The Geography of You and Me(62)

He wanted to see her.

It was as simple and as complicated as that.

The next morning was Sunday, which meant that Dad was off work, and Owen woke to the smell of pancakes. It had been a long time since his father had cooked anything for breakfast, but ever since they returned from Pennsylvania, they’d resumed the Sunday-morning tradition. When he was little, Owen remembered getting his pancakes in the shape of a mouse, while Mom’s were always slightly crooked hearts. These days, they were mostly just circles, but it wasn’t the shape that mattered; it was that they were there at all. Owen knew it was a small thing, but it felt big; it felt like they’d traveled a very long way just to make it here, to this kitchen with the bubbling batter and the smell of syrup.

As he slid into his seat, Dad waved the spatula in greeting.

“Sleep well?” he asked, and Owen nodded distractedly. He had a question to ask, and he was busy trying to figure out the best way to do that. But Dad was in too good a mood to notice. He slid a plate of warm pancakes in front of Owen with a grin. “For my favorite son.”

“Your only son appreciates it,” Owen said, reaching for the syrup. As Dad moved around the tiny kitchen—turning off the griddle and putting the butter back in the fridge, all while humming a little tune under his breath—Owen chewed slowly, still making calculations.

He didn’t have any savings—not anymore. There wasn’t exactly a lot to begin with, but when money was tight on the drive, Owen had started paying for things himself. Not anything big, just the odd tank of gas or some groceries when it was his turn to run into the store. And then in Tahoe, he’d done the same with his dishwashing money, and anything he’d managed to scrape together since. He’d never mentioned it to his dad, who had still been too distraught at that point to notice much of anything, but it felt good to help, especially as the expenses stacked up and the weeks stretched on.

But now, suddenly, this had become a problem. Owen had looked up flights online, and they weren’t as bad as he thought, a few hundred dollars maybe, but that was still a few hundred dollars more than he had. Upstairs, tucked in one of his drawers, was the key to the roof of their old building, which meant he didn’t need a place to stay. If worse came to worse, he could easily sleep up there for a couple of nights; it was warm enough, and he was pretty sure nobody would notice. So it was really just the plane ticket and a few other essentials, but he had a plan that would cover those, and he had two whole weeks to do it. He just needed to work up the nerve to ask.

“So,” he said, as his father finally took a seat across from him. “The site’s coming along?”

“Yeah,” he said, beaming. “It’s coming up fast. And the foreman told me yesterday that they’ve got another job lined up right after, and he wants me on the crew.”

“That’s great,” Owen said, watching him take a long swig of orange juice. “So do they… have enough help?”

“Help?” Dad asked, without looking up from his breakfast.

“Yeah, you know… workers.”

“Plenty,” he said with a nod, then frowned, his fork left hanging a few inches from his mouth. “How come?”

“I just thought, if they ever needed an extra pair of hands or anything, maybe I could—”

Dad laughed a short bark of a laugh. “You?”

“Yeah,” said Owen, feeling his face go warm. “I mean, I’ve been helping around the house, and I really like it.…”

This was only half true, and they both knew it. In the six weeks that they’d been here, the house had come a long way, but it was mostly due to Dad’s work. He’d put in new windows and repaired the front steps, painted the porch and the wood trim around the door, installed a new sink, and refinished the hardwood floors. Owen always trailed along after him, handing over tools and completing small tasks when instructed, but he lacked the skill for this kind of work. More often than not, he spilled the paint or missed the nail. He just wasn’t very comfortable with a hammer or a drill, unlike Dad, who should have come home from the construction site exhausted every day but instead returned with a brand of energy Owen hadn’t seen in him since before the accident, switching out his tool belt with genuine enthusiasm.

He was watching him now across the table with one eyebrow raised. “You hate that kind of stuff,” he said finally, and Owen shrugged.

“It would just be nice to have some extra money.”

“Story of our lives, huh?” Dad said with a smile, but when he saw Owen’s expression, his mouth straightened again. “Look, we’re doing okay now, so if you’re worried about college—”

“I’m not,” he said, and for once he meant it. Over the past few weeks, he’d been researching student loans and scholarships, had been making plans without quite admitting to himself that he was doing it. And he’d made his decision. “Actually, I checked,” he said, “and UW has really great financial assistance.”

Dad stared at him. “Does that mean…?”

“Yeah,” Owen said with a grin. “University of Washington.”

“So you’ll be…?”

“Right across town.”

Dad smacked the table, making the plates wobble. “Well, that’s great news,” he said, beaming, but then his smile fell and he leaned forward with a worried expression. “But you’re not just doing it because of me, are you? Because you can go anywhere, you know. I’ll be fine. And I’ll come visit.”