by Jim Kokoris
“Mountains,” I said. “Big hills.”
“I know what mountains are.”
“I’m talking to Ethan.”
A few minutes later we plunged into a short tunnel, which utterly amazed and frightened him.
“Wow! Dark! Dark! Where. Sun. Be?” He leaned forward and took hold of my shoulder.
“Yes, dark.” I reached up and patted his hand. “But we’re just about out. See, all done. Sit back now. Go on. All done.”
He sat back. “All. Done!”
“So, are you and Mom going to get back together?”
My heat skipped a beat. “Sit back, Ethan. All the way! “I swallowed and took my time before answering. “What? Why would you ask that?”
“You’re probing me about my love life. Why can’t I probe you about yours?”
I swallowed again. “Not that I’m aware of.” I waited a moment, then, “What brought that on?”
“I don’t know. You’re not with what’s-her-name.…”
“That’s been over for a long, long time. And I was only with her.”
“And Mom isn’t with anyone. She’s never been with anyone, as far as I know.”
I pretended to fiddle with the air conditioner. “Did she say something?”
“No. I’m just asking. You seem to spend a lot of time together. I mean, you live one block from each other. Not many divorced people live one block from each other.”
“We actually live three blocks from each other. And it’s because of Ethan. It’s just easier.”
“She misses you,” Mindy said. “She talks about you a lot. Do you miss her?”
“You know, let’s not talk for a while. I want to concentrate on the road. Get there.”
“Whatever you say, Daddy-o, whatever you say.” She smirked and moved her seat back some. “So, are we driving straight through or what?”
“We won’t make it.”
“How far are we?”
“Normal distance or Ethan distance? Normal distance, we’re only about five, six hours away. Double or maybe triple that with him, though.”
“I bet we can make it. He’s quiet now.”
“We can’t make it.”
“Yes, we can.”
“No, we can’t.”
“You have to push him sometimes, Dad. You give in to him too much. He manipulates you. He tangles you up in knots.”
I looked over at her. “Tangled up in knots” was an old expression/accusation from the War Years. Dad, he’s tangling you up in knots! Just let him yell.
“It’s been a while since you’ve spent quality time with your baby brother. I have a reservation in Asheville, North Carolina. I’ll be happy if we make that.”
“We can make it to Charleston,” she said. “I’m here now. There’s two of us. Let’s just drive through and get there and get this over with. Everything’s going to be okay. Isn’t that right, Ethan?” She turned and slapped Ethan five. The Starbucks must have been really strong.
“Nice. Outside!” Ethan yelled, smiling.
* * *
Twenty-five minutes later, after Mindy sang increasingly loud and frantic renditions of “The First Noel,” “Hark: The Herald Angels Sing,” and “White Christmas”; and after Ethan tried to throw Grandpa Bear and then Red Bear and then Stinky Bear out the window; and after he yelled, “Shut. Up. Idiot,” a near-record twenty-eight straight times (note: thirty is the record); and after Ethan pinched Mindy hard; and after Mindy cried, “Fuck,” with so much pain and emotion that she made me think of Pavarotti; and after Ethan repeatedly asked Mindy, “Why. Mad? Why. Mad? Why. Mad?” while she closed her eyes and tried to ignore him; and after Mindy finally opened her eyes and pounded her seat while screaming, “I’m not fucking mad! I’m not fucking mad! I’m not fucking mad!” we pulled off at the small, hilly town of Homer’s Den and went to a park.
“Why. Mad?” I asked.
Mindy shook her head as she trudged alongside me. “God, that was nuts, just nuts.”
We made our way across a deserted baseball diamond toward the equally deserted playground, taking in the town along the way. The main street, which ran hard against the base of the hills, was made up of brightly colored, one-story businesses: drugstore, diner, bakery, post office. The buildings seemed to have been carved out of the bottom of the hills. I had never been in a place like this, a small town, a village crowded by rock.
