by J. A. Huss
“Who are you?” I ask.
“Ethan,” he says. “Ethan Conrad.”
“Before that, Ethan. Who were you before that?”
“Ethan Wright.”
I know his real last name. But that’s not what I meant. So I sigh, frustrated and unsure how to have this conversation.
He looks back to his fishing. “Ethan Wright was a lonely kid.”
“Why?” I ask, relieved that he gets me. He knows what I’m after and he’s taking the initiative. Even though he shouldn’t have to because he’s… eight.
“He had a brother,” Ethan says.
“He did? I mean, you did?” This third-person thing is freaking me out a little.
“Yeah.” Ethan looks at me, but all I see is myself. Both in who he is and in the mirrors covering his eyes. “He was twelve.”
“Was twelve? So he’s…”
“Dead now,” Ethan says. “But I saw it coming.”
“You did?” I ask, my heart breaking and beating fast at the same time.
“Yeah,” Ethan says. “He had cancer.”
“Jesus. Where are your parents? Tori—I mean Mom—said she never met them.”
“I don’t really remember them,” Ethan says. He sits down on the rock and I walk over and sit next to him. “They weren’t around when Chet died.”
“So you were alone? In foster care?”
“Yeah, that was before Mom’s place took me in.”
“And then what happened? After Chet died?”
He’s silent for a long time, but I don’t rush him. And then after minutes of this silence, he says, “Where were your parents? When you were my age?”
“Well, my mom was… not well and then she…” I’m about to lie and say she got sick and died, but that’s not a lie you tell a kid who’s been through that already. “She killed herself. And then I was with my dad, and he was murdered by some bad people.”
“Who?” Ethan says, looking up at me.
And here it is. The truth fucking staring me in the face. I can either admit it and get it over with now, or lie and let that lie fester for decades until he figures it out on his own.
I can’t live with that lie. I can’t live with any more lies. I’ve told too many of them already. So I say, “The Conrads. The Conrads killed him.”
Ethan squints his eyes at me. “The people who adopted you?”
I nod.
“Jesus Christ, West. That’s horrible.”
And I can’t help myself. I laugh pretty loud. He’s like a thirty-year-old man in this little kid body. It’s such a trip. “Yeah,” I say. “They did a lot of bad stuff. Lotta bad stuff.”
“And that’s why Mom hates them?” he asks.
“Yup. And why she wants me to get rid of my last name and take the one I was born with.”
“What?” Ethan says. “That would be like… me deciding to stop being Ethan Conrad and going backwards to become Ethan Wright again.”
“Yeah, exactly how I feel about it.”
“What’s your real last name?”
“Conrad,” I say, smiling. “What’s yours?”
“Conrad,” he says, smiling back. “Forever and ever and ever.”
I ruffle his hair and say, “Yeah. But you know your mom…” I sigh. “She’s real worried about you.”
“I know,” Ethan says. Just like that. I know. Like this is nothing in his world. “But she shouldn’t worry too much.”
“Why’s that?” I ask.
“Because I’m OK now. I don’t go out to steal food or medicine for Chet anymore. I just go out because… I like it. And I don’t go very far. Not too far. Not like I used to before Mom found me. I just go short places. To see people I know and make sure they’re OK.”
Wow. I loved him before this conversation, but I love him even more now. I don’t exactly know what kind of medicine he’s talking about for his brother. But I’m gonna assume it was over-the-counter kinda stuff. Because if this kid was breaking into pharmacies for cancer drugs I might not know what to do with that.
So I say, “Ya know, there’s this new invention called the smartphone.”
He laughs.
“And the really cool thing about it is that you call people and ask them how they’re doing. You don’t even have to go over to their house to look into the windows or anything.”
“Dad,” he says.
“And not only that,” I say, “but you can send little written messages called texts, if you don’t feel like calling. People like texts. You can put little smiley faces in them and everything. Those are called emojis.”
“Dad.” He laughs again.
