Page 45 of The Sea-Mist Cottage Inn
“I remember,” I said, still unsure what it had to do with now.
“I really liked it at first, and it helped. But then Tyler and those guys started calling us feebs and ruining it, and I wanted to stop. You asked me why I wouldn’t do something I liked and get help I needed. You said it was dumb to let some ingrown dirtball like Tyler Jacoby make my choices for me. It seems like you’re doing the same thing now.”
The analogy wasn’t perfect, but it was a solid effort from a tenth-grader. Certainly it got his point across. Choices made out of fear and shame would never be good choices.
I went and sat beside him. “I called him aninbreddirtball, not an ingrown one. But I like that, too. Still fits.”
“What’s inbred mean?”
“It’s when people who are closely related have kids, so they’re ‘breeding’ within the same gene pool. A lot of weird birth defects, physical and mental, can happen.”
“Oh. That’s even meaner. Kinda too mean, I think.”
What a treasure this boy was. “Yeah, it is.” I bumped shoulders with him. “Stick with ‘ingrown’ when you tell that story, okay?”
“Okay.” After a beat he added, “Why don’t you want help?”
I meant absolutely not to make my son my confidant. There was a difference between being honest and forthright about a life that was his as well as mine, and dumping all my fears and worries on his young, unfinished shoulders. I picked my words carefully when I gave him my answer.
“It’s hard to put my trust in anybody but us right now, bud. Things I thought were secure for years disappeared out from under us so fast. It feels like the only sure thing is you and me.”
Wyatt laid his head on my shoulder, and a burst of pure, unfiltered love tightened my throat and filled my eyes.
“It seems lonely to me,” he said softly, “not to have anybody we can trust. I don’t want to live like that, and I don’t want you to, either.”
I kissed the top of his head, pausing for a moment to take in the smell of him. My boy. “You think Roman is somebody we can trust.”
He lifted his head and looked me in the eyes. “Don’t you? Really?”
“Yeah, I do. I think. I don’t know.” I sighed. “I’m scared, Wy. I don’t want to make a mistake.” I didn’t think there was anything Roman could do to help me with the humungous bill that was due in the next six weeks, regardless, but that wasn’t a burden to share with my son, who was already trying to be a man too soon.
However, I knew what I had to do next. “I should apologize to him, huh?”
He nodded. “In person. You should go to his house and tell him you’re sorry. I’ll clean up this and make myself a sandwich for dinner.” He gave the blackened steaks and kebabs a wistful look.
I stood up. “Sorry I ruined the surprise dinner. Let’s clean up together, and then I’ll go up to Roman’s house and grovel. Okay?”
Wyatt nodded, stood, and then hugged me. I wrapped my arms around him and held on as long as I could.
Whatever happened, I had to make sure this boy had a good life. The life he wanted.
Whatever I had to do.
EIGHTEEN: Understanding
Roman still lived in the same house he’d had when I babysat for him—a couple miles farther north on the 101, on the east side, tucked up on a hill in the forest. It was near dark as I arrived, and the amber glow from his front windows glinted through the redwoods.
I pulled into his secluded drive and headed up the hill. The house was a log-cabin style, pretty common in these parts, but it was substantially nicer than the main cabin at the Sea-Mist. It was about twice the size, for one thing, with a story and a half, and the wide covered porch wrapped around to a cozy back yard sheltered by an ancient stand of redwoods and carpeted by eons’ worth of their needles.
He also had a detached three-car garage off to the side. All three doors were closed, and his Rivian was parked before one. My Golf looked like an actual golf cart as I parked beside that beast.
As I climbed out and stood, I saw the front door opening, and Roman stepped onto the porch. He closed the door and stood right before it. Then, silent and still, he watched me approach.
I stopped at the foot of the porch steps, which were on the near side of the porch. Clearly, I was going to have to speak first.
“Hi,” was my scintillating first volley.
“Hi.”