“What are you looking at? What’s wrong?” Mindy asked me. Ethan started pulling on her hand.
“The town, the hills, it’s strange. But it’s beautiful,” I said.
Mindy had no time to respond, because Ethan had yanked her ahead. I slowly followed.
“You’re not having a stroke or anything, are you?” Mindy asked.
“Why would you ask that?”
“Your face, it went, like, slack.”
“We’re in an interesting place. I was absorbing it. Sponging it up.”
Mindy scanned the park, then the town. “Not much to sponge.”
“It’s different.”
“You don’t get out much, do you?”
“You know I don’t.”
Mindy considered me through a squint. “Okay, why don’t you sit down. I’ll push him.”
“He can swing by himself now.”
“He can?”
“Yes, he finally learned. Only took fifteen years.”
Mindy looked at Ethan, her pixie smirk replaced by genuine pixie surprise. “Wow. Ethan, you can really swing by yourself?”
He pulled hard on her hand. “Swing!”
“You have to get him started, though,” I said. “But he can do the rest.”
“Okay, let’s go then,” Mindy said.
“All right. I’ll call Karen.”
I sat on a bench and watched Mindy push Ethan. One of the things I always admired about my middle child was how she acted around Ethan in public. Never embarrassed. Even when she was young, she hugged him, laughed with him, teased him. Her naturalness and, of course, her humor, were infectious, disarming, and put other people at ease around Ethan. It was one of her best attributes, maybe what I loved about her the most.
Karen, the cheerleading, sorority girl, was much more self-conscious, checking to see who was looking at us at restaurants, walking ahead or behind us in stores. Her behavior was understandable, particularly during the teen years, when everyone in your family is a source of embarrassment. Mindy never went through that phase, though. I suspected that Ethan fit her worldview: wild, unexpected. At once hilarious and tragic.
“More!” Ethan yelled.
Mindy pushed harder, and Ethan, delight breaking out over his face, kicked his legs up as he soared into the air.
I fished my phone out of my pocket and tried to call Karen, but there was no service. So I sat back and allowed myself to relax. The park was a vibrant field, dark green grass ringed by tall fir trees, the weather somewhere between nice and beautiful. Overhead, the sun inched up to the tip of the hills.
Mindy came over and sat next to me. “You okay?”
“You can stop asking me that.”
“You’re in, like, a trance.”
“It’s called relaxing.”
She leaned over and made point of sniffing me. “I think it’s called Jim Beam.”
“I haven’t had a drink all day. I’ve been driving, remember?”
We sat in silence and watched Ethan swing, his feet pointing up to the sky. A few minutes later, a young boy in an oversize T-shirt and short pants crossed the road and cautiously approached the swings. When he got close, Ethan began shouting “Poo-poo, pee-pee, poo-poo, pee-pee,” so the boy stopped, perplexed.
“How old are you?” the boy shouted to Ethan.
“He’s only three!” Mindy yelled. “He’s really big, isn’t he?”
The boy glanced at Mindy, then studied Ethan one more time before turning back to town.
“I hope you and Karen patch things up,” I said.
“She’s the one
who doesn’t talk to me anymore.”
“What caused this latest round? I can’t keep track.”
“I don’t know.”
“You used to be so close.”
“That was a long time ago. We were girls. Things are different now.”
“What changed?”
She shrugged and mumbled.
“What?”
“I said, ‘I don’t know.’ I think she’s jealous or something. I think she can’t deal with, you know, what’s going on with me.”
“Jealous?”
“Yeah.”
“No, she’s not. She’s proud of you. We all are.”
Mindy smirked. “Not everyone is. Trust me. It kind of started when I got into Princeton, but it’s gotten really bad since I’ve been on the show.”
I shook my head, sighed. I had suspected this for some time. Karen was used to being the center of attention, the star of the show. Mindy’s ascent had upset the natural order of things. “Some sibling rivalry is normal. But you’re still sisters. And I hope you get along with her tomorrow. She needs her family.”
