by Jim Kokoris
“I can’t believe we did that! What if he finds us?” She kept looking over her shoulder.
“He’s not going to find us.”
“We have to send him some money.”
“Fine, I’ll send him a check.”
“No checks!” Mary said.
“Right, no checks.”
When she laughed again, I reached for her hand, and she let me hold it.
“We have a good story to tell the girls,” I said.
“Always an adventure with you.” I wasn’t expecting what she said next. “When I married you, I thought, this guy will make me laugh. He’ll keep things interesting.”
“Well, I’ve certainly kept things interesting.”
“I remember your saying our lives together would be an adventure.”
“I said that?”
“On our honeymoon.”
“Hilton Head.” I squeezed her hand.
“We should have had more fun. Should have done more things. Tried to do things. We just gave up. It’s not his fault. It was our fault,” she said. “We should have tried harder. We had lives too. But it was hard. It was hard.”
“It won’t be that hard now. We’re going to have time. We can have our adventures, still have them. Everything’s going to be okay. We’re going to have a happy ending, you’ll see. We all will.”
“You and your happy endings.”
“There’s nothing wrong with happy endings.” I leaned over and kissed her on the cheek, but before things could go any further, she let go of my hand and unlocked her door.
“What’s wrong? What are you doing?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I’m going. It’s time to go.”
“Go? Come on, it’s still early. We can go somewhere else. Get coffee. Or we can stay right here. Or, maybe, we can go to my room. Look for my wallet.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why?”
“Because it isn’t. Things are complicated enough. We don’t need to add to them.”
“Add to…” I sat back. “Can I ask you something? It’s been more than two years. How long is my penance? I’m willing to wait as long as it takes, but I would like to know what I’m up against.”
“Good night, John.”
“Mary.”
“I’ll see you at breakfast.”
“Fine. Fine. Good night then. Fine.”
She opened the door and walked away, her arms pumping. It wasn’t until she disappeared into the hotel that I conceded she wasn’t coming back.
“Mary, Mary, sweet contrary.”
* * *
Later, staring up at yet another hotel ceiling, sleep as far away as Maine, I berated myself for the way the evening had ended. It had been a good night, a fun night, and I ruined things by rushing. I should have let it be, allowed things to take a natural course. Mary was right. This was not the time or place. Things were complicated enough. Ethan, this trip, were all about him. We needed to stay focused. Everything else would have to wait.
I shut the lights, tried to get comfortable, closed my eyes. I then sat up, grabbed my phone, and, of course, called Mary.
Before she even had a chance to speak, I blurted out, “I love you, you know that? I love you and I always will.”
Silence, then Mindy. “Thanks, Dad. Good to know.”
I froze. “Shit! God damn it, shit!”
“Sorry, but I’m having a little trouble following this conversation.”
“What? No!” I sat up higher, thinking fast. “I just wanted you to know that, okay? I wanted to, you know, tell you that.”
“Sure you did.”
“I did. I did. All of you. I love all of you. This trip has made me realize that, appreciate that.” I was rambling now but couldn’t stop. “Is Ethan there, is he there?”
“He’s sleeping.”
“Already? Okay then, all right. Well, tell him that too, in case he wakes up. Tell him I love him too.”
“Hold on, let me grab a pen. Okay, Loves. You. Too. Got it!” she said. “I’ll make sure he gets this first thing. Hey, while you’re at it, you want me to tell Karen? She’s right here.”
“I’m going.”
“So how was that singing ice cream place? Have a good time? Live up to the hype?”
“It was fine.”
“Hey, you want Mom’s number?”
“I have your mother’s number.”
“Need help dialing it?”
“Good night.”
“Loves. You. Too.”
“Good night.”
I turned off the phone and tossed it onto the other bed. I could only imagine the conversation the girls were about to have. It was then that I caught sight of Stinky Bear by the window, button eyes amused.
“Shut. Up. Idiot,” I said.
12
The next day, after Karen got up early and went for a run, showered, then headed back out again to gas up and wash the van; and after she stopped at a Walmart and bought a bag of oranges and water bottles for everyone and a new digital watch complete with peeping buttons and flashing lights for Ethan; and after I asked Mindy what she had accomplished that morning, and she shrugged and mumbled, “Brushed my teeth”; and after I spent a half hour sitting in the rear seat with Ethan, studying the back of Mary’s head in the front seat, trying to read her always hard-to-read mind; and after I decided to text always-hard-to-read Mary a short, generic, but playful message: Hi, Baby! It’s. Nice. Outside!; and after Karen, who was driving, glanced down into her lap at her phone and said, “Dad, did you just text me?”; and after I jumped in my seat and said, what? no! yes! then whispered shit under my breath while staring stupidly at my phone, we decided to stop at a Burger King for an early lunch where life, in the form of an increasingly persistent Rita, decided to once again intrude.
