The Wreck
Page 24
“Dad?” Trist said.
Robin’s head jerked. “Yeah, bud?”
“You’re zoning out again. I just asked what you thought mom would do while we’re gone.”
Was he being too selfish? Should they not go? Christ, after the past year, did Trist even want to go anymore? Should Levana come with them? No, she had made that clear. This was his time to make things right with his son.
“Probably relax without us bothering her,” Robin said. A safe and weak answer. “What time does Uncle Tyee want you in tomorrow?”
“Same as always, seven.” Trist looked at the shoreline in the distance. “Yeah, mom deserves some alone time.”
He might have had most of his mother’s looks, but his frame was a carbon copy of Robin’s, only—and Robin hated to concede the point, though couldn’t tell you why he struggled to—Trist was actually two inches taller than his 6’1”. Enjoy the 170 pounds at 17, kid. The question is: could you keep it under the 200-pound line for 20 more years like your old man had? Robin paused, letting the question ruminate. Another small battle lost in the fight to not ask himself questions that he would not be around to answer. Well, Levana will see if he can do it. Maybe next month’s test results will bring the unreliable and unrealistic word of ‘hope’ out of the graveyard. He was glad that Tristian didn’t know about that yet.
How many times had he wanted to bring it up as an eye-opener, a bargaining chip? But he had resisted. Pity was not the way to curtail adolescent behavior. And that was not the way to let a child know that his father was on borrowed time. Parents are the bones that children sharpen their teeth on. And as much as Trist’s teenage years had gnawed away at Robin’s skeleton, and as many nights as he had wanted them to be over, now, he wished they would go on.
“Dad?” Trist said.
Sweat beaded on Robin’s forehead, and he ran a hand over his closely cropped hair. His stomach felt queasy. Water was building behind his eyes, and his sunglasses were on the verge of becoming blurry. He gripped the steering wheel harder. He would not lose it here.
“Dad.” Trist said louder.
Robin turned his head toward Trist. “What’s up?” He mumbled.
Trist pointed up at the main sail. “We’re luffing.”
Thank God. Something else to concentrate on. “Good call. We fell off a bit.”
“You fell off a bit.”
Robin ignored the critique. Don’t fire back at him when he challenges you, Levana had said. Robin turned the wheel, and as the boat changed course, the sails became full again. “Ready to head in and start our preps?”
“I guess so,” Trist said. “Need me up here right now?”
It had been like this since they had left yesterday morning. When he wasn’t needed, Trist wanted to be as far away from Robin as possible—down in the cabin getting lost in a movie or book, or napping. At least they didn’t have enough money for one of those ridiculous sat phones, or cell phones, or whatever the hell they were. What a waste of time and money that would be. However, he could see the day coming, and Robin Norris detested it.
“Trist—” Now was not the moment to fight him about time spent together. “I—”
Trist exhaled.
Maybe it was. “Well, you know we’re going to be spending a lot of time together over the next 3 months.”
“Yeah, I know. What’s your point?”
“What I mean is that we can’t spend the whole time just sailing and when the work is done go off into our respective caves.”
“Do we have to talk about this now?”
Yes! He wanted to spend every waking minute he had left with him. “No, but I want you to think about it.”
Trist rose and headed for the hatch leading down into the boat’s cabin.
“Trist?”
Trist paused at the top step. “Call me when we get close to the marina,” he said and then disappeared below.