“She’ll be okay. She’s always okay. She’s the amazing, unsinkable Captain McBrag.”
“Could you do me a favor? Could you please stop calling her Captain McBrag? She doesn’t brag anymore, okay? You know she was devastated by that skit. That upset your mother and me too. You shouldn’t have done that. Making fun of your family on TV—that’s not right.”
“It was loosely based. Inspired by.”
“You called it ‘Captain McBrag.’”
“That’s not her legal name or anything. No one knew who it was about.”
“The character was named Captain Karen McBrag.”
“Just drop it, okay? It was a stupid bit; we only did it once. It’s over.” She pulled out her phone. “So, how long are we going to stay there anyway? I’d like to get back.”
“She was always nice to you. She always looked out for you. Always.”
“Right. She’s a bitch, and you know it.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Just drop it. I don’t want to talk about Her Highness.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
We were quiet, then Mindy blurted, “For the record, just so you know, when that writer called her and was looking for some quotes about me, she could have said something more insightful, more supportive, more something, than ‘no comment.’ Do you know how that looked? That’s my career she’s fucking with. My own sister, my only sister, saying, ‘No comment.’ What the fuck was that all about? People think I’m a bitch now. On the show, all I heard was ‘no comment,’ from everyone for, like, six months. It was, like, the big fucking joke!”
“Okay, calm down. Just relax.” I, of course, had read the article in question and had been mortified by Karen’s ‘no comment’ comment. “I’m sorry I brought this whole thing up. I’m sorry. I just want everyone to get along, that’s all. Let’s drop it.”
“You always want everyone to get along.”
“That’s my job. I’m the dad.”
We were quiet again. Ethan yelled something indecipherable to the sky and grinned madly.
“Anyway, switching gears here—we have the rooms until Monday.”
“God. Monday.”
“It’s just a few days.”
“I need to get back home,” she said.
“Home? For the record, Wilton is your home.”
“I’ve lived in New York for almost five years now.”
“Yes, but I’m just saying, technically speaking, Wilton will always be your home.”
“Don’t worry, Dad, if New York City ever declares war on Wilton, I’ll come home to fight.”
“Good. Because we’re counting on you.”
Mindy kicked the ground with her celebrity-red sneakers. “So, what’s the point in staying in Charleston? Do we have to help clean out the pool or something?”
“I don’t know, family time. The Sals are staying. When’s the last time you’ve seen the Sals?”
“I don’t remember.” She put the hood of her sweatshirt up even though it was warm. Across the road, a spotless white truck stopped with a hiss in front of the bakery, and a man in an equally white uniform jumped out.
“How’s Aunt Sally?”
“Better. In remission. Everyone’s optimistic.”
“Is Uncle Sal in the mob?”
“What?”
“Uncle Sal. Is he in the mob?”
“Not this again.”
“I’m about to spend a lot of time with him, and I want to know. Besides, I have a right to know, in case I’m ever subpoenaed.”
“He’s not in the mob. And that’s a stereotype. You’re half Italian, and you’re not in the mob.”
“Dad, no one has ever known what he really does for a living. Every time I ask someone, I get a different answer.”
“He’s an accountant. Among, you know, other things.”
“Other things?”
“Never mind. Drop it.”
“Daddy-o.”
I paused, thought about it, then said, “All right, okay. I guess you’re a big girl now. Your uncle, he’s, or at least was, a bookie. A big-time bookie. I don’t think he does that anymore though. I think he’s out of it.”
This appeared to impress her. She nodded at this disclosure. “A bookie. Sounds interesting. What do they do, exactly?”
“Make book. Take bets. Technically, it’s illegal. I think he works, or at least worked, with some people in Las Vegas—that’s all I know for sure. But he’s also an accountant, a CPA. He works for legitimate restaurants and casinos. Does the books for them in Las Vegas and other places. Atlantic City, he does a lot of work there.”
