It's. Nice. Outside. (24 page)

“Wait a minute. Just wait.” I walked over to the windows, scanned the mostly empty parking lot. “Is the van here now? Is she back?”

“I said she didn't come back.”

“Where is she? Do you think she's all right? Did you call her?”

“Eat!”

“Please, Ethan, wait! Did you call her?”

“I left her a message. Get him something. I'll sit with him.”

“Juice!”

“Get him some juice,” she said.

I walked in a fog over to the small buffet in the center of the lobby and grabbed a banana, yogurt, and juice, my mind on Karen. Why would she do this? Why would she rush off to see him? Why didn't she come back? Why wouldn't she call? When I returned to the table, Mindy was sitting there, nursing a small Styrofoam cup of coffee. Despite the weather, she was wearing her black Princeton sweat shirt, the hood up. Her eyes were puffy, her face pale.

“This coffee sucks,” she mumbled.

I placed Ethan's food in front of him.

“Tell him,” Mary said.

I remained standing. “Tell me what?”

Mindy took a deep gulp of her coffee, grimaced. “What time is it?”

“Eight thirty. Tell me what?”

Mindy took another swig of coffee. “Karen is meeting us in Washington, DC. She's already there.”

“She's in Washington?”

“She just texted me. She said she's at the Marriott by the airport. Can you sit down?”

“She contacted you?” I asked.

“Yes. She knew I wouldn't ask any follow-up questions, and she was right—I didn't.”

“Well, I am.” I took my phone out.

“You really think she's going to answer?” Mindy asked.

I put the phone down on the table, and Ethan immediately snatched it up. “Is she with Rodger?”

“Probably, I don't know.” Mindy swirled her coffee. “So, when are we leaving?”

“Soon,” I said.

“I have to shower,” Mindy said.

“Then go. Hurry.”

“Okay, okay.” Mindy slowly got up from the table and disappeared down the hall.

“Where? Mindy? Be?”

“She'll be back, honey. She's taking a shower.”

Ethan returned to his yogurt and my phone, pressing numbers with sticky fingers.

“You don't think they're getting back together again, do you? After what he did to her?” I asked.

Mary took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. She looked exhausted. “I can't believe she would.”

“This just pisses me off. It's very selfish of her to leave us like this, make us worry like this. Like we don't have enough on our minds? We should be focused on Ethan right now. This is a very hard and very important thing we're trying to do, and she's doing crazy things like this, distracting us.”

Mary gave me a sad mother's smile. “Distracting us?”

“Yes. You're out there all night looking for her. I was up half the night worrying about her. Maybe I can understand their wanting to talk, but to disappear and not call? To take off like this?”

“She's going through a lot right now. We have to give her some space.”

I paused. “Okay, yes, all right. But she could have told us. A quick call, at least. A text.”

Mary hoisted her bag over her shoulder. “You have to remember that it's not just about Ethan,” she said. “It's about all of us, John, all of us.” She stood and headed toward the door. “I'm going to wait in the van.”

“Did you even eat anything?”

“I'm not hungry.”

*   *   *

As soon as we got on the road, Mary put her iPod on and slumped down in her seat. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched her head lean, then gently fall against the window. I knew she was worried and beyond tired, and I wanted to take her hand, reassure her, but that was a privilege I was no longer allowed. I switched lanes.

A few miles down the road, I checked on Ethan, who was happily sharing his photo album with Mindy in the middle seat.

“Pretty amazing, Dad,” Mindy said.

“What? You mean the book?”

“Incredible.”

I smiled. I had spent quite a bit of time putting a photo album together for Ethan, carefully selecting each picture, writing captions I knew other people would read. It was essentially a composite of his life, including photos of everyone and everything that was important to him: the local Dominick's supermarket, his favorite place on earth, where people were particularly patient and friendly. The Wilton Panera, where he and I had breakfast every Saturday; Rafferty's Bar, where we had dinner on Fridays; Auerilo's pizza, where we ate on Saturdays; Denetha the deli woman, Chuck the bartender, Sally the waitress, all the people who made his life, our lives, a little easier. They were all in there, as well as photos of the Sals, Mary, me, the Bears, and, of course, Mindy and Karen. I had planned to give it to him at Ocean View, but decided to dig it out of a box that morning.

