He was happy to have been there to help when Einars fell, liked that she allowed him to help her, but he wanted more. He wanted to know how those long arms would feel wrapped around his neck, if there were hidden speckles in her blue eyes. He wanted to know the story behind the necklace she touched when worried or scared, drawing his eyes to her throat. But he couldn’t have that. His life—Bass, Paige, the inevitable truth coming out—was complicated, and he wouldn’t draw her into that.
But today was about spending time with Bass. Driving through Peninsula State Park was a whole different pace than what they’d seen of the area so far. If most of Door County was lined with rows of apple and cherry trees or else corn and summer crops, then the state park was its wild core, a hidden pocket free from the tiny gift shops and trendy eateries that lined the small towns up and down Highway 42. Lush forests edged the road, revealing orange-domed tents and cream pop-up trailers between the many tree trunks and shorter shrubs. A few campers still sat around fires, enjoying the last sips of fire-brewed coffee before going about their days, bedding slung over ropes tied between tree trunks.
As Isaac drove through the park, he and the handful of other drivers slowed for the abundant cyclists cruising the well-shaded byways. He looked at the map he had gotten at the ranger station and pulled into the parking lot for the Eagle Tower. The wooden tower rose four stories above the parking lot overlooking the water below, with three viewing platforms; halfway up, three-quarters of the way up, and at the top. After their early start, this seemed the right place to begin the day. Campfire and damp earth mingled on the breeze as Bass and Isaac stepped out of the car. Isaac double-checked that his backpack contained their water bottles, phone, and the poorly refolded map. He sprayed them both with sunscreen and topped their floppy curls with matching tan wide-brimmed hats. He’d taken Sanna’s advice and gotten them both decent ones for working in the orchard.
“You ready for this, Perch?”
“I own this.”
Isaac checked to make sure his backpack was secure and that there weren’t many people on the stairs before shouting, “Go!”
Isaac dominated the first two landings, his longer, stronger legs taking the worn wooden steps two at a time. He was a full seven steps ahead of Bass when they reached the halfway point, when gravity and age started working against him. Since Isaac and Bass had begun their road trip, he’d stopped his daily runs, never wanting to be even one mile from his son. Now he paid the price. His lungs burned and he had to start taking the stairs one at a time. He heard Bass’s quick, light steps gaining behind him as he dodged around a family of four.
“Watch out for the family,” he shouted between ragged breaths as Bass bounced off the railing to narrowly avoid a mom holding the hand of a toddler.
As they rounded the last flight, Bass pulled ahead, his lighter body and younger lungs unaffected by the rapid climb.
“Burn!” Bass screamed, and the handful of other people on the observation deck looked on with good-natured smiles, especially when they noticed Isaac gasping for breath as Bass completed his victory dance, complete with the Dab and a booty shake.
“Okay, okay. You’ve made your point. I’m old.”
Isaac went to stand at the railing, and Bass joined him. A stitch had formed at his side, but his breathing slowed after a few moments’ rest. The tower stood near the edge of a cliff overlooking Green Bay. He hadn’t even known there was a real Green Bay besides the football team before coming here, and now he was looking at it. White boats crisscrossed the green-tinged waves. They were a million miles from everything they knew. Isaac let the remoteness wrap around them as he pulled Bass in for a hug.
These moments were why he ran away with Bass. The laughter, the racing, just him being a kid. When Isaac finally did tell him about his mom—and he would, soon, he swore it—this innocence would evaporate. They would need to talk about drugs, overdosing, addiction, and why Paige couldn’t get better.
Isaac would never forget the day he gave up hope she would beat her addiction—the day he knew their marriage was over. Bass had been finishing up kindergarten, and Paige still worked nights at a nursing home. Little did he know that’s where she was getting her supply. The nursing home kept a stock of fentanyl lollipops and patches for the patients who used it to manage their pain. He had known for months something was off—she’d been losing weight and sometimes at night her breathing almost stopped. When they would lie in their bed, she would curl into a ball while he curved around her, close but not touching. He’d count the seconds between breaths and some nights it would stretch to seventy or eighty seconds. A few times he nudged her to prompt an inhale. But it was never bad enough that he confronted her about her changed behavior, and he’d always regret that.
One day he came home from work early, hoping to meet Bass as he got off the bus. He’d pulled into the driveway as the bus turned the corner, just missing it. Bass and Paige would already be back to the house. He had wanted them all to drive to the coast as a family for dinner, maybe watch the sunset over the Pacific with a picnic. He quietly opened the door into their kitchen, planning his surprise. If he was lucky, he could execute the tickle attack that always sent Bass into cascading giggles—Isaac’s favorite sound in the world.
He poked his head around the corner into the living room, where what he saw made his excitement crack off like a calving glacier into an icy ocean. His wife, Paige, lay on the couch, her eyes closed and sweat covering her face. On the table in front of her were open packets and a handful of lollipops. Bass stood next to her, barely taller than the back of the couch, still wearing his Yoda backpack. He wasn’t looking at his passed-out mom but at the candy. He already held one in his hand and was reaching for a second.
Isaac didn’t remember crossing the small living room or picking up Bass. He couldn’t remember if he shouted or scolded or said anything at all. He only remembered seeing the lollipop, then holding a screaming Bass, who was angry his daddy had taken the candy from him.