“So he’s a numbers guy for the mob.”
“Numbers guy? Where are you getting this from? He’s not in the mob, okay? He may, you know, know some people, but trust me, he’s not in the mob.”
“He’s in the mob, and I’m going to out him,” Mindy said. “I going to force him to give it up, come clean once and for all. It will be good for him.”
“He’s not in the mob.”
Mindy stretched out her legs and scooted down lower on the bench. “Well, whatever he does, he must do pretty well. Their house is huge. And he’s always had tickets to everything. The World Series, the Super Bowl. And the summer home in Green Lake. That boat.”
“A lot of that is your aunt’s money. Sal does okay, but your grandfather, Pappa Prio, he had the money.”
“Is that why you married Mom, because she was loaded?”
“I had no idea your mother came from a wealthy family when we met. And I couldn’t have cared less.”
“Money doesn’t hurt,” she said.
“That’s one problem we never had, I guess.”
Mindy nodded toward Ethan, who was now swinging high, pumping his legs at just the right moment with just the right rhythm. “He’s so good at that,” she said.
“Yeah. Now, if I can just get him to take a shower by himself.”
“I used to try to get him to do this. I tried forever. Look at him now, though.”
I turned and smiled at her, happy she was proud of Ethan. “What’s with the earring?” I touched the top of her ear. “I think you missed your lobe or something.”
She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Just an earring.”
“We should probably go,” I said. “I’d like to get to Asheville before dark. At the rate we’re going, we’ll never make it.”
“Do you remember when Ethan had that seizure? When he was little?”
Her question came from deep left field, and it caught me off guard. “What made you think of that?”
“Do you think that affected him? Made him worse?”
“No. That had no lasting impact on him. That’s what they said.”
“He almost died, didn’t he?”
“Yes. He was five. Yes. That was a bad time.”
“I fo
und him on the basement floor.”
“I remember. I know you did.” I reached out and touched her arm.
“There’s been a lot of bad times with him,” she said.
“Some good ones too. But it’s never been easy.”
Mindy chewed on her lip and continued to stare hard at Ethan. “What’s going to happen to him, Dad? Where’s he going to end up?”
This question, soft and sincere, also shook me. “Why are you asking that?”
“I don’t know, just wondering.”
“I’m not sure yet. I’m not sure.”
“What are you thinking? You must have some kind of plan, right?”
“We have some options we’re looking at, yes.”
“Like what?”
“Homes, different places. Anyway, we better get going.” I stood abruptly. Ethan was swinging higher than ever, his smiling face up full to the sky.
“Up. High!” he yelled. “Up! High!”
“Let’s go, dude-man. Come on, let’s go.” I made my way to the swings quickly, making sure to keep my back to Mindy.
6
The next morning dawned steel gray and cool. I stood at the window in my room and scanned the sky, looking for the hope of sun, then glanced down and took in the streets of Asheville, North Carolina. Unfortunately, my room overlooked the parking lot, so what I saw didn’t reveal much other than the roofs of cars and a huge air-conditioning unit.
I finished my coffee and gazed up at a range of hazy blue mountains, humpback shapes brooding in the distance, and thought about what I would do if things were different, if I were on my own. I was in a strange and wild part of America, western North Carolina: forested mountains, hidden lakes, long and deep rivers, a place I had never been to before, and I doubted I would ever be in again. I imagined what I could discover if I were untethered, free to roam. When embarking on his journey some forty years prior, William Least Heat-Moon had written that a man who couldn’t make things go right, could at least go. I felt a sudden urge to just go that morning, outrun my life and flee.
The day before had turned out to be survive and advance. Ethan had not wanted to leave the park in Homer’s Den, and it took everything we had—threats, bribes—to finally get him off the swing. But things got worse back in the van, and we were forced to make an endless number of stops: at another park, a rest station, a Cracker Barrel, and a Walmart, before arriving in Asheville an exhausted and jangled pile of nerves.
