I look at the last two or three bites of the thing, and then at Faye. "Faye, my dear…is this a pot brownie?"
She pops the last bite into her mouth. "Sure is, missy."
I finish it, wash it down with sparkling water, and then give Faye a long, droll stare. "You could have warned me."
She cackles. "Where's the fun in that?"
"What if I had to pass a drug test?"
"Do you?"
"No, but—"
'Then don't waste my time with pointless hypotheticals. You're a hippie's kid. If that's the first special brownie you've ever had, then I really am Norma Jean Mortenson."
"No, it's not. Not by a long shot."
"You need to relax. You're wound up tighter than a nun's cooter."
I splutter. "Faye!"
"I know whereof I speak, young lady. My aunt was a nun. She was a mean, miserable bitch."
"Not all nuns are like that."
"Known a bunch of ‘em, have you?" she asks.
I laugh. "Not a ton, no, but I did spend two weeks living with nuns in a convent in Northern California."
She blinks at me. "Wasn’t expecting that."
Her expectant silence is heavily leading, so I sigh. "Okay, well, this was before I met Dutchie. Mom had only been dead for like…six months? I was still a mess, emotionally. I had no formal education, no family, no friends, and nowhere to go. I had Mom's bus and like six thousand dollars I found in Mom's stuff. She died in Temecula, so I headed north. I ended up at the convent by accident—the bus ran out of gas and the nuns picked me up, brought me to the convent, and took care of me. They had my bus towed and filled up, gave me a bed, fed me." I shrug. “They were awesome."
Faye harrumphs. "I went to catholic school in the forties and fifties, so my experience with nuns is a bit different."
I laugh. "I bet it is." I glance at her. "Also, are you calling me a mean, miserable bitch?"
She snorts. "No. I was callin' my aunt that." She softens. "Ember, sweetheart, you gotta let it out. Trust me, I know."
She digs in her bag again and comes up with a bottle of peppermint vodka. She sticks her whole head into the bag, rummaging through it with a muttered grumble, and then comes up with a couple bottles of chocolate Ensure.
She cracks one of the bottles open and takes a healthy slug, gesturing at me. "Go on, take 'er down a notch or two so we can fit the vodka in there."
I stare at her. "Faye, we drove here. And we just ate giant pot brownies."
"So?"
"So…we'll be wasted and we have to drive back at some point."
She stabs the sky with a finger. "Atsomepoint!" She points down the beach at a stand of trees. "I happen to know there's some good firewood down there. We camp out here. I've got blankets in here."
"You're not supposed to make fires on the beach, I don't think," I argue.
She sighs. "Ember, I was good my whole life. Did everything by the book. Courted my Thomas properly, was a virgin when I married him. Raised our daughter, kept our home like a good wife. When Tina left home, I went to school and got my teaching certificate and taught school. I was on the PTO, and eventually, the school board. I volunteered at church. Never stepped so much as a toe out of line. Never jaywalked, never lusted after a man who wasn’t my husband, never drank too much. Nothing. I kept damn near every single one of the Ten commandments faithfully my whole life."
"I sense a but coming," I say.
She nods. "You do. It was a good life. But when Thomas passed away, it broke me. I didn't want to live. Didn't know how. Eventually, Tina convinced me to see a therapist. It took a few months to find one I liked, but when I did, she changed my life. Told me it was time to live for me. I'd lived my life for everyone else. I followed the rules my parents set as a kid, and then the rules society expected me to live by as a dutiful wife and mother. I lived for my husband and child. I wanted to go to school when Tina started school, but Thomas didn't want me to, so I didn't. I waited, like he wanted."