“How long did it take you to do this? There has to be, like, a hundred pages. It's huge.”

“One hundred and four pages. I've been doing it for a while,” I said proudly. It took a lot to impress Mindy.

“Who are all these people?”

“Ethan's friends. Different people. People who work at the supermarket, the restaurants, neighbors, people like that.”

“Who's this, Ethan?”

“Denetha!”

“The grocery store,” I said. “We went there every day. She worked in the deli and gave him a piece of cheese. It was the highlight of his day.”

“And who's this, Ethan?”

“C.C!”

“She was his aide at school. She watched him for years. She also came over to the house.”

“He's going to miss them,” Mindy said.

I swallowed. “He can come home whenever we want and see them. And he'll make new friends.”

Her comment stirred the Doubt and Guilt, so I stopped talking and switched my attention back to the road, passed another Honda van, then a beer truck. Signs for towns with
Blue Highway
names—Stafford, Garrisonville—flew by.

“Oh my God. Why do you have this picture?”

“What? Which one?”

“The one of Karen and me. Going to that dance. God, look at my hair.”

“It's historic. Your big double date. She was a senior, you were a sophomore. See, you went on dates.”

“I couldn't believe she let me go with her. She must have been doing community service or something.”

“She wanted to go with you.”

“We had fun I think. Something happened though.”

“You got drunk and threw up on your date.”

“Right. Tom Murphy. I knew it was something highbrow.”

“See? That picture is proof positive that you two can get along. Exhibit A.”

I expected some kind of cutting response, stings like a butterfly, but Mindy fell quiet. A minute later I saw her still studying the picture, her brow furrowed.

“Why. Mad?” Ethan asked her.

“She's been crying,” Mindy said.

“What?” I turned down the Christmas carols. “Who's crying?”

“Karen. She's been crying a lot. I've heard her. Our rooms are right next to each other. Most of the night, she never stops. I hear her.”

“Karen? Crying? Are you sure? Karen?”

“Yeah, I hear her,” Mindy said. “She's crying. A lot.”

*   *   *

The rest of the way to Washington was a blur. Whether Ethan behaved, whether he stomped his feet, shrieked, or quietly conjugated verbs on the legal pad that Karen had given him, I no longer recall. All I could think about was Karen.

“Slow down,” Mindy said.

“Just keep him busy.”

There was guilt, and then there was the more serious form, father's guilt, and I was experiencing the latter. With her words from the other night—
You walked around in an Ethan daze when I was growing up
—now ringing in my ears, I came to the conclusion, long suspected, that I had never really been there for my queen bee. Self-sufficient, independent, and strong since the day she was born, she was the third adult in our house, someone who made her own choices, did her own thing. In short, someone who never asked, so never received. Mindy, a precocious child and, of course Ethan, were other stories, demanding time, attention, and energy. But Karen never needed my help, ever. That was, of course, up until now, and when she finally had asked for it, finally had reached out, what had I done? I had ignored her calls, cut her short, dismissed her running off to see Roger as a distraction.

Ethan had a lot to do with this—he was a huge responsibility—but while that might be an explanation, it was no excuse. Over the years I should have made time, found time. In the end, was one child, regardless of his or her needs, any more important than another?

“Why didn't you tell me she was crying?”

“I don't know. It's a pretty private thing.”

“You should have said something.”

“I just did.”

“Call her or … or text her. Tell her to meet me in the lobby in twenty minutes.”

“She was just crying.”

“Just do it! Please! Just tell her I'm going to be there as soon as I can.”

*   *   *

When we arrived at the Marriott, Mary finally woke up, pushing off the door groggily, and asking, “Where are we?” Her hair was matted down on one side, her face flushed red.

“At the hotel. I'm going to find Karen.”

“Swimming!” Ethan cried. “Me. Out!”

