the observation deck looked on with good-natured smiles, especially when they noticed Isaac gasping for breath as Bass completed his victory dance, complete with the Dab and a booty shake.
“Okay, okay. You’ve made your point. I’m old.”
Isaac went to stand at the railing, and Bass joined him. A stitch had formed at his side, but his breathing slowed after a few moments’ rest. The tower stood near the edge of a cliff overlooking Green Bay. He hadn’t even known there was a real Green Bay besides the football team before coming here, and now he was looking at it. White boats crisscrossed the green-tinged waves. They were a million miles from everything they knew. Isaac let the remoteness wrap around them as he pulled Bass in for a hug.
These moments were why he ran away with Bass. The laughter, the racing, just him being a kid. When Isaac finally did tell him about his mom—and he would, soon, he swore it—this innocence would evaporate. They would need to talk about drugs, overdosing, addiction, and why Paige couldn’t get better.
Isaac would never forget the day he gave up hope she would beat her addiction—the day he knew their marriage was over. Bass had been finishing up kindergarten, and Paige still worked nights at a nursing home. Little did he know that’s where she was getting her supply. The nursing home kept a stock of fentanyl lollipops and patches for the patients who used it to manage their pain. He had known for months something was off—she’d been losing weight and sometimes at night her breathing almost stopped. When they would lie in their bed, she would curl into a ball while he curved around her, close but not touching. He’d count the seconds between breaths and some nights it would stretch to seventy or eighty seconds. A few times he nudged her to prompt an inhale. But it was never bad enough that he confronted her about her changed behavior, and he’d always regret that.
One day he came home from work early, hoping to meet Bass as he got off the bus. He’d pulled into the driveway as the bus turned the corner, just missing it. Bass and Paige would already be back to the house. He had wanted them all to drive to the coast as a family for dinner, maybe watch the sunset over the Pacific with a picnic. He quietly opened the door into their kitchen, planning his surprise. If he was lucky, he could execute the tickle attack that always sent Bass into cascading giggles—Isaac’s favorite sound in the world.
He poked his head around the corner into the living room, where what he saw made his excitement crack off like a calving glacier into an icy ocean. His wife, Paige, lay on the couch, her eyes closed and sweat covering her face. On the table in front of her were open packets and a handful of lollipops. Bass stood next to her, barely taller than the back of the couch, still wearing his Yoda backpack. He wasn’t looking at his passed-out mom but at the candy. He already held one in his hand and was reaching for a second.
Isaac didn’t remember crossing the small living room or picking up Bass. He couldn’t remember if he shouted or scolded or said anything at all. He only remembered seeing the lollipop, then holding a screaming Bass, who was angry his daddy had taken the candy from him.
He settled Bass down on his bed with a bowl of ice cream and Return of the Jedi so he could wake up Paige and have a real discussion about what was going on, finally. He checked her breathing—she was asleep, not passed out—covered her with a blanket, then gathered all the lollipops and pills. He didn’t know what to do with them, only that he needed to get them away from Paige. He sat on the coffee table with the bag of drugs in his lap, wondering what to do next.
Isaac stared at this shadow of a woman he once loved. She’d always been prone to anxiety and depression, even mania sometimes, and medicine seemed to help. After having Bass, it had gotten worse. She was so miserable. Isaac had offered her anything to make her happier—counseling, moving, whatever she needed. When she began working at the nursing home, things got better. She was content, calmer. They were happy for a few years again—their little family. Now her skin clung to her bones, gray and bruised in places. Her hair stuck to her head with sweat and her eyes fluttered behind her lids. The thoughtful, delicate woman he married was broken, his marriage was over, and he couldn’t fix it or her.
She started to stir. Her high had worn off. It took several seconds for her to move into an upright position, and Isaac didn’t offer to help.
“Am I dreaming?” she said at last.
“No,” he said. “This is all real.”
Her eyes saw the drugs in his lap, then scanned the room.
“Did he?” At least she asked the right question, a question a mother would ask, but her words were flat and distant. A mere echo of what the real danger warranted.
“No. I stopped him in time.”
She nodded her head, an uncontrolled movement, as if the muscles could no longer fight gravity.
“You’re going to rehab, then you’re finding somewhere else to live. This can’t ever happen again. I’ll help you, Paige, but you can’t live with us anymore.”
