It's. Nice. Outside. (33 page)

“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?”

“Forget 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.”

“Fine! Do whatever you want!” I slammed the phone down and took deep breaths.

*   *   *

Sal picked a lobster place on the water that Mary and I had been to the year before. Though I remember the food being good, I had no appetite. I alternated between looking out at the darkening ocean and staring at Ethan, who was innocently spooning lobster bisque. The girls, though subdued, seemed strangely relaxed, chatting away about a reality TV show. No one was talking about Ocean View, a fact that confused and irked me. Didn't they know what was happening the day after tomorrow? Didn't they know?

Throughout the evening I had repeatedly asked about their impressions of the home and received only brief but positive responses. Whenever I pressed the issue, the subject was changed. I tried once more to engage them.

“So, you all liked it? Ocean View?”

“Well, I've been there before,” Mary said.

“Yeah, we told you, we thought it was nice,” Karen said.

“Yeah,” Mindy said. “Real nice.”

“So, that's it?”

“What else do you want us to say?” Karen asked. “It's really nice.”

“So, that's it, huh, that's it? Nothing else? That's it?” I threw my napkin down and went to the men's room, where I splashed water on my face and then gave myself a good look in the eye. On my way back to the table, I detoured to the deck. There was a harbor full of weathered colorful lobster boats, all gently bobbing in the twilight. Behind them, where the harbor opened up, a wall of fog was rolling in. None of this changed my mood. I was impervious to the charms and beauty of Camden. It was now nothing more than the place I was supposed to leave my son.

I returned to our table. Ethan was smiling while Sal whispered something in his ear. The women were chatting away. It was then that I realized the terrible truth: no one was going to talk me out of anything. We were going through with this. We were really leaving him, leaving Ethan. I found it hard to breathe, felt things closing in again. I closed my eyes.

“John? What's wrong? John?” I heard Mary ask.

I jumped up and rushed out of the restaurant, weaving between tables, bumping into chairs, cries of “Where. Dad. Be?” chasing me, a question, a plea.

*   *   *

Later, after fielding concerned calls from Mindy, Karen, Mary, and even Sally; and after I refused Sal's offer to go for a walk and smoke one of the Cuban cigars he had “got” from “some guy”; and after I did about fifty free throws; and after I paced the room, then lay on my bed then paced the room again, I forced myself to open my laptop. Ethan was sleeping with Mary so, for better or for worse, I had the night to myself.

I turned on my computer and found the essay I had started weeks before: “My Hopes for Ethan.” Ocean View asked parents to articulate their dreams for their children prior to official admission. I had tried many times to complete the essay.

I want Ethan to be happy. That's what any father wants for his child. To simply be happy. To go through the day being loved, wanted, and watched over. I want Ethan to be in a place that cares for him. A good place, a safe place. A place where he can watch the sun set, see the moon rise. A place he can call home.

That was all I had, so I read it over, made a number of attempts to finish, but got nowhere. So, rather than write, I revised, editing that single paragraph over and over. In the end, all I was left with was:
I want Ethan to be happy.

I studied that sentence until my eyes burned, and the words became distorted, fat, and blurry. I probed it from many angles before realizing it was not entirely true. To be sure, I wanted Ethan to be happy, but the reality was, the truth was, the person I
really
wanted to be happy was me. The person I
really
wanted to take care of was me. That was why I was doing all of this. That was why we were all here.

I shut the laptop, did some more free throws. Then I stood by the open window for a long time, looking into the darkness, the ocean air filling my room with whispers and sighs.

*   *   *

I had my Ethan-is-talking-normal dream that night. We were, as always, home in Wilton, sitting on the deck, eating cereal as we often did in the morning. I was staring at the finch feeder, watching the tiny red-and-yellow birds flit around the food. Ethan was drinking orange juice.

“The Cubs won last night,” he said to me. His voice was a song, high and sweet, heartbreaking.

I watched him eat. I never spoke during these dreams. I just wanted to hear him.

“We should go somewhere today,” he said. “Maybe we should go to the park.”

I reached out to brush his hair away from his face.

“I'm glad I didn't die that time,” he said. “I'm glad I stayed alive.”

I woke up with a start, and in my Ambien-induced daze, came to the inevitable and obvious conclusion: I could not go through with this. I could not leave my son in this strange place, so far away from home, so far away from me.

*   *   *

I was calm, bordering on numb, when morning finally arrived. I watched the sun rise over the ocean, the light, unraveling over the water, before making my way down to the lobby for coffee. I figured I'd be the first one there, but found everyone but Ethan standing in a half-circle by the front door.

“What's going on? Where is he?”

“We have to talk,” said Karen.

“Is everything okay? Is something wrong?” It was then I noticed that Sally wasn't there either. “Where's Sally? Is she all right?”

“She's with Ethan in the van,” Karen said. “Dad, you're not coming.”

“What?”

“You're not coming,” she said again. “We're going to register him and take the official tour and everything. You're going to stay here with Uncle Sal.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Stay here, John,” Mary said. “You're not up for this. Just stay here. We'll take care of everything. He's going to be okay.”

“Where is he?” I started to push past them, but Sal grabbed me by the wrists. “Just relax, John.”

“He's staying, Dad, at least for now,” Karen said. “It's for the best. We'll get him registered, then we'll be back. We know you don't want to leave him, we know you can't. So we'll handle it. You'll see him again this afternoon. Everything is going to be fine.”

Mindy started to cry, and Karen took her hand and continued. “We saw the home yesterday, and you're right, it's a nice place, it's a beautiful place. They have the gym and the pool, and the attendants seem nice. And the café has lots of pickles. And they have those special bikes he can ride, those big bikes.” She stopped and looked away. “He'll be happy there, we think.”

“When they get back, I'm going to rent a boat,” Sal said. “He'll love it. I'm gonna bring some food on board. A little wine. We'll have dinner on the boat. I got those cigars.”

“What are you talking about? Food, boat!” I pried myself away from Sal. “He's not staying, I was wrong. He can't stay. Mary? Mary? Say something! I was wrong. I've been thinking about this. I was wrong. This place is too far away. It's crazy. I don't know what I was thinking. He can't stay here, he can't. It's ridiculous. It's so far!”