Mary cleared her throat and fumbled in her bag for her glasses. “Are we getting out here?”

“No, I'm going to find Karen, and we're leaving. Everyone, just wait here. We're not staying.”

I jumped out of the van and hurried across the parking lot, my intentions still unclear. I wasn't sure what I was going to say or do when I saw Karen, wasn't sure what I was hoping to accomplish. Apologizing, admitting negligence, and offering love and support were all options. One thought was clear, though: for once, I was going to make her a priority.

I worked my way through the lobby, weaving through small packs of people wearing plastic name tags. A conference of some kind was obviously taking place, and there must have been a coffee break because a crowd was growing and it was hard to walk, much less locate, Karen.

After circling the noisy room for a few minutes, I ended up at the front desk, where I asked the clerk to ring Karen's room. Apparently, though she had already checked out.

“When did she do that?” I asked.

“I really can't give out that information, sir.”

“But I'm her father.”

“I'm sorry.”

I checked my phone for messages, then surveyed the room again. The place was packed now, mostly with young men talking and gesturing animatedly. I was about to plunge back into the crowd and resume my search, when somehow, over the din, I heard the all-too-familiar sound of Ethan in distress.

“Swimming! Now! Swimming! Now!”

The center of the crowd parted, and there he was, crawling frantically on his hands and knees toward me. Mindy followed, clutching Stinky and Grandpa Bear in mad pursuit.

“Excuse us! Excuse me! Watch it, move it, don't step on his hands!” Mindy yelled. “Come on, Ethan, get up. Excuse me! He's all right. He just lost a contact.”

I watched the scene unfold with a sinking heart. Not this, not now.

“Swimming! Swimming!”

When Ethan saw me, he stood, his face red, wild, helpless. I ran over to him and took him in my arms. His body was rigid, so I rubbed his shoulders to calm him. “It's okay, it's okay,” I cooed. From a safe distance, a group of men looked on with confusion, and then, inevitably, sympathy.

“He just bolted out of the van. I couldn't stop him,” Mindy said.

“It's okay. He's all right.”

“Is she here?”

“I don't know. I don't think so. They said she checked out.”

Mindy handed me Stinky Bear. “She said she was here. She just texted me.”

“She did? I can't find her.” I gently pressed Stinky against Ethan's cheek to dry his tears, while the crowd drifted back to its meeting. As the room began to empty, a placard in the corner came in to view:
YOUNG UROLOGISTS SOCIETY OF AMERICA
.

“Dick doctors,” Mindy muttered. “A whole roomful.”

I kissed Ethan on the top of his head, smoothed his hair. “You okay now? Everything okay? You shouldn't crawl like that. You're a big guy. Big guys don't crawl on the floor. You have to stop doing things like this. You have to.”

I felt his body stiffen again. “What's wrong? Relax. Everything's okay. All done. Just relax.”

“Karen!” he yelled.

“What? Karen? Where?”

“Karen!” Ethan pulled away from me and bolted, stiff-legged, arms flapping, toward the entrance of the hotel.

I followed his path, and he was right, there she was, Karen, standing in front of the revolving doors dressed in sweat pants and a blue T-shirt, her hair pulled back in an unfamiliar ponytail. Mindy and I quickly made our way to her.

“Hey, Karen, over here!”

When she saw us, she gave a small and decidedly unenthusiastic wave, murmuring, “Oh, hi,” when we reached her. Ethan hugged her hard while she absently rubbed his hair.

“Swimming!”

“Yeah, swimming. Sure.” Her voice was flat.

“Are you okay?”

“I was going outside to look for you. I just checked out.”

“Is Roger here? Are you with Roger?”

She ignored my question. “Where's Mom?” she asked.

“She's outside.”

“Pee-pee.”

“Just wait, Ethan!” I snapped.

“Pee-pee now!”

“I'll take him,” Mindy said.

“He doesn't have to go.” I scanned the lobby asked again. “Is Roger here?”

She shrugged.

“Listen, don't go back to him. Whatever you do, don't do that.”