She didn’t even argue.
She’d been in and out of rehab ever since. This last stint had seemed the most promising—except she had found someone to supply her. Too late, the doctors found out she was sucking fentanyl patches she had stashed in her mattress. That, combined with her anxiety drugs, stopped her breathing for good.
• • • • •
Isaac sucked in the fresh air at the top of the tower and gave Bass one last squeeze. He and Paige may not be married anymore, but the loss still hurt, compounded by his guilt for not being able to help her, and guilt at his attraction to Sanna. But none of that mattered. This summer was about Bass. He was so grateful they had each other and hoped that would be enough once Bass learned the truth.
“Time to go down. Let’s get some hiking in. Then we can see the goats.”
Bass gave one last look at the view.
“Race you?” he said, then dashed for the stairs before waiting for Isaac to accept.
• • • • •
The waitress set their hot cocoa mugs in front of them, and Bass’s face was in the whipped cream before she could turn to her next table. The frothy white blob doubled the height of the mug and had already started to melt into the steaming liquid. They’d stopped for lunch at the famous Al Johnson’s restaurant in Sister Bay. The food was good, but it was made all the more fun by goats roaming the restaurant’s grass roof. Inside, diners could buy assorted Swedish goodies and goat paraphernalia from the gift shop, and the staff wore wooden clogs that looked uncomfortable—though their waitress assured Bass they weren’t bad.
They ended the meal with hot cocoas once Bass had seen a mug delivered to a neighboring table. He took it as a chance to get as much whipped cream on his face as possible. It was even in his eyebrows. Isaac handed him extra napkins. Once Bass had devoured all of his, Isaac switched their mugs.
“Try not to inhale it this time.”
“We should come here with Miss Lund and Mr. Lund.”
“I’m sure they’ve come here enough. They live here.”
“Do you think she gets hot cocoa? I bet Mr. Lund does. He seems like a hot cocoa kind of guy.”
“What’s a hot cocoa guy like? Am I a hot cocoa guy?”
“You do have one in front of you, but you gave up the whipped cream too easily. Mr. Lund wouldn’t give up his whipped cream. Instead, he would sweet-talk the waitress into getting me more.”
Isaac laughed.
“Sweet talk! What do you know about sweet talking?”
“It’s when you say nice things to someone to get what you want, but in a real way. Not an evil genius way, but in an ‘I just want to get what I want’ kind of way.”
“Sweet talking is a good life skill. Especially when you find someone you really like. But I think you’re on the young side to be mastering it.”
Bass scowled, then brightened.
“Did you sweet-talk Mom?”
Isaac swallowed a sip of hot cocoa, buying time, and it settled in his stomach like a rock.
“Why would I need to sweet-talk your mom?”
“To get her to go to the hospital and get better.”
And here was a disaster Isaac couldn’t stop from happening, he could only delay.
“I didn’t need to sweet-talk her. She wanted to get better.”
“Have you heard from her? How is she?”
“Let me check, Guppy.”
Isaac pulled out his phone, his hand quivering. Was this the moment? His chance to be honest? He had one e-mail from the hospital asking him to call and several text messages from his mom.
IT’S BEEN A WEEK! HOW IS BASS?
I FOUND THESE ARTICLES ABOUT CHILDREN AND GRIEVING.
READ THEM!!!!
CALL ME!!!
His hand holding the phone began to shake more violently. He turned the phone off and set it on the table. He would delete them later.
“Nope, nothing.”
Bass’s whipped cream–crusted eyebrows scrunched together.
“When will we hear something?”
“I know you miss her, but sometimes people need time before they are ready to get back to normal. Sometimes they are never ready, and we need to accept that things change. Does that make sense?”
The whipped cream was gone, and Bass slurped the cooling hot cocoa.
“Do you think the Lunds will need some time?”
Lucky, a topic change.
“I do. Mr. Lund was hurt pretty badly and won’t be able to do all the things he could do before. At least not for a while.”
“We should help them.”
And just like that Isaac’s heart switched from constraint to nearly bursting with pride. This kid always surprised him. One minute he’d be a maniac, and the next he’d say the sweetest thing.
“Maybe that’s why we ended up here. They needed some help, and here we are: two strapping lads ready to do whatever’s needed.”
Bass made muscle arms.
“I’m ready.”
They both were.