It's. Nice. Outside. (14 page)

“Oh, I am.”

“You can't teach what she's got. That wit. Quick on her feet with the zingers. Like Ali, stings like a butterfly.”

“Yep, that's her. A stinging butterfly.”

He lowered his voice. “I gotta be straight about one thing though. That thing with the adult diaper she does. That skit when her ass gets big, you know, inflates like that, whatever, the thing she did last week or whenever. I gotta say, do you think that's in the best taste? Just between me and you, I know some people who gotta wear those, and it's nothing to laugh at. Intermittent incontinence isn't a joke; it can be serious and life changing.”

I considered Sal's unusually earnest comment and concluded that my big, strapping bookie, maybe-in-the-mob-but-probably-not brother-in-law was possibly, at that very moment, wearing an extra-large diaper, and this saddened me. For better or worse, Sal was a constant in my life, indestructible, and I didn't like the fact that he might be running down.

“I don't think that's what she's making fun of. She's making fun of people who are so busy, they don't have time to go to the bathroom.”

Sal studied me with his hooded black eyes. “See, I don't see it like that. I see it different.”

“You should talk to her then. I know she values your creative input.” I made a move toward the door.

“So,” Sal said. “What you think of this place? Beautiful, huh? Despite the TV issue.”

I paused and took in the historic Jefferson Davis Inn. It was, as advertised, an immaculate former plantation home, complete with the requisite white column pillars, porch swing, and screened gazebo. Situated on a shady lot populated with weeping willows and a row of arching cypress trees that lined the long entry road, it offered a fine view of Charleston Harbor. Gone with the Wind
comes to life,
the Web site said, and I had to agree. I walked to the end of the porch and stared out at the water, an unexpected sense of sadness, a gust of regret, hitting me. I had last seen the Atlantic on our honeymoon, thirty years prior; I was seeing it again under very different circumstances.

“Letting flies in here.” I looked back. Sal was holding the door open.

“Oh, sorry.”

We walked inside and entered a spacious foyer with a spiral staircase off to the right.

“Different,” Sal said. “Unique in an historic fashion. You know who the place is named after?”

“Jefferson Davis. The Confederate President.”

Sal looked disappointed. “Oh, you know that.”

“Yes.”

“Who told you?”

“I just know.”

“Yeah, you're a teacher and everything, I guess you would. You know, I'm kind of surprised they named this place after that guy. I don't get it. Didn't he get their asses kicked in the war? Didn't he own slaves? And they're naming a hotel after him? It'd be like, if we were staying in Germany in a place named after Hitler. The Adolf Hitler Inn, or the … the Hitler Hotel. Hey, I'm staying over at the Hitler. Or let's grab a drink at the Hitler. Don't seem right.”

I looked at Sal's earnest face. I could tell he had given this issue considerable thought. “You've been here too long.”

“Tell me about it.”

“I'm going to check in,” I said.

“Wait. One more thing.” Sal stepped close and whispered, “The Jaw, that prick, is lurking around here somewhere. I seen him earlier out front, like some kind of predator. If I catch him anywhere near Karen, I'm going to bust him up.”

“Sal, thank you, but I can handle Roger.”

“I'm just saying so you know, you know?”

“The whole thing is disappointing.”

“Disappointing? She's my niece. He disgraced her. He humiliated the family. I bought a new suit for this thing. Hugo Boss. You know what that thing set me back?”

“Where. Mom. Be?”

We both turned just as Ethan and Mindy, hand in hand, entered the foyer. “She's coming, buddy,” Mindy said. “And there she is now. Momma Pajama.”

“Mom!” Ethan cried.

I looked up and saw Mary making her entrance down the staircase. As always, she was walking fast and with purpose, head up high. Her hair was back in a ponytail, and though I recognized a tired, tightness to her face, she looked, as I always thought, quite pretty.

“Hi, honey. Hi, honey!” She embraced Ethan at the foot of the stairs and held him for a long time, her eyes closed. When she let go, I saw her quickly wipe away a tear.

“Hey, Mom.” Mindy walked over, and Mary reached for her next.

