zone. Enjoying the open road as she bobs her head to the Michael Jackson satellite radio station she found while poking around the rental car’s fancy dashboard.
I watch the trees blur by.
“Is Jaxy asleep?” she says, lowering the volume.
My sweet baby brother is stretched out across the leather backseat. “Yep,” I say, peeking back at him. “Out cold.”
“Good.” She glances over at me. “I wanted to thank you.”
“For what?”
Don’t know that I’ve ever seen her this…bashful before. “For this trip,” she says. “I’ve always wanted to take you and your brother to the beach, so I saved some of that money you gave me.”
Oh. “You’re welcome.” I guess?
“I don’t say it often, but I couldn’t survive without you, Rico. And I don’t mean that just in a financial sense. You set a great example for your brother, and having you around really keeps me going.”
Where is this coming from?
“I know things can be strained between us, but I want you to know that I love you.”
And now I’m about to cry? Where is this coming from? “I’m sorry I forgot your birthday” comes bubbling out of me. “I really didn’t—”
“Stop.” And now she’s crying. “If anything, I should be sorry.” She wipes her eyes on her sleeve and sniffles. “Everything you said the night you gave me that money—”
“I thought you were gonna slap me.”
Now she laughs.
“You’re really somethin’, kid.”
I grab one of the napkins I shoved into the glove box when we got food and wipe my nose. “Can we stop now, please? This is a lot of emotion.”
She smiles. “You’re the greatest gift I’ve ever gotten, Rico.”
GAH!
“I love you too, Mama.”
* * *
—
My eyes do more leaking over the next couple of days than they have since the days of living in Granddaddy’s van.
They leak when we get up to our two-bedroom, ocean-view condo (that’s bigger than our apartment and has better appliances), and Jax runs out to the balcony to shout “THIS IS AWESOOOOOOME!”
They leak when I’m standing by the shore as a wave crashes and I feel the ocean rush up over my feet for the first time.
They leak when I take my first bite of boiled king crab leg dipped in melted butter (so there is a God, then).
They leak when I stare up at the night sky and I see more stars than I knew existed.
They leak because I’m having a great time…but it’s bittersweet. Every little luxury, while nice, is a reminder of what we don’t have and can’t really get. And despite my attempts to enjoy myself, as Mama keeps saying, my brain tallies every cent we spend here in Carillon Beach, Florida, and I can’t help the waves of anxiety that crash over me.
* * *
—
As we set up on the sand the morning of our second impromptu vacation day and I gaze out over the water, I can’t help but wonder what it’s like to be Zan Macklin. To never have to worry if spending money on Friday will affect grocery shopping on Monday. Or if you’ll make the rent. Or be able to pay the electricity bill so the power doesn’t get cut off (again).
What’s it like to hop up and go to the family doctor at the first sign of sickness? Eat whenever, whatever you’re hungry for? Buy what your heart desires without the merest glance at the price tag?
How’s it feel to take a vacation without being so jarred by the experience, you can’t really have a good time? I hate that I feel a little resentful toward him because of how much I know he takes for granted.
It throws me back to our convo about Wally Winkle and how Zan had all this judgment to throw at the guy for enjoying his lotto winnings. I did manage to catch a bit of the first JACKPOT! episode on YouTube, and while, fine, he maybe did make some questionable choices (a twelve-bedroom mansion for him, his wife, and his dog does seem a bit excessive), one thing about Wally was abundantly clear: he’s overwhelmingly grateful for his win.
“Rico, come help me build a sand castle for my robot!” Jax yells from way too close to the shore for the thing to last very long.
I look at the joy making the kid’s wet-sand-colored skin practically glow. Sigh and rise to my feet. Head up and shoulders back. Walk over to where he and Mama are already kneeling in the sand, and grab a bucket.
Try not to