I grab my glass of OJ and gulp, gulp, gulp. Then smile as I fight to keep it in my stomach.
* * *
—
Despite my panicked swirl of money-related emotions and my irritation with Mama over the rashness of this little jaunt we’re on, I don’t say a word once we hit the road.
Mama’s oblivious. In the zone. Enjoying the open road as she bobs her head to the Michael Jackson satellite radio station she found while poking around the rental car’s fancy dashboard.
I watch the trees blur by.
“Is Jaxy asleep?” she says, lowering the volume.
My sweet baby brother is stretched out across the leather backseat. “Yep,” I say, peeking back at him. “Out cold.”
“Good.” She glances over at me. “I wanted to thank you.”
“For what?”
Don’t know that I’ve ever seen her this…bashful before. “For this trip,” she says. “I’ve always wanted to take you and your brother to the beach, so I saved some of that money you gave me.”
Oh. “You’re welcome.” I guess?
“I don’t say it often, but I couldn’t survive without you, Rico. And I don’t mean that just in a financial sense. You set a great example for your brother, and having you around really keeps me going.”
Where is this coming from?
“I know things can be strained between us, but I want you to know that I love you.”
And now I’m about to cry? Where is this coming from? “I’m sorry I forgot your birthday” comes bubbling out of me. “I really didn’t—”
“Stop.” And now she’s crying. “If anything, I should be sorry.” She wipes her eyes on her sleeve and sniffles. “Everything you said the night you gave me that money—”
“I thought you were gonna slap me.”
Now she laughs.
“You’re really somethin’, kid.”
I grab one of the napkins I shoved into the glove box when we got food and wipe my nose. “Can we stop now, please? This is a lot of emotion.”
She smiles. “You’re the greatest gift I’ve ever gotten, Rico.”
GAH!
“I love you too, Mama.”
* * *
—
My eyes do more leaking over the next couple of days than they have since the days of living in Granddaddy’s van.
They leak when we get up to our two-bedroom, ocean-view condo (that’s bigger than our apartment and has better appliances), and Jax runs out to the balcony to shout “THIS IS AWESOOOOOOME!”
They leak when I’m standing by the shore as a wave crashes and I feel the ocean rush up over my feet for the first time.
They leak when I take my first bite of boiled king crab leg dipped in melted butter (so there is a God, then).
They leak when I stare up at the night sky and I see more stars than I knew existed.
They leak because I’m having a great time…but it’s bittersweet. Every little luxury, while nice, is a reminder of what we don’t have and can’t really get. And despite my attempts to enjoy myself, as Mama keeps saying, my brain tallies every cent we spend here in Carillon Beach, Florida, and I can’t help the waves of anxiety that crash over me.
* * *
—
As we set up on the sand the morning of our second impromptu vacation day and I gaze out over the water, I can’t help but wonder what it’s like to be Zan Macklin. To never have to worry if spending money on Friday will affect grocery shopping on Monday. Or if you’ll make the rent. Or be able to pay the electricity bill so the power doesn’t get cut off (again).
What’s it like to hop up and go to the family doctor at the first sign of sickness? Eat whenever, whatever you’re hungry for? Buy what your heart desires without the merest glance at the price tag?
How’s it feel to take a vacation without being so jarred by the experience, you can’t really have a good time? I hate that I feel a little resentful toward him because of how much I know he takes for granted.
It throws me back to our convo about Wally Winkle and how Zan had all this judgment to throw at the guy for enjoying his lotto winnings. I did manage to catch a bit of the first JACKPOT! episode on YouTube, and while, fine, he maybe did make some questionable choices (a twelve-bedroom mansion for him, his wife, and his dog does seem a bit excessive), one thing about Wally was abundantly clear: he’s overwhelmingly grateful for his win.
“Rico, come help me build a sand castle for my robot!” Jax yells from way too close to the shore for the thing to last very long.
I look at the joy making the kid’s wet-sand-colored skin practically glow. Sigh and rise to my feet. Head up and shoulders back. Walk over to where he and Mama are already kneeling in the sand, and grab a bucket.
Try not to think about the thirty-five dollars Mama paid for the set of seven plastic pieces.
* * *
—
But then Jax wakes up at three in the morning with a fever.
103° this time.
There’s ibuprofen and cold compresses and lots of blankets to keep the chills at bay. There’s me singing “Smooth Criminal” to help him sleep, and Mama pacing back and forth with her hands over her stomach.
There’s a vacation cut short. A sister in the backseat with her baby brother holding a sick bag.
There’s Mama not stopping at an emergency clinic because she’s scared it’ll cost too much money.
Jax doesn’t feel very good. I’m all wet with sweat from where he’s squeezing me in his hot palm, and it’s making me nervous. He’s a nicer kid than the last one who owned me—didn’t let me out of his sight for the whole trip—and I know life is transient or whatever, but it’d be cool to keep him around.
I worry about that sister of his too. I bodyguard Jax from where he sets me on his nightstand before going to bed, and sis doesn’t know it, but sometimes she cries in her sleep. She also sometimes wakes up sweaty and breathing super hard, thinking she’s late for work. There was this one time she actually got out of bed, put her clothes on, and rushed out, only to come back like minutes later, drop down onto her bed, and shove her face in her pillow to cry.
She also doesn’t know Jax was awake and saw the whole thing.
He was scared, and I kinda was too.