Page 49 of Every Beautiful Mile

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.

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