Ethan, who had been fiddling with my phone, eagerly answered the call while I sat, helpless, my mouth jammed full of fries, calculating the odds that it was someone other than who it was.
“Hello?” Ethan asked. “How. Are. You?” He had obviously never met Rita, so at this point in the conversation, there was no indication that he was talking to the woman who had once begged me to spank her while having sex.
“Who is it?” Mary asked.
I reached over and causally yanked the phone away from Ethan.
“Me. Phone!” He made a grab for it, so I jumped up from the table. “Hello? I’m sorry, who is this? Oh yes, Sal. Hi.”
As feared, it was Rita. “John?”
“Let me talk to Sally when you’re done,” Mary said.
I covered the phone. “It’s Sal … Valentine, teachers union.”
“How many Sals do you know?” Mindy asked.
“Hey, Sal,” I headed for the door. “Calling about the fall meeting?”
“Hello? John? Are you there? Hello?”
It wasn’t until I was safely outside, that I risked addressing her. “Listen, you can’t call me anymore on this trip, okay? No more, please. I’m going to block your calls from now on, do you understand?” I glanced back into the Burger King. “I’m serious, okay?”
“Chase died while we were having sex.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“He died right on top of me.”
I came to a hard stop, a fake smile frozen on my face. I had anticipated her saying any number of things, but obviously not this. Speechless, I peered into the restaurant, thought I saw Mary peering back, then finally forced a laugh and said, “Well, that is interesting.”
“We were talking about getting engaged.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I really am.”
“I don’t think I can go on. I don’t think I can. I can’t eat, I can’t sleep. I don’t think I can do this.”
I kept up with the smiling and shook my head, not sure if Mary was watching. “Yes, you can. I’m sure you can. Listen, not a good time. Really not a good time. But I will call you later, I promise.”
“Don’t hang up.
Please John, don’t.”
“I understand what you’re saying, but I really have to go, really do. But I promise I’ll call.” I threw my head back, forced out yet another laugh, and turned off the phone.
* * *
The day went south after that. Ethan, exhausted from another day on the road, became fretful the second we were back in the van. Shoving my worries about Rita aside, I worked to change his mood, furiously running through a number of classic Stinky Bear routines, including my special-occasion, tour de force: Stinky waking up Grandpapa Bear by farting in his ear.
Unlike the day before, however, Ethan wasn’t impressed, and continued to whine, yell, and occasionally pinch me. I kept at it for close to an hour, until, mouth dry, head pounding, I finally ran out of steam.
“Do. Now?”
“We have to stop,” I said. “Someone else has to take him.”
“Eat. I. Starving! Eat. Now!”
“You’re not hungry, Ethan. We just ate.” I turned away from him and looked out my window at Connecticut or New York or Massachusetts; I had no idea where the hell we were.
“It’s my turn,” Mary called from the front seat. “I can take him.”
“Thanks. Stop. Pull over.”
Mindy, who was driving, mumbled something and kept going.
“Mindy, stop so we can switch, okay?” I yelled.
Mindy glanced back. “I said I don’t want to stop on the road. Next exit.”
“Do. Now?”
I sat back, rubbed my temples. “Nothing, Ethan. Look at the clouds. It might rain. Or snow. If we’re lucky, maybe we’ll have an earthquake and it will swallow us all.”
“Do! Next?”
“I don’t know. Here, here!” I rooted around on the floor, reached into the bag of oranges, and held one out to him. “Do you want this? I can peel—” Before I could finish, he snatched the orange and, with his perfect aim, threw a hard strike at Mindy, hitting her squarely in the back of the head. She jerked forward, and the van veered off the road, toward a steep ditch.
An explosion of chaos followed. Mary tried to take the wheel. Karen covered her head with her arms and cried out, “We’re falling!” Ethan became hysterical, grabbing at my neck. When I felt us tipping over, I closed my eyes and braced for impact.
“Hold on!” I yelled.
Miraculously, we didn’t tip. Instead we skidded down into the bottom of the ditch, where we rocked back and forth to a stop.
