by Jim Kokoris
“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 sai
d. “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.”
“She did what?”
“Idiot,” Ethan said.
“Right, Ethan, right.”
“Karen. Idiot!”
“Yes, she is,” I said.
“Mindy. Idiot!”
“Absolutely. It runs in the family.”
“Dad. Idiot!”
“Hey, I wouldn’t go that far.”
We were laughing when I saw the sign on the side of the road: WELCOME TO MAINE: THE WAY LIFE SHOULD BE.
“Look,” Mindy said, pointing. “We’re here.”
“Finally,” Karen said. “Maine.”
We all stared at the sign as we passed. No one said another word.
13
Sal was leaning against a black Escalade, blowing streams of smoke through his nostrils in the parking lot of the Ridgewood Inn. He was wearing a Boston Red Sox cap and an enormous Sox T-shirt that still fit him tight across the chest. He smiled, flicked the cigarette away, and pushed off from the SUV.
“How’s my favorite family?” he said as we piled out of the van. He swallowed me in a sugary Old Spice hug.
While we were still in heavy embrace, I heard both Mindy and Karen mumble, “Hey, Uncle Sal,” then saw them scurry past, toward the inn’s wide wooden porch, dragging their luggage.
Sal released me. “That’s all I get? Hi. Bye? That’s it?”
“It’s been a long afternoon,” I said.
Ethan, red-faced from crying, emerged from the back of the van with an exhausted Mary. The last three hours had been among the hardest of the entire trip. It had taken everything we had not to stop. When he saw his beloved uncle, though, he exploded with delight, running frantically toward him, skinny arms waving. He leaped into Sal’s arms.
“Sal!”
“There he is, Mr. Big!” Sal said, tussling Ethan’s hair and smiling. “Now, that’s more like it!”
“Hi, Sal,” Mary said. “Where’s Sally?”
Sal let Ethan go and gave Mary a hug. “Yeah, she’s in her room taking a nap. How you holding up? Gotta be tough, this whole thing.”
“We survived,” she said. “Thank you for coming,”
“Yeah, we flew into Boston and drove up. Made a little detour, drove by Fenway, first time, if you believe. And I got to say, I wasn’t all that impressed. From what I saw, Wrigley is better. Wrigley has got more class, more something, history. All they got is the wall there. Here, give me that.” He took Mary’s bag from her.
“Your back,” she said.
“Forget the back. Here. Come on, give it to me.”
Ethan ran ahead, up the porch steps, and Mary hurried after him while Sal and I, saddled with bags, slowly followed. I was exhausted, my head crowded, and I needed to be alone for a while. I was in no mood for anyone, particularly Sal.
“How was the drive?” he asked.
“Started out great, but the last few hours were total hell.”
Sal readjusted the shoulder strap of Mary’s bag. “Yeah, me and Sally thought this was crazy. All the way from South Carolina.”
“You mean all the way from Wilton, Illinois.”
“Yeah, that’s right. Jesus. This whole idea is crazy. Everything.”
I could have easily ignored this casual comment, but chose not to. During the last horrible hour on the road, between pleas for Ethan to be quiet, I had reconsidered the Sals’ sudden presence in Camden, growing increasingly suspicious and angry. What, exactly, were they doing here? When, exactly, did Mary call them?
“What do you mean? What whole idea?”
“You know, the whole thing.”
I stopped walking. “What whole thing?”
“Nothing. You know, the whole thing. The home, everything. We’ll talk about it later.”
“Talk about what later?”
“Nothing. Just want to make sure you’re okay with everything, that’s all. It’s a big decision.”
My suspicions were being confirmed. I sensed one last gang tackle. “Did Mary and the girls put you up to this? Huh? Is that what this whole thing is about? You and Sally all of a sudden being here? Is this some kind of a setup? Some kind of intervention? Some last-ditch effort to try and get me to change my mind? It’s not going to work, Sal. So you came a long way for nothing. We decided as a family we’re doing this. He’s staying here for at least six weeks, probably forever.”
Sal stopped at the bottom of the porch steps. “For Christ’s sake, relax, John. No one put me up to nothing. I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just thought maybe you might want to talk, make sure you’re okay with everything.”
I wouldn’t let it go. “What do you mean make sure I’m okay with everything?”
“F
orget the whole thing. I make one comment, you go nuts.” Sal waved his hand. “Go take a shower, and we’ll grab a drink. They got a bar downstairs.” He started up the steps.
I didn’t move. “I’m not sure why you’re here, okay? But I can assure you that there’s nothing to talk about. There’s nothing to talk about at all.”
* * *
I made my way up to my room, dropped my bags in the closet, opened the window, and stared over a tree line at the water. I tried to calm myself by focusing on a small cluster of sailboats as they glided into the harbor, but my efforts were for naught: things were quickly closing in. We were finally here. We had come to the end.
My anxiety was building, when Mary called my room. “Should we head up there?”
I closed my eyes.
“Hello? John? Are you there?”
“It’s late.”
“It’s not even three o’clock.”
“They’re really not expecting us until tomorrow. I’m tired. I don’t want to go.”
“The girls want to go. And it’s been a year since I’ve been there.”
“Nothing’s changed. I was just there.”
She didn’t say anything. I opened my eyes. “Mary?”
“You don’t have to come. We’ll be back in a couple of hours, and then we can get something to eat. So relax, take a nap. The Sals have Ethan for a while.”
“I want to be with him.”
“The Sals have him. They’re gone. Sal wanted to show him some boats or something.”
The mention of Sal cleared my head. “I think we need to get something straight. I’m in no mood to debate anything with you or … or your Tony Soprano brother-in-law, okay? This is hard enough.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You know what I’m talking about. I now know why you really wanted them here. Some last-ditch effort, some muscle to persuade me. What, he’s going to threaten me? Break my legs? I’m not scared of Sal.”
“Take a nap. It’s been a long day.”
“I’m not going to take any shit from him or anyone else. Okay? This is difficult enough.”
“Stop yelling.”
“I’m not yelling.”
“We’re going to the home,” Mary said. “We’ll see you in a while.”
