It's. Nice. Outside. (32 page)

“That's nice, that's good. At least they're together. Did you eat?”

She shook her head, waved at Ethan.

“Is Mindy's going home?”

“She's not going anywhere.”

“Never seen her that way.”

“She's always been wound too tight,” Mary said. “That's why she is who she is.”

“Karen okay?”

“She's fine.” Ethan was chattering away incomprehensively, trying, I think, to imitate my excited commentary. Mary kept her eyes on him. “John,” she said. “I think we need to get to Maine, to the home, as soon as we can. Tomorrow. I think it's time we get there.”

I turned cold. “They're not expecting us until Wednesday.”

“I think it's time we get there. This is wearing on us. The Sals are already there.”

I didn't think I heard her right. “What do you mean, the Sals? What are they doing there?”

“I asked them to come.”

“What? Why?”

“I want my sister there. I want her there.”

I paused. “Oh. Sure. Okay.”

“We can make it tomorrow,” she said.

“Tomorrow. Okay. Tomorrow. We won't stop. I'll call the hotel, get our rooms early.”

“Karen already did that.”

“Oh, okay.” We were both watching Ethan now. In the growing shadows, he was setting up for a free throw, positioning his feet while he bounced the ball, his face a mixture of concentration and delight. He had no idea what was happening, no clue what the next day would bring.

He sensed our eyes on him, stopped dribbling, and looked back. Then he pointed up at the sky.

“Sun. Gone!”

I didn't turn. I just kept watching him.

“Yes, the sun is gone,” I heard Mary say.

*   *   *

Later that night, after I gave Ethan his bath and his meds and dropped him off Mary's room, I called Rita. I owed her this.

I admit, I was relieved when I got her voice mail. I had made a sincere effort, and this would have to do.

“Hi, it's John…,” I began. “I'm calling to say I'm sorry about Chase and what happened. I really am. It's very hard to talk on this trip, but I want you to know that I feel bad for you. I really do. That must have been terrible. What happened to you and to him. Terrible. I didn't know him well, but apparently you did. The whole experience sounds terrible. I can't imagine how tough that was. I know you'll get through it though. I know you will. It's going to be very hard to talk on this trip, but maybe I'll call later when I get back. I'm not sure when that will be though. So, anyway, anyway, good night, Rita. And please take care. Take care.”

I hung up, stared at the ceiling, then called her again.

“Hi, it's still me, John. I also want to say that I know things are hard right now, but they won't always be hard. You'll adapt, you'll survive, even though right now you don't think that's possible, you will. You, you take one step after another, one step. You just stare straight ahead. You'll feel bad for a while, hopeless, then one day you won't feel as bad, one day you'll catch yourself not thinking about it as much, and the next day, you'll think about it a little less. Then one day you'll wake up, and it won't be the first thing on your mind, and then you'll … and then you'll have
adjusted
, things will be in a different order, the pain will still be there, it will always be there, but you will have adjusted, and you'll stop being angry all the time, you'll stop crying, because there're other things you have to do. Things get better and you go on, you go on.” I caught myself, stopped. “I'm rambling here. So I better go. Good-bye.”

Another breath, more ceiling, another call. “I don't know why things happen. No one does. I'm pretty sure there's a plan, though. I hope there's a plan but, man, I don't know, I don't know, I mean, I don't know anything. I don't have answers other than, I guess, you can't quit, you can't ever quit. You have to play it out. You have to.” I thought I might be finished, but I guess I wasn't even close. “I'm taking Ethan to this place tomorrow, this home, but I'm not sure I can leave him now. I love him so much, so much. I love him more than anything. It's so hard though, it's so hard. I don't know if this is the right thing, it's so far. It's in Maine. But I think I have to. I'm going nuts. I drink too much, the Bears … I can't imagine leaving him, I can't.” I caught myself. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to turn this into a thing about myself. I'm sorry for you. You were a good friend. Just don't give up. Please don't give up. We can't. We can't.” I stopped and tried to calm myself but couldn't. “I'm sorry, but I have to go now, I just … I have to go, so good-bye, Rita, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, but good-bye, good-bye.”

