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They’re two and half hours into an excursion to the California Science Center when Eddie has to remind himself that they live in Los Angeles and can come back any time and that they don’t need to see every single exhibit in one trip.
“It’s actually so insane that we have better maps of Mars than we do of the ocean floor and we live here,” Buck tells Christopher when they finally pull him out of the Deep-Sea Vents zone. Chris is currently more into video games than National Geographic, but Eddie knows his son is always willing to indulge Buck’s wandering trains of thought.
They’re rounding a corner in search of a place for Christopher to sit down for a few minutes when an excited noise punches out of Buck.
“Penny Presser!”
A few other people turn at the exclamation coming from the hulk of a man in the middle of the science center hallway.
“This is literally my favorite souvenir,” Buck beams, one hand resting on a red machine in the vague shape of spaceship.
“What is it?”
“Do you have a dollar?”
Eddie glances down at Christopher, who’s already looking at Buck with a similar expression of fondness that’s on his own face far too often.
He digs a wrinkled bill out of his wallet and hands it to Buck, who takes it with eager fingers and a smile that cracks his whole face open. Eddie’s stomach twists.
“C’mere, Chris.”
Eddie watches as Buck gets four quarters and a penny from the change machine before slotting the coins into the spaceship-shaped contraption.
“What’cha want? Astronaut, space shuttle, or fighter jet?”
Chris’ nose crinkles while he thinks. “Astronaut.”
“Excellent choice. Usually, you get to turn a crank but press this.” Buck points to the dashboard and Chris jabs one of the three buttons with his finger. The machine whirs and rumbles and from inside comes a crisp, grinding sound before a shiny penny plinks into a tray.
“Look, dad!”
Chris hands the penny, now flattened into an oval, to Eddie. There’s something about it – the shape, the smooth back and the ridges on the front – that reminds Eddie of his St. Christopher medal.
Eddie meets Buck’s bright eyes over Chris’ head. “You like these?”
Buck nods, curling bouncing on his forehead. “Used to collect them while I was roaming around the country. Cheapest thing I could get. I’ve got a jar of them somewhere.”
Eddie rubs the metal under his thumb until it warms. “How many of these things are there?”
“In the country?” Buck thinks. “Over 3000.”
Eddie has a flash of the three of them packed into the truck, drinks and sandwiches in coolers, spending weeks on the road chasing down pressed pennies for Buck. Crashing in motel rooms, lounging by dingy pools. It sounds like a dream.
“Well,” Eddie begins and thinks he’d better tell his best friend he’s in love with him before they do this. “I guess we better start saving up quarters.”