“My point is, Ethan, you can’t go out at night. It’s not safe. And it’s driving your mother nuts with worry.”
He sighs.
And I get all the things out of that sigh. He does it because… well, he likes to do it. And I get that. I used to catch lobsters and fish because I liked it too. But it was dangerous, and even though it was fun, and I learned a lot, and I became self-sufficient… “That’s not how kids live, Ethan. Kids don’t do those things because they need time to grow up. Kids need to have fun, but they need to have safe fun. Ya get me?”
He thinks about this for a long time, and I let him. We just sit there. And then, finally, he says, “I get you.”
“So you’ll stay home at night? And we’ll get you a phone and put everyone’s number in it? And you can call each one of them, every single night if you’d like, and ask them if they need anything.”
He looks up at me and says, “What if they do need something?”
I shrug. “We’ll get in the car and take care of it. Together.”
“Promise?” he asks.
I nod. “Promise.”
After another long silence he says, “OK. I’ll do it your way.”
“I love you, Ethan.”
“I know,” he says back.
“Hey,” I say, deciding we’ve come to some kind of conclusion. “You wanna go catch some lobsters the real way?”
“Do we need gloves?” he asks. “Because I couldn’t find any on the island last night.”
“No,” I say, feeling happier about everything. “Getting poked with spines is most of the fun.”
“Battle scars,” Ethan says.
“Battle scars,” I say back.
Later, after we’ve caught our quota for the day and Ethan has moved on to fishing, I join Tori on the beach. She’s got quite the setup down here. Giant umbrella, beach towel big enough to host a family of six, sunscreen, cooler with drinks and snacks… pretty much everything a family needs for a day at the beach.
“My hands sting like fuck,” I say.
Tori lowers her sunglasses and smiles. “Best feeling in the world, right?”
“Best,” I agree, sinking down beside her and stretching out my legs.
We sit there like that for a little bit, just watching Ethan’s lean form silhouetted against the afternoon sun as he casts, and reels, and casts again. “He’s OK,” I say.
“I know,” Tori says.
And I love this about her. That we have these conversations that are half words, half mind-reading.
“I love him so much,” Tori says, her hand on her belly. Like she’s subconsciously wondering if she will love the new baby more. Or less, for that matter.
But I know that’s not really what’s on her mind, so I don’t even go there. “He loves you back,” I say.
“I know that too.”
“He wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t happy, Tori.”
“What do you mean?” There’s a little crack in her façade.
“I mean…” What do I mean? I think about it for a second because I feel like this is crucial. That the words need to be just right and there’s no room for mistakes. “I mean… Ethan is like us.”
“Explain,” Tori says.
“We choose our path, we don’t let it just happen to us. It’s a force of will, and compromise, and maybe even a little bit of fate. But not real
ly fate, because fate implies we don’t control it, and we do. He’s like us, Tori. We’re together, not just because we’re in love and it’s a love that lasts forever through lifetimes, but because we want to be together. He’s with us because… well, you didn’t choose him and I didn’t choose him. He’s the one who chose us.”
“You didn’t choose your parents,” she says.
But I’m ready for it. Ethan has clarified things for me in a way I would’ve never seen without him. “No, I didn’t. They chose me. And it’s not the same. Thank God, it’s not the same. Because even though what they did was disgusting, unethical, and caused a lot of people a lot of pain… I had nothing to do with it. I didn’t choose them, but I can’t change the mark they left on me any more than you can change the mark your father left on you. Or Ethan can change the mark his childhood will leave on him. All we can do is admit our mistakes, try harder, do better, and live on. I’m a Conrad. I don’t want to go backwards and be the kid I was before they took me in. And Ethan is a Conrad. So are you. We’re not them, Tori. And this name has nothing to do with who we are. It’s just a name, that’s all. And we’re gonna keep it. We’re gonna do good things with our name.”
“So Victoria Conrad,” she says, trying out her new name.
“That’s Mrs. Victoria Conrad to you.”
