“And…” He hesitated, swallowing hard. “I’m going to therapy. Started last Tuesday. Found a counselor near the shipyard.”
I didn’t say anything for a long time. I just reached across the space between our chairs and gripped his shoulder. A father doesn’t need to give a speech when his son finally figures out how to fix his own foundation.
Reaching the Pacific
Two days later, the air grew heavy with the unmistakable scent of salt spray, eucalyptus trees, and damp coastal fog. We rolled over the crest of the coastal range on Highway 1, and there it was—endless, glittering, and magnificent: the Pacific Ocean.
We parked the RV on a dusty turnout overlooking a rocky cove near Big Sur, where white-crested waves crashed against jagged boulders and seagulls wheeled through the misty air.
Jason climbed out of the passenger side, walked right down to the edge of the cliff, and took a long, deep breath of the ocean air, throwing his arms wide open like he was trying to embrace the entire horizon.
“We made it,” he called back over the sound of the surf.
