Leaving Blythe River: A Novel (37 page)

Noah wheeled his chair backward, turned it fairly skillfully, and disappeared back into his bedroom. Without comment.

The next word Ethan heard from his father came more than ten hours later. It woke Ethan from a filmy and confused sleep.

“Ethan?”

Ethan sat up in bed. The moon was just a light crescent through his window, and he waited for his eyes to adjust to the dimness.

“I’ll be right there, Dad.”

Rubbing his eyes, hopping slightly on the cold floorboards, Ethan made his way to his father’s bedroom, Rufus trotting faithfully behind.

As he opened his father’s bedroom door, he half expected to find Noah on the floor, or in some other disastrous position or situation. But his dad was only sitting up in bed. Noah had turned on the soft light of a bedside lamp. His face looked much more conciliatory than Ethan remembered having seen it. Maybe even ashamed or afraid.

“I give up,” Noah said. “I need the bedpan.”

A thin layer of the ice around Ethan’s heart melted. Because his dad looked and sounded so helpless. And because it was so rare for Noah to drop his big-man act.

“Sure,” Ethan said. “Good decision.”

He padded away to fetch it from the one small bathroom.

“Thanks,” Noah said, as Ethan carried it back into the room. “It just hurts too much when I try to move around.”

“I never suggested you try to move around.”

“I know,” his dad said. “I get it. I know whose idea that was.”

“I’ll just leave you alone with this for a minute. And, look. I’m sorry for what I said today.”

Ethan watched his father’s face for any sign of emotion. But Noah had a flawless poker face. Always had.

“To the ranger, you mean.”

“Right.”

“No, you’re not. You’re not sorry.” He didn’t seem angry. Ethan waited for a flare of anger. But it seemed there was nothing there. “You’re sorry I heard it.”

“Yes. I’m sorry you heard it.”

“But you’re not sorry you said it. And you don’t have to be. It’s not required. If you’d made a statement that was malicious or . . . well, let’s face it, false . . . then it would be appropriate to apologize. But if it’s only the damn truth . . .”

“I’m just going to leave you alone to—”

“Wait. Before you go.”

Ethan waited. But nothing seemed to happen.

“What is it, Dad?”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what, exactly?”

“All of it. Everything. Specifically . . . you know. I don’t want to say her name, but you know where I’m going with this. But all the other stuff, too. Including the stuff you don’t know about.”

“Let’s just leave it that way, okay? I don’t need to know.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Ethan turned to leave again.

“Wait,” his father said. “Also thank you. You know. For the fact that I’m still here to say thank you.”

Ethan stared at his dad for a long time. Probably too long. Part of him was wanting to believe what had just happened. Another part was waiting for a catch. But there didn’t seem to be one. The apology seemed sincere.

“You’re welcome,” he said. He probably should have said more. But that was all he could manage.

“Boy, this whole thing sure didn’t turn out the way I pictured it.”

“What whole thing?”

“My life. My adventures. The whole extreme sports thing. I figured I’d do it for another two years, or ten years. Or maybe twenty. And then one day I’d slip off a trail and that would be that. I remember when I was falling. Just in that split second. I thought, well, I was hoping for later, but I knew this was how it would turn out. And then I was lying there for days wondering why that wasn’t the end. Why things didn’t work out the way I planned.”

“Life never turns out the way anybody plans,” Ethan said. “It almost doesn’t pay to plan.”

“See, it’s depressing that you know that and I don’t.”

“I’ll just get that bedpan in the morning.”

Ethan let himself out, leaving the door open in case his father needed anything else in the night, and made his way back to his own room.

“You didn’t say anything,” Noah called just as Ethan was tucking back under the covers.

“About what?” Ethan called back.

“I said I was sorry. And you didn’t say anything.”

Ah,
Ethan thought.
Here’s the moment.

It’s hard, he realized, when someone asks you straight-out for forgiveness.
Truthfully,
he thought,
it’s not a fair request. It’s not fair to repeatedly hurt someone and then pressure them to let you off the hook.

And Ethan felt disinclined to lie.

“Thank you for being sorry,” Ethan called. “It feels like progress. And I’m really happy that you’re glad to be saved. That means a lot to me. Will that do for now?”

“I guess it’ll have to,” Noah called in reply.

