I almost smiled at the thought, because that’d be the first thing she’d be curious about—what it was like to spend so much time with him in the cab of the Pala. She’d want to know all the tiny details. I thought about which ones I’d tell her, where I’d even start. Maybe with how he ended up in the car with me in the first place, all drunk and angry. Or how on that first night in the campground he’d been mean enough to make me cry, or how he talked crude or tried to pee into my empty soda cup or drove in his underwear. Those would be the things she’d expect to hear, because they fit into what we’d both thought of him for so long. But none of that mattered now.
No. If I could call her right now and tell her anything, I’d tell her he was better than I’d thought. That I understood why Finn had loved him so much, because in spite of everything else, he was the kind of friend any of us would be lucky to have. The kind that looked out for you when you needed it and backed off when you needed it. And the kind who told you the truth when you needed that, even if it hurt. I couldn’t be angry at him for what he’d told me. I hadn’t just been yelling at Rusty about the sign. I’d unloaded everything on him—everything I was mad about, everything that seemed unfair, everything that hurt, because I wanted someone to blame for it all. And now I had only myself.
I put my head down and followed the curve of the path, not ready to think about that or Finn or the choices he’d made and what they meant. I couldn’t. Instead, I walked and walked until I came to a lookout place at the edge of the bluff, high above the ocean. It was foggy down below, so foggy I couldn’t even see the water that had sparkled for miles in every direction the day before. It was like it was gone, just the same as everything else that had been good in my life.
At that moment I wanted more than anything to see it again, and feel that big bursting feeling I’d had standing there looking at the ocean with Rusty, before I’d gone and ruined everything. I stood there forever, squinting through the fog, trying to get it back, but I knew I couldn’t. Perfect moments like that couldn’t be repeated. And horrible ones, like my argument with Rusty in the parking lot, couldn’t be taken back. I hoped, though, that I could somehow make it right.
I glanced around, and my eyes found a narrow trail that zigzagged down the bluff, into the fog. It had to lead down to the sand and the water. I could walk the beach and find where we’d been the day before, where I’d seen some buildings and maybe there’d be a payphone. I’d call Gina and tell her everything. And she’d be angry with me, but she’d know what to do, and she’d help me get Rusty out of jail and get Finn’s car back, and then . . . Well. I hadn’t figured out what then, but at least I had something to think about doing now.
I climbed, one leg at a time, over the rope that bordered the lookout and made my way down the steep trail, slipping more than a time or two on the loose rocks, and using the bushes along the sides to hold on to. By the time I made it to the sand, the back of my skirt was the same shade of brown as the trail and my hands smelled like sage brush, but I felt a little better already. I could smell the salt and hear the crash of the little waves, and even though I couldn’t see the ocean stretch out forever to the horizon, I could feel a twinge of that same expansive feeling from the day before. The water was a soft shade of gray in the morning fog, and the way it rolled up over the sand and then back was so calm and steady, I wanted to sit and watch it forever.
I sat down and pulled my boots off, then dug my toes into the cool of the sand and looked around. The beach was littered with all kinds of things—sticks and seaweed, a red plastic shovel, a few bits of shells here and there, all in a wavy line, like the ocean had washed them up then receded. I hoped none of the things were last night’s lanterns. I hoped they’d all made it to the horizon of peace and redemption, like the priest had said, or that they were still out there somewhere, their little lights twinkling through the fog. I hoped that little girl’s message had made it where it was supposed to go.
The thought struck me as ironic as soon as I had it, because it seemed like no matter where you thought you were supposed to be, life had other ideas. I was supposed to be at orientation today, getting ready to start my whole new life off at college, yet here I was, alone on the beach, all the way in California. And Rusty, he should be at football practice, getting yelled at by the coach for being a smart-ass but making a name for himself because he’s the best they’ve got.
And Finn . . .
He should be here, seeing the ocean with me. He should’ve been in the car with the windows down, singing “Wayward Son” with Rusty, and driving through the wavy desert heat. And he should’ve seen the sun rise from beneath the water in New Mexico and the stars streak white and sparkling over the red rocks in Arizona. Because the only reason I’d done any of those things was him and his “real letter” and the tickets he’d sent. Put your feet in the ocean, he’d said. Tell Kyra Kelley about your handsome older brother.
Her final show was in a few hours, and I was going to miss it. I’d made it all this way, and still, I wouldn’t see it. Not a chance I’d be able to tell her about Finn.
I watched the waves pitch up, then tumble down into foam, and thought how this thing was never really about going to see Kyra Kelley’s last concert, let alone telling her about him. If he were alive, that’s all the trip would have been about. But once he was gone, I’d used his gift as a reason to take his car and just go away from the truth of it for a little while. I’d put my feet in the ocean like he wanted me to, but he’d never know all the other things he’d given me.