I put the phone down, closed my eyes. I was crying now, crying so hard that I was scaring myself.

*   *   *

The next morning, Mindy was Mindy again. Phone in one hand, Starbucks in the other, Bud Light cap on at a jaunty angle.

I helped load her luggage into the back. “How's your head?”

“I obviously have amnesia, or I wouldn't be getting back into this van.”

Since I had volunteered for early Ethan duty, I climbed into the rear and arranged my tools of the trade: the Bears, photo album, Etch A Sketch, and digital watch to help me get through my shift.

The plan was to make a beeline to Maine and, if possible, get to Camden by late afternoon. I was dubious, thought we were being too ambitious, but we got off to a good start: Ethan was quiet, the traffic light, and the weather nice.

We stopped for lunch in Hampton, New Hampshire, just off the interstate. It was in a corner booth at a crowded Roy Rogers, just as Ethan was beginning to fidget, that Mary did something that shocked us all. After years of living with him, eating with him, sleeping with him, after years of navigating the sometime tumultuous waters of a long relationship, she performed her very own Stinky Bear routine.

“Hey there, Ethan, what are you eating?” She held Stinky up on the table and wiggled him from side to side. Ethan looked at her, then desperately at me, his face tight and worried. For the first time in his life, he looked embarrassed.

“What's wrong, cat got your tongue, little mister?” Mary, apparently under the impression that Stinky was a ventriloquist doll, was trying hard not to move her lips when she spoke. Plus, her voice was high, squeaky, and, in my opinion, sounded absolutely nothing like Stinky Bear.

“You sure were good this morning at breakfast and in the van. Yes, sirree Bob, you were. Quite a pleasant young man.”

Though I may never have loved Mary more than in that exact moment, and though I was thrilled to see my sweet-sweetie trying to have fun again, I simply could not abide this abomination. “He would never say something like that,” I said.

Mary stopped wiggling Stinky Bear. “Say again, mister?”

“I'm sorry. But if you're going to do Stinky Bear,
do
Stinky Bear.” I was, of course, kidding, but … I kind of wasn't.

“Hey, Mr. Nichols, why don't you finish your yummy roast-beef sandwich and let me handle this?”

“First off, he would never use a word like
yummy
, never. And he would never call me Mr. Nichols. He calls me Daddy-o.”

“Okay, Daddy-o.”

“Hey, Mom, you're kind of weirding us out,” Karen said.

“Well, I'm sorry,” Mary said, her lips stretched and straining.

“Maybe you should try Elvis,” Mindy said.

Mary was not discouraged. “So, sonny boy…”

“Sonny boy?” I asked.

“Ethan, what are you eating for—”

Before Mary could finish, Ethan snatched Stinky and solemnly presented him to me.

“Sorry,” I said. Everyone, including Mary, laughed as I assumed the Stinky Bear reins. “Thanks, girl, for trying,” he said. “While we appreciate the effort, you better leave Stinky to professionals like Daddy-o. You could hurt yourself.”

“Point taken, Stinky Bear,” Mary said.

“By the way,” Stinky said. “You look pretty nice today. I like it when you wear your hair down.”

“Thank you, Stinky.” Mary bit into her sandwich

“Yeah, you sure look good to me.”

“Hey, Stinky, you got the hots for Mom?” Karen asked.

I nodded Stinky's head. “Always have,” he said. “And always will.”

*   *   *

The brief ride through New Hampshire was one of the most pleasant of the trip. It was a beautiful summer day, the sky blue, endless; the road, sun-drenched and open. Karen drove at a good easy pace as we made our way over hills. Most important, Ethan had slipped back into a deep and wondrous Quiet Zone, drawing in the backseat while Mary dozed next to him. Every so often I would hear his watch beeping, which continually fascinated and delighted him.

While I sponged up the scenery, Mindy and Karen fell into an odd conversation, odd because it didn't include questions of where we were eating or staying that night.

“All I'm saying is that we have too many states,” Mindy said. “It's a waste. We should condense them.”

Karen agreed. “Yeah. We probably don't need North and South Dakota. Both of them.”

“Exactly. Look at where we are, New England, all these, little, tiny, mini-states. I mean, does Rhode Island really need a governor? Rhode Island? That's like being governor of my patio.”

