The Art of Making Money - Jason Kersten [100]
It was her dog-food moment. She railed on Senior much the same way Art had, reciting the litany of Bridgeport sufferings. But this time Senior didn’t take it. Hurt, he stepped outside of the diner. Art ran after him.
“We’re done,” Senior told him. “I’m going back. You can drop her off, stay here if you want. I don’t care. This is too much.”
“She’s just overwhelmed, what do you expect?” Art said. He talked his father down, then went back into the diner to try to soothe his sister. He made no attempt to downplay Senior’s shortcomings as a role model. Wensdae was right; their father was a shit, but neither of them was going to change that. They might as well make the most of the time they had with him, and no one was going to feel good if the trip ended prematurely. Wendz settled down, then crutched back to the car and made up with her dad.
They continued on, all the way up to the tip of the Michigan Peninsula, where they hopped a ferry to Mackinac Island, and rented a beach house on Lake Huron. They were all exhausted, and Wensdae’s leg was hurting her, but on their first night there Art wanted to go out and hit some more stores on the island. Before he left the house, Senior took him aside.
“We’ve done enough,” he told his son. “Let’s just cool it while we’re here. No more passing.”
Art was relieved to see his father put some brakes on the spree; he attributed his hesitancy to the fight with Wendz. But once they left Mackinac Island, the respite ended and they were soon slamming malls again, this time as they headed West. Wensdae wanted to see Senior’s place in Alaska, and the plan was for all of them to drive back to Seattle and take a plane back to Anchorage. But the closer they got to Seattle, the more Art began having doubts of his own, both about the money, and about where he was headed with his father.
THREE MONTHS EARLIER on Sharon’s porch in Texas, Art had envisioned a far different reunion with his father. He’d pictured his pops living a more or less straight life, one that perhaps even inspired him to go clean too. Wishful thinking or not, it was a vision he had latched on to. But like always, he’d allowed the counterfeit into the fabric of their relationship. It was now dominating everything they did, becoming inseparable from not only the future, but also the past. Even now they were traveling the same sad highways that Art would forever associate with his dad’s abandonment, except now Art was the one doing the driving. Twenty years earlier, his father had been the one in control, but as the creator of the counterfeit, Art was the one in charge. It was this realization that made him stop short of getting on the plane once they reached Seattle.
“I’m not going back with you,” he told them at the airport. “I have some things I need to pack up in Texas, and you two should spend some time together alone.” It was half true at best. Art indeed had a stash of Abitibi paper in Texas that he wanted to ship north, but he also felt the need to get away from his father. He needed space to think.
Senior was annoyed by his son’s change in plans. He tried to talk Art into staying, but once he saw that Junior wouldn’t be swayed he wished him luck and told his son that he’d see him in a week or so. Before they parted, Art gave Senior nine thousand dollars in counterfeit. He told his dad that he and Wensdae could have fun with it in Seattle, but warned him that if there was any left over he should not spend it in Alaska. They hugged each other good-bye, and Pops and Wensdae walked off to rent a car so they could spend a few days knocking around Seattle before heading home. “I got the feeling that that was the last time I was ever going to see him,” says Art. “I was wrong, but it felt that way.”
Now completely alone, Art embarked on the most forlorn spending trip of his life. He still had about fifteen thousand dollars in counterfeit, but the bills felt like a burden. Like an addict who’s tired of doing