“How's baby girl?”

“Baby girl is fine. Just tired.”

“I don't know how you made it this far. I don't know what you and your father were thinking.”

“It was his idea,” Mindy said.

“Yeah, I thought that was crazy,” Sal said. “I told him.”

Mary finally acknowledged me. “John.” She hesitated, nodded once, then made her way over and, surprisingly, gave me a peck on the cheek. “I'm glad you're here.”

“So are we. How's Karen?”

“She's in her room.”

“Hey, Ethan, let's go outside and see the ocean,” Mindy said. “Come on. It's nice outside.”

“Don't you want to see your sister first?” I asked.

She avoided my eyes. “I'll take Ethan out for a while. He's been in the car all morning. Come on, buddy. Let's check it out.”

“Bye!” Ethan happily scampered after Mindy.

“Hold on. I'll go with you,” Sal said. “Show you around. I know every inch of this place.” He pointed a finger at me as he passed. “Rooms got AC and their own mini-fridge. But the fridge is in the bathroom—would you believe?”

“Unbelievable.”

“And don't forget the TV in my room. They just hooked up the cable. Maybe catch the Cubs game. New York and Boston tonight too. Giants, LA is the late game. Rivalry week.”

“Sounds good.”

Mary and I watched them leave and then turned back to face each other. She gave me an ex-wife, remember-I-kind-of-still-hate-you-look, then said, “So.”

“So, how you holding up?”

She shrugged.

“Sal said Roger's here. He's not still staying in the Inn, is he?”

“No. Everett and Beth went back to Connecticut, but he's in another hotel somewhere. I'm not sure what he's hoping to accomplish.”

“Is anyone else here?”

“No. No one. It's just us now. We caught most everyone in time. Some friends were here, the girls from college, but they left this morning.”

“What's everyone saying?”

“Everyone's sorry, shocked, blah, blah. What are they going to say?”

“Is there anything else we have to do?”

“Everything's been taken care of. We called everyone.”

“Like it never happened.”

“Well, it never did.”

“How long are we going to stay?” I asked.

“I'm leaving tomorrow. I decided to go back after all.”

“Tomorrow?” My mind ignited. I would have to tell her about Ethan, the Overall Plan, tonight. “You sure? I thought we were going to stay a few days. What's the rush? We paid for the rooms. We should all be together.”

“I want to go home. I'm sick of this place. I'll take him back on the plane. I'll give him a pill—he'll sleep. Sal will sit next to him. It's risky, but we'll survive.”

“He hates planes, you know that.”

She gave me a hard look. “You have another plan?”

I swallowed. “All this is terrible. I feel bad for you. I know how hard it was. All the work.”

“Don't feel bad for me, John. I didn't catch my fiancé screwing in the pool.”

I was relieved she didn't say,
At least you did it in a hotel.

“At least you did it in a hotel.”

I nodded. The Jaw and me, fellow philanderers, blood brothers in adultery. The parallel was inevitable. “Anyway,” I said.

Mary straightened her white sleeveless blouse and looked off to the side. “I'm sorry. I'm tired. I know you're upset. She's your daughter. You should go see her. She's on the third floor, 321. Knock.”

“All right.”

She turned and started back up the stairs.

“Are we going to get together for dinner?” I asked. “As a family?”

“Fine,” she said as she marched up the stairs, not looking back. “Fine.”

*   *   *

As the father of the bride, I had been given a spacious corner room on the third floor with a large bathroom (complete with aforementioned mini-fridge), small wet bar (complete with Jim Beam), white French doors that opened up to a small balcony, and a canopied bed. I took in the canopy and pondered its point. Why does a bed need a roof again? I then dropped my luggage into the closet where my rental tux hung, unlatched the French doors, and stepped outside.

I looked over the expanse of water stretching before me, inhaled a lungful of salty air, and remembered our honeymoon at Hilton Head one thousand years before. We had had a fine time, Mary and I: a week on the beach, sex in the morning, sex at night, seafood and wine in between. Mary was quite amorous back in the day, quite the love cat. We did it in on the floor, in the shower, and yes, even in the pool. I had forgotten about that. The pool. I couldn't help but laugh. I absorbed the view for a few minutes, wished I could stay longer, then headed off in search of Karen.