“You have a patio?”

“Yeah, I'm in a walk-up now.”

Karen was about to respond, when her phone went off. She glanced down. “Shit.”

“Banana Dick? Mr. Chiquita?”

“Mr. Chiquita.”

“Fuck him.”

“I did that for five years, and it wasn't any fun.”

“Hey,” I said. “In case you've forgotten, your father is sitting back here. Your
father
.”

Karen's phone kept ringing. “Damn him!” She lowered her window and held it outside, about to drop it.

“Do it, girl!” Mindy said.

“No, stop, stop!” I yelled. “Those things are expensive. Come on. Just don't answer it.”

Karen brought her hand back in and raised her window.

“Do it!” Mindy said. “Cut the cord! It's the only connection you still have with him. He can't find you without that phone. Cut the cord! You're a Free Girl Now. Tom Petty. Do it, girl!”

Karen lowered her window. “I like that song.”

“Karen Elaine Nichols! Do not throw that phone out! Do you hear me? Do not! It's expensive, and you'll hit another car.” I reached forward and tried to grab the phone, which, by now, had stopped buzzing. “Just give it to me. Give it to me.”

“Give it here,” Mindy said. “I'll throw it out.”

Karen dangled the phone out the window, considering. Then with a backward flick of her wrist, she dropped it.

“Free Girl Now,” she said.

“Karen!” Over my shoulder I caught a glimpse of the phone breaking into pieces on the highway. “I can't believe you just did that! What if a car were coming?”

“No cars were coming,” Karen said.

“Wow!” Ethan cried from the far backseat. He was slapping my headrest, delighted. “Wow! Wow! Wow! Outside! All. Gone!”

Mindy and Karen exchanged high fives.

“What happened?” It was Mary from the back. She had pulled her earphones out and was struggling to sit up. “What's going on?”

“Nothing. Go back to sleep,” I said. “You just missed some irresponsible and dangerous stupidity, that's all. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“It's so cramped back here. I can't move. We have to get rid of some of these things.”

“Hey, Ethan, come up with me,” I said. “Come on, we'll look at the pictures. Come on, let's give Mom some more room.”

Ethan happily scooted up to the middle, where I buckled him. I was just beginning to search for the photo album when my phone went off. I froze. Rita, it could be no one else.

“Is that your phone?” Mary asked.

“I don't know. I don't think so.” I was still frozen, afraid to move, breathe. I had no idea where my phone was.

I heard Mary moving around behind me. “I think it's here somewhere. I hear it. Ethan had it.”

“He did?” I was trying hard not to appear frantic. “Forget it. It's no one, probably just Sal.” I turned around and, along with Mary, began to look for the thing, clawing at the bags in the backseat, tossing them aside.

“Got it,” she said.

What happened next was nothing less than divine intervention. Looking back on it, I'd like to think Ethan knew exactly what he was doing, that he, with one amazingly well-timed gesture, decided to thank me for a lifetime of baths, basketball, and Stinky Bear. I would remember that moment for a long time: how he grabbed the still ringing phone from Mary, how he looked me dead in the eye before doing what he did. How I did absolutely nothing to stop him.

Mary yelled. “He's opening the window! John, get it!”

I finally made a token effort to grab Ethan's wrist but had no intention of stopping him. He finished lowering his window and threw the phone out. I saw it bounce once on the road before disappearing.

I felt the van slow. “Should I stop?” Karen yelled.

“Forget it. Keep going. It's gone.” I exhaled, tried to regroup. “See what you guys caused? Monkey see, monkey do. He was just imitating his smart, older sisters. It's not his fault.” I was trying to act angry, but my voice sounded singsongy.

“I can't believe he did that!” Mary said. “Ethan, that was bad! Very bad! And John, you just sat there! You could have grabbed it. You just sat there.”

It took everything I had not to kiss Ethan. “It's the girls' fault. Monkey see, monkey do,” I repeated. “They were acting like idiots.”

“What are you talking about?” Mary asked.

“The girls were acting like idiots. Karen threw her phone out while you were asleep because Roger kept calling.”