She smiles and scoots closer to me, her hand on my stomach as mine wanders to hers. I think about the baby and wonder why I’m so calm about it.
One year ago I was Mr. Corporate. Power player. Master of my world.
I’m still him, just better. And fatherhood suits me, I decide. It’s the best.
“Hey,” I say. “You know what’s so cool about having a kid?”
“The pregnancy sex?” she says, winking at me.
I have to stop and think about that for a minute. Jesus. “Yeah, that, for sure.”
Tori laughs. “What’s so cool about it?”
“You get to fix all the shit your parents fucked up.”
Tori hugs me, wrapping her leg around mine in a possessive way that makes my heart swell. “You know what?”
“What?”
“It’s funny how the worst day of your life can end up being the best day of your life. If we hadn’t both been under those trees in front of the admin building that night at Brown, we’d never have met.”
“Not true,” I say. “Because I had my eye on you for weeks. You just scared the fuck out of me so I never approached you.”
“Liar!” She laughs.
“Truth,” I say. I look down at my soon-to-be wife and then kiss her. “But seeing you in your moment of weakness made me brave. And I guess that’s a good lesson to learn. That it’s our moments of weakness that define us. It’s the challenges that mold us into who we become. The struggle makes the victory that much sweeter.”
Tori sighs, looking out at Ethan as he reels in yet another fish. “He’s gonna be just fine,” she says.
“Better than fine.”
“Just like us,” she says.
“Just like us.”
Chapter Twenty-Three - PAX
There’s bootprints in the spilled flour on the floor and several clumps of alfalfa hay strewn about.
My heart calms when I realize this is a setup.
That sneaky Miss Cookie. I’m gonna spank her ass cheeks red when I find her.
Which brings me to my next question. Where the fuck is she?
Hmmm… bootprints and hay. That can only mean one thing… she wants me to find her at the stable.
I grin, picturing myself throwing her down into a haystack, then fucking her wild from behind. “Game on, Miss Cookie,” I say, leaving the kitchen house. She’s teasing me, that’s what she’s doing. And I like it.
I have no idea where the fucking stable is on this island, so I stop by the house and find it empty. But out back by the pool, there’s Five’s girls dutifully taking their test.
Five is crazy and I’m not fixing this for him. He’s just gotta come around to the idea. Besides, my cookie wants her nieces close to home. I’m taking her side on this.
“Hey,” I call out to Rory. I don’t know her that well, but she’s my new sister, and I’m digging that whole aspect to this marriage stuff.
She shushes me, pointing to her girls, so I make a zipping motion at my lips and follow her inside the house. “Sorry,” she says. “I just don’t want them disturbed. This is the math part and it makes me nervous. Math was never my strong suit.”
Which makes me laugh because Five, right? “I think they’re fine,” I say. “All I need is for you to point me in the direction of the stables. Your sister has a surprise waiting for me there.”
I waggle my eyebrows, kinda forgetting she’s a girl, but Rory just laughs. “Oh, yeah. She’s full of surprises, all right. It’s that way,” Rory says, motioning over to a window that looks out on a winding path leading up a hill.
My eyes follow the trail and I feel tired already. I should not’ve gotten so drunk last night. “All the way to the top?” I ask.
“All the way to the top. It’s got the best grass up there so they can graze.”
“Of course it does,” I say. I salute her, and start humming I Wanna Be an Airborne Ranger as I head out.
“And mind the stallion!” Rory calls. “We have two mares in heat!”
“I won’t be fucking with him,” I mutter. “Just your sister.” Which makes me grin like a teenager.
By the time I’m halfway up the hill I’m sweating, cursing, too out of breath to sing, and really in need of some water.
I can see the barn and some ponies grazing in a nearby pasture. They come up to the fence lining the path and follow me like dogs. Cute fuckers. I’m trudging up the last hundred yards to the barn when I notice dirt bike tracks in fresh mud.
