Page 61 of So Far Gone

She turned. “And you are—”

“Oh, right,” Kinnick said. “This is my friend, Brian. He lives near me, in Ford. The kids are with his wife, Joanie.”

“Girlfriend,” Brian corrected, Jefe Jeff putting out his fist for another bump.

“It’s more of a common-law thing,” Kinnick explained.

“Right.” Then Bethany turned to Jeff. “And you—”

Jeff removed his hat and bowed. “The great and powerful Jeff, purveyor of quality hallucinogens, and guide to the furthest reaches of one’s consciousness.”

“Sure,” Bethany said. She nodded, and stuck out her bottom lip, and said, “Okay then,” as if she’d processed everything and now was ready to act, Kinnick impressed by her calm. She looked back at the tent. “I’ll pack up my stuff. You can tell me the rest of it on the drive.”

“I’m sorry to make you leave early,” Kinnick said.

“It’s okay,” Bethany said. “I was ready to go.”

“Also, Beth”—Kinnick put his hand out—“I wanted to say, I’m so sorry to hear about your mom.” He started to move toward her, to give her a hug.

But she gave a hurried nod, and said, “I’ll be right out,” and dipped inside the tent to start packing up.

Sorry to hear about your mom?Why did Kinnick have such trouble speaking around his daughter? Everything that came out of his mouth sounded so distant, so cool to his own ear. He looked over at Brian, who shrugged, as if to say,Children, daughters, women—who knows.

“You guys look alike,” Jeff said.

“She looks more like her mother,” Kinnick said.

And that’s when Doug came running back up the trail, sweating and breathless, dodging various freaks and furries. “Oh good,” he said. “I was afraid she was gone already.”

Kinnick couldn’t believe this doughy bald man was the same long-haired waste-case who’d swept his daughter off her sandals in 2006, and who Rhys blamed for spinning her into a five-year drug-fueled postcollege eddy, Bethany following Doug’s band around aimlessly before snapping out of it one morning and showing up at Celia’s house with a two-month-old and a minor coke habit. Rhys had been relieved to hear Bethany had left Doug, but within a year, she was declaring her love for another loser, Shane. (“Out of the frying pan,” as Kinnick used to put it, “and into a stupider frying pan.”)

Indeed, Shithead Shane had caused Kinnick to soften his opinion a bit on Sluggish Doug over the years, but he could still hear the edge in his own voice when he greeted him. “Hello,Doug.”

Bethany must’ve heard it, too, because she emerged from the tent with a backpack, a duffel bag, and a rolled-up sleeping bag. She pushed the duffel into her father’s hands, and, as if reading his mind, said, through gritted teeth: “This wasnotDoug’s fault, Dad. It was my decision to come up here.”

Kinnick accepted the duffel, and Bethany’s tone. “I’m sorry.” He craned to look around Bethany. “I liked your band, Doug.”

“You guys are great,” Brian agreed.

“Awesome set,” said Jeff.

“Thanks,” Doug said. “How have you been, Rhys?”

Kinnick glanced sideways at Bethany. “Trying,” he said. “How about you, Doug?”

“Same, I guess.” Doug smiled and turned to Bethany. “You’re leaving?”

“I am. But thank you, Doug.”

“I’m sorry it wasn’t all you’d hoped.”

“It was just fine. Thank you. And I loved hearing my song. That made it all worthwhile.”

“Tell Leah I’ll try to see her this summer.” Kinnick knew that Doug had had almost no role in his daughter’s life—a combination of his own deep slacker instincts and Bethany’s desire to start a new life twelve years ago with Shane and her infant daughter.

“I will,” Bethany said. They exchanged a long hug, and when it was over, Kinnick shook Doug’s hand, gave him a short nod, and turned to follow Jeff the trip guide once more through the festival campsite.

They reached the Rushrooms tent and Brian pulled a slip of paper from under the windshield wiper of his Bronco. He held it up for Jeff to see. On top was another Incan cross. Below that were two stamps: a snake and a flower.

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