I found her room on the opposite side of the floor. I knocked and waited. Nothing. I checked the number, 321, and knocked again.

“Karen? It's your father. It's me. Dad. Daddy.”

Still no sound. I knocked harder. “Karen? Are you in there?”

I heard a faint rustling, then finally footsteps. The door opened slowly, and there she was, Karen, my queen bee, messy-haired, pale-faced, red-rimmed eyes, Karen, my first baby.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi, honey.” I squeezed her hard, felt a sudden fury at Roger, a rage. He had hurt her. He had hurt my child. Maybe I would unleash Sal on him after all, bust him up. Maybe I would unleash myself on him. Maybe he had it coming.

She stepped back and ran a hand through her blond hair. “I look like shit. I was sleeping.”

“Can I come in?”

She moved aside and let me in her room, which I instantly recognized as an exact replica of mine. “Do you have a fridge in the bathroom?” I asked impulsively.

“What? Yeah, it's in there somewhere. Why, you want something? I have beer in there, I think.”

“No, no, I'm fine. I'm fine.” I sat on the bed.

Karen leaned against the desk with her arms folded. Despite the heat, she was wearing a big, faded orange-and-blue Illinois sweatshirt, which at one time, had probably been mine. She pulled the sleeves up to her elbows and brushed her hair off her face. She had grown it long for the wedding. I remember Mary telling me that.

“Well,” I started, “I'm so sorry for you. This must be terrible. I'm just … I'm very disappointed in him.”

She looked away, through her open French doors. “What can I say? He's a piece of shit.”

I nodded. I wanted to say Roger was a scum-sucking bastard, but considering my own scum-sucking history, I had to tread carefully. “Was this the first time?”

“Does that matter?”

“No, it doesn't. You probably did the right thing.”

“Probably?”

“You did the right thing.”

She shrugged, kept looking outside.

“You sure he did it, though? You verified it?”

“I saw it. That's pretty good verification.”

“So, you walked in and actually saw them doing it in the pool? This Penny, your friend? You actually saw them doing it? Having sex in the water? You're sure?”

“Yes. They were having sex. I know what it fucking looks like. It looks the same in the water as out of the water.”

“Are they together now? Penny and Roger? Had this been going on long, this affair?”

“You know, Dad, I don't want to talk about it anymore. There's nothing to say other than I don't care what happens to either of them.”

“You're right, you're right.”

We were silent for a few seconds. Then she said, “Everything, it just … Everything sucks.” She closed her eyes, and I thought she might cry, but she didn't. My queen bee never cried. “Everything sucks,” she said again.

I just sat there, helpless, not sure what to say or do. Karen wasn't someone who needed help, wasn't someone you consoled.

“Is there anything you want, anything I can do?”

She opened her eyes, shook her head.

“You sure? You want me to talk to Roger?”

“Why?”

“I don't know. I think I should.”

She looked down at the floor and spoke in a monotone. “I just have to get through the next few weeks. Return all the gifts. Put up with everyone feeling sorry for me. All that shit. It's going to be a pain.”

“We'll help you through this. Your mom will. And Sally. And Mindy.”

This brought a smirk. “Mindy. What black hoodie is she wearing today? Her I-went-to-Princeton one or her I'm-on-
Saturday Night Live
?”

“Don't be like that.”

“I bet she's having a field day with this.”

“Why would you say that? She feels terrible. We all do.”

“Right. Captain McBrag gets stood up.”

“Don't say that. And you weren't stood up.”

She shrugged again.

“You know, maybe I will have a beer,” I said. “Do you want one?” I started to make my way to the bathroom.

“No. I just took a Valium. I better not.”

I stopped in my tracks. “Valium? Who gave you that?”

“Mom.”

“Your mother gave you Valium?”

“Yeah, she takes it.”

“I didn't know that. You shouldn't take that. She shouldn't take that.”

I changed my mind about the beer and sat back down on the bed.