No one made a sound. Both Karen and Mary had their faces buried in their hands. Mindy stared straight ahead, gripping the wheel. Even Ethan was quiet.
Finally Karen asked, “Is everyone okay?”
Mary turned around. “John?”
Heart racing, I glanced down at Ethan, whose head was now in my lap, eyes silent, scared. “We’re fine,” I said. “No one’s hurt. He didn’t mean it. Everything’s okay.”
Mindy apparently didn’t see it quite that way. She slammed her fists onto the steering wheel. “I can’t take this anymore! I just can’t take this anymore! Look what he does to us! Look what he’s doing to us! He almost killed us, killed us!” She continued to pound the steering wheel with a ferocity I had never seen from her before.
Mary reached for her. “Mindy! Please!”
“Leave me alone!” she screamed. “Just leave me alone. I can’t do this anymore. I’m going home. I’ll get a ride. I’ll walk. I don’t care. But I can’t do this anymore. Every minute is crazy, every minute is nuts. Who can live like this? Who? No one can! We don’t deserve this; no one does. I could never have friends over. We never went anywhere. We couldn’t talk in our own home. Talk! Our whole lives we’ve been held hostage—our whole lives! It never changes and it never stops!”
She started to cry, and this ignited Ethan, who began to cry as well.
“Mindy, you’re upsetting him!” I yelled.
“Upsetting him? Upsetting him! Are you fucking kidding me?” With that, she jumped out of the van and climbed up a nearby embankment by the side of the highway.
I tried to calm Ethan. “Someone has to get her. I can’t. I’m stuck back here.”
Mary lowered her window. “Mindy, get back in. Come on, get back in. Please. Don’t do this.”
I watched Mindy sit down on the top of the hill and put her head between her knees. I could tell she was still crying by the way her shoulders were shaking.
“Oh, baby.” Mary opened the door and was about to get out, when Karen stopped her.
“Mom, don’t. Wait in here,” she said. “Just wait in here.”
“What?’
“Wait in here. I’ll get her.” Karen jumped out of the van and quickly made her way up the hill to Mindy, who was really sobbing now.
“Are you okay?” Mary asked me.
I sat in the backseat, Ethan’s head cradled in my lap, and watched as Karen put her arms around her sister and drew her close, their shoulders both shaking together.
“We’re fine,” I said. “We’re fine.”
* * *
The sun broke through a cliff of low-hanging clouds just as it was setting. Ethan stopped dribbling to stare and point.
“Sun!” he said.
I nodded. “Yes. Sun. It’s setting. It’s going away for the night.”
He stood still for a moment and watched the city skyline turn pink before returning to the task at hand. “Go, Illini!” he cried as he launched another shot.
We were performing another reprise of the Illinois–Arizona game, this time in a small, hilly excuse of a park just south of Boston. We had been there for close to an hour, killing time, my less-than-enthusiastic play-by-play filling the quiet evening. I was tired and defeated, and unlike my Illini, I had no comeback in me that night.
After the near accident and Mindy’s breakdown, we drove for a while in stressed silence. Once we found a roadside Courtyard, we went our separate ways; the women to their respective rooms, and Ethan and I to the pool, then a walk, then dinner. Throughout the afternoon, I repeatedly tried to call Mindy, but she hadn’t picked up.
I flipped Ethan the ball and watched him dribble toward the basket then awkwardly pull up and bank a shot from a few feet away. I cheered then checked the time. It was close to seven thirty, and I knew the sometimes dicey transition, from basketball to bed, would have to begin soon.
“One more basket!” I yelled.
“Ten!”
“Okay, ten more. But hurry. It’s getting dark outside.”
“Mom!”
“Mom?” I turned and saw Mary approaching, making her way down an incline by the swings. She was wearing one of Mindy’s black hoodies, and her arms were crossed in front of her as she walked, a pensive pose. Ethan ran over.
“Hello! Hello! Hello!”
“Hi, baby.” She hugged him hard.
“How did you find us?”
She shrugged. “I went for a walk, heard him yelling.”
“Oh yeah. He’s very into it tonight.”
Ethan returned to the court and resumed his shooting.
“He’s good at it,” she said.
“Thank Kyle Baker for that.”
“Thank you for that,” she said. “You spent a lot more time with him than Kyle did.”
It was nice of her to acknowledge that, so I shot her a smile, but she didn’t smile back. She just watched Ethan play through worried and tired eyes. “So, how’s Mindy? I tried to call,” I said.
“Karen was with her when I left. They went to get pizza together.”
“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.
