This feels like one of those moments we talk about at Thanksgiving dinner when we’re in our late twenties. Confessing the troublemaking we got into as kids now that we’re old enough not to be scared of our parents. Of course, I won’t be here when Easton is in his late twenties.
I put my phone in his outstretched hand, and he takes out his own, showing me that he’s stacking them together. Then he walks over to the dumpster, drops down onto his hands and knees, and puts them underneath.
“Seriously?” I ask. But I’m feeling a sense of camaraderie, as if Easton and I are more alike than I thought.
“It’s Tuesday night, so the trash men aren’t coming. And who would look under there anyway?”
I can’t help but smile because he’s right. It’s the perfect place to hide your stuff. I should know; all the documentation identifying the real me was hidden under a Starbucks dumpster in DC. Probably in a landfill now. That’s a problem for future me to figure out.
We get back in the car and Easton heads up the main road out of town.
He drives straight for a few more miles before he turns off onto a rocky dirt road. The road isn’t well maintained but it’s heavily used. It slopes upward through thick trees on both sides.
“Where are we?” I ask.
“I guess you wouldn’t remember coming up here, huh?” he says. “There’s a little lookout at the top of the hill that overlooks the bay. Dad would take us up here to watch fireworks on the Fourth.”
Eventually the trees clear and the road opens up onto a dirt lot in the middle of a grass clearing.
JT’s Jeep is up ahead, parked under a tall cedar tree.
He’s sitting on the back of a park bench that faces out to the bay. The sun is setting and the sky is bright pink and orange. There are thunderclouds to the south that flash with lightning, but they’re a waysoff over more tree-ridden hills. It’s beautiful, and I know Nate would definitely remember this.
As we pull to a stop, JT turns around. He immediately brightens when he recognizes the car and waves animatedly. Easton parks and we get out.
“What’s up, Beaumont Bros!” JT puts something in his pocket and gets up to greet us. He walks over to Easton and they do a dap, but when he approaches me, he stops with his arms out. “You a hugger? I’m a hugger, but your brother hates physical contact in all manners and means.”
I didn’t know that. He hugged me, so maybe he’s okay with family. I open my arms and smile politely. “Bring it in, JT.”
“Less-go!” He wraps his arms around me and even lifts me off the ground. He smells very strongly of weed, and when the hug is over, he reaches into his pocket and takes out a small black object. He puts it to his mouth and lets out a puff of smoke.
A vape. So this is his weed smoking spot. Well, maybeeverywhereis a weed smoking spot for JT.
“I thought you had asthma?” I say, remembering the inhaler he had when I first met him.
He nods and pulls it out, taking a hit. “That’s what this is for.” But he still coughs as he re-caps it. He holds up the black vape to me. “This vaporizes the flower, so it’s healthier for my lungs.”
Easton scoffs. “That is not true.”
“Sure it is!” JT insists, but Easton is right. There’s no way it’s true. “So what brings you boys up here on this beautiful evening?” Thunder rumbles in the distance.
I thought we were invited. I give Easton a questioning look, but he grins at me and shrugs.
“Just wanted to see you,” Easton says. He follows as JT returns to the bench but doesn’t sit down. Instead he walks over to the edge of the hill and uses his shoe to move a large, craggy rock.
The hill has a sharp, steep drop-off. I glance down and see several large rocks and boulders jutting out of the cliff face down a couple-hundred-foot drop. Then there’s only the bay.
“Well, I love the company.”
I sit next to JT, because being too close to the edge of the cliff is making my legs tingle. Even Easton being that close to it makes me anxious. I’m about to say something, but he steps away and stands next to the bench.
“Hey, JT,” he says.
“’Sup, baby?” JT pulls on his vape again, then holds it out to me as he coughs. I shake my head politely.
“Did you ever get asked to be on Miles Modine’s podcast?”
Oh, here we go. Easton pretended to come up here to chill with JT, but really he wants to keep mocking me.
