Page 48 of Every Beautiful Mile

“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.

---