Total pages in book: 148
Estimated words: 137572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 688(@200wpm)___ 550(@250wpm)___ 459(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 688(@200wpm)___ 550(@250wpm)___ 459(@300wpm)
“I think the main thing I feel,” I finally let out, “is regret that he never got to know me. I mean, I’m sure he had his reasons. If what my mom said is true, he was a bit of a wild spirit. Untamable. A true rebel heart. That’s what she fell in love with … but it’s also what broke them apart, especially after I was born. My dad just … couldn’t handle the responsibility. He needed his freedom. And is it odd that in a weird, totally detached way … I understand him?” Vann gazes curiously at the side of my face, listening. “I was a bit of an accident. My mom won’t say it, but it’s true. And while I … I never really knew my dad, I always felt like I had a part of him in me. Despite my determination my whole life to be a good boy, to do well, to impress others, to be liked … I always had a part of me that craved standing out. Fighting expectation. Rebelling.”
“You always had it in you,” Vann notes. “You kept saying I’m the one who gave that to you, but … I just helped you wake it up. It was always in you, that part of him.”
I turn to Vann. “And I guess it’s that part of my dad in me that’s rejecting the notion of going to college. I just can’t see myself there. Not at this point in my life, at least.” I meet his eyes suddenly, the subject of my dad dropped for a moment. “Um, did you tell your parents yet about, uh … your decision …?”
“Oh. That.” Vann chuckles and shakes his head. “They’re so damned excited that I finally graduated high school, I think I’ll … give them a little bit of time to enjoy this ‘high school high’ before I drop the not-going-to-college bomb on them.”
“You could always go next year. Or in the spring. Or not at all. We’re young. The road to your future is yours to pave.”
“That it is,” Vann agrees. “And yours, too.”
I take his hand, then gaze at it thoughtfully as the rest of that letter—sitting on the dining room table—echoes in my numb mind on loop, over and over.
A little fire ignites in my heart, a fire of determination. “Want to take a little trip with me?”
Vann lifts a curious eyebrow. “A trip to where?”
“I have to see a lawyer about the house I just inherited.”
His eyes turn into two black stones. Indeed, in the few words of that letter, my father’s lawyer made it clear: He left me a modest sum of money intended to fuel my dreams, whatever they may be, as well as his house and all the property left inside it.
After inputting the address from the lawyer’s letter into my phone, we discover his office to be an hour and twenty minutes away in a town right on the coast of the Gulf of Mexico. “It’s the same beach town Lee and I were taken to as kids,” I realize. “I didn’t know my dad had a house there.”
“I’ve been longing to see a beach again,” Vann admits.
“We’re long overdue,” I admit, then turn to him. “You ready for the ‘taste of salt on your face’?” The yearning spark in Vann’s eyes is all the answer I need.
We ride his bike out to the coastal beach town. Upon arriving at the lawyer’s office, I sign some legal documents and am given a set of keys, and a letter from my dad I was to receive in the event of his death. In the letter, he tells me I was the only thing on this planet he was proud to have had a part in creating. He kept an eye on me from afar, not wanting to interfere with my new life and my new family, and in the end, I was the only remaining piece of him to survive. His words in this letter about me being the one thing he’s proud of helping create, I must admit, ring somewhat empty, especially since he walked away from me and my mom and didn’t so much as call me once over the years. But if there’s anything I know, it’s that this past year has done nothing but challenge me in the least expected ways—bringing Vann into my life, repairing my long broken and strained relationship with my stepbrother and stepfather, showing me a new side to my once enemy Hoyt—and perhaps the loss of a father I never really had to begin with is just one last challenge.
Maybe it’s the answer to the big question mark of my future that’s plagued me over the last month of my high school career.
My dad’s house is just up the road from the beach: a small rundown place that, even in its age and weathered side paneling, is inviting and full of charm. A couple of cute guys holding hands stroll by on their way to the beach, and they give me and Vann a wave. “Friendly place,” notes Vann. “And a bit gay,” I add, smiling as I head up the creaky porch to the door. Upon entering it, I find myself in a world of my father. A greenish armchair next to the window overlooking the road. Shelves full of books and whimsical knickknacks. A table in another room that is a host to a bunch of miniature figurines: knights, dwarves, and huge-hammer-wielding orcs. An old upright piano with a red-and-purple ukulele sitting atop it. We find a short set of stairs leading up to a bedroom with the bed unmade, sheets halfway on the floor, as if my father woke up just an hour ago and took off to hit the beach. The window glows with the sunlight spilling in, and through it, I can see the gentle rush and pull of distant waves.