Which is weird because it hasn’t rained and I haven’t heard any dirt bikes on the island this morning. But just as I think that, I do hear one. Off in the distance over another ridge. Hmmm.
I keep going, hoping there’s a fridge up here at the top or a hand-pump for a well. Or whatever it takes to get a drink. Because it’s hot as hell now and I’m dehydrated as shit after drinking so much last night.
“Miss Cookie!” I call out, once I’m a little ways from the open barn doors. “Your detective is here!”
I expect some giggling or maybe a fake scream, but nothing. Just the clopping of hooves as the ponies trot back and forth near the fence, put off when I leave them behind.
That’s when I smell gasoline.
Jesus, it’s strong. I look around, trying to figure out where it’s coming from and spy an old rag on the ground. There’s more bootprints, more dirt bike-tracks, and on a open door leading out the back, some oily fingerprints.
“Cindy?” I call out. “Cinderella? You here, babe?”
Nothing.
Huh. There’s no fridge that I can see, so I wander out of the barn and go looking for water. Out in the pasture I spy a hand-pump, so I jump the fence and slip between the two friendly ponies, who are now very interested in my pockets because they probably figure I’ve got treats.
I brush them aside, but they follow me all the way over to the water. I pump the handle a few times to get the flow going and I’m just about to bend down and drink when I hear a snort and the tell-tale pawing of a hoof.
I glance over my shoulder and see a beautiful golden pony about fifty yards away. “Hey there, pretty lady. You thirsty too?”
And that’s when I realize… it’s not a lady, it’s a fella. And these two cute girls who’ve been following me are his mares. In heat.
I put my hand up because this is the universal gesture of surrender—for all species, as far as I know—and maybe I’m no horse expert, but I grew up on a breeding farm and if there’s one thing I do know about them, it’s that you do not fuck with a stallion. Even when he’s only four feet tall.
“Cindy!” I yell. “If you’re here, come save me from this tiny maniac!”
He charges me.
She never shows.
So I run.
I’m right at the fence, practically over it, when his teeth grab the flesh of my arm. I pull away instinctively, and hurl myself over the top rail. But that crazy little fucker still has a hold of my shirt, so I have to slip out of it to get the rest of the way over, and I land in a heap in the grass.
Golden Balls rears up like he’s fucking king of the world, and snorts through his nose like he really wants to jump this fence and kill my ass.
Jesus.
I get up, flip him off, and then feel a whole lot better about shit since losing my shirt is probably a good thing. I’m hot as hell.
I glance over at the water, thirsty as all fuck, but then decide… I can wait. Obviously Cindy left me those dirt bike clues. Which means she’s up wherever Five keeps them. I look over at the ridge where I heard the sound of riders a few minutes ago, and decide I might as well head in that direction.
I glance at the back of my arm and see teeth marks. Motherfucker bit me.
He and I exchange glares as I leave and I make a V with my fingers and point to my eyes, then him. “I’m watching you, Golden Balls.”
I’m pretty sure the noise that comes out of his mouth is a laugh.
Fucking ponies.
The ridge doesn’t look higher than the stable, but it is. Because I’m huffing my ass off as I walk up the slope. When I get to the top I expect to see a garage. A shed. Something that tells me, this is where we keep the dirt bikes.
Nothing but another fucking ridge.
So I trudge up that one too, and by this time, I might actually be dying of thirst. Like… dying.
When I get to the top, halle-fucking-lujah, there it is. There’s two bikes parked outside. Little mini ones, like kids ride. But the door is wide open and I can hear music coming from inside. Electric Worry, by Clutch. Kind of an angry song if you ask me.
“Cindy?” I call out. But by this time, I’ve pretty much given up hope so I’m not surprised to find the place empty, save for a giant mud puddle in the center of the garage with something floating on top of it.
I’m so fucking thirsty I might get down on my hands and knees and slurp it up.
I grab the floating thing instead. It’s one of those bobbing keychains people use for boats, and it’s got two keys on it.