Amazingly, Ethan got right back to sleep.

Chapter Nineteen: Just the Thing

Sixteen days after his father was found

They stood together at the airport curb in Casper, close to Jone’s SUV, so no airport authority would think they were leaving the vehicle unattended.

Ethan’s mother had notified the airline about his father’s condition. All Ethan had to do was wait for two airline employees to come down with a wheelchair and help Noah to the gate. That and get a rolling cart or a skycap to help move poor tranquilized Rufus to the check-in desk in his plastic pet carrier.

“So you’re going to be on the flight to Chicago with your dad?” Jone asked.

She had asked before. But there had been so much going on. So much packing, so many plans. So much to remember.

“Yeah. Yeah, my mom got me the same flight as my dad to O’Hare. And then she got me a connecting flight from O’Hare to New York.”

“Good,” Jone said. “Good.”

She stood with one arm hooked through Sam’s. None of them seemed able to look the others straight in the eye. It was hard, saying good-bye to them. Harder than Ethan had realized it would be.

“That way you two can take care of each other,” Jone added.

Sam was still acting balky and silent.

“Yeah,” Ethan said, unable to keep the emotion out of his voice. “You two take care of each other, too.”

Jone smiled a tiny sad smile, and Sam blushed and continued to say nothing.

“I know people always say they’ll stay in touch,” Jone said, “and promise they’ll visit. But you really will, right?”

“Try and stop me,” Ethan said.

He looked over to see two uniformed airline employees inside the terminal, heading their way. Heading for the sliding glass doors. With the wheelchair.

“I’d miss Blythe River too much if I never saw it again,” Ethan added.

“So come back for a camping trip,” Sam said, apparently finally getting his voice unstuck. “Friendly Sam’s Pack Service is always at your beck and call. No charge. For old times’ sake. But just be sure to give me a month’s notice or more. Ever since the AP picked up that story about your dad, I’ve got more business than I know what to do with.”

“Good,” Ethan said. “You deserve it.”

He glanced nervously over his shoulder again.

“They’re almost here,” he said.

“It’s fine,” Jone said. “Just go. We’ll talk.”

Ethan rushed in and gave her a hug.

“You know I’m never going to forget you, right?” he asked into her snow-white hair. “And everything you did for me? And him?”

“Oh, hush. Stop acting like we’ll never see you again.”

“No, we will. I know.”

Ethan let her go and grabbed hard on to Sam.

“I’m bad at this,” Sam said. “I hate good-byes.”

“It’s not good-bye,” Ethan said.

But it was time to help his father into the wheelchair and to their flight gate. And they’d brought a cart for the dog, too. So, much as Ethan hated to admit it, it was at least good-bye for now.

“See, there’s Aunt Patty,” Ethan said. “Right on the other side of security.”

Ethan stood in the busy Chicago airport, one hand on his father’s wheelchair, feeling the sensation of masses of people flowing around them like water. As if Ethan and his dad were an island in a fast-flowing river. Creating changes in the current. Even in the banks. Shaping the flow of everything simply by refusing to flow.

Ethan couldn’t focus off the weirdness of the feeling. All these people. Being back in civilization.

“Can’t believe I’m forty-one years old and I’m going to live with my damn sister,” Noah said.

“Not for that long. Just till you’re back on your feet.”

“Feet? Plural?”

Ethan was growing tired of such comments from his dad, but he didn’t say so. All he said was “You’ll have a prosthetic leg soon. And it’ll have a foot. Look. I’m going to see if I can get a TSA person or somebody to walk you through to her. Otherwise I’ll have to go through the security line again. I don’t want to miss my connecting flight.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Noah said. “That’s fine. Don’t miss your flight to New York.”

Ethan walked over to the large man who sat at the entrance to a cordoned-off pedestrian lane leading out of the secure gate area.

“Is there someone who can push my dad’s wheelchair through to that woman standing right there?” He pointed at Aunt Patty, who waved. Ethan waved back. “I have a connecting flight, and I don’t want to miss it.”

“Ethan!” he heard from behind. “Wait.”

He turned to see his father wheeling himself along.

“I can go through myself.”

“Okay, if you’re sure, Dad.”

“I’m sure.”

“Tell Aunt Patty I’m sorry I didn’t get to say hi.”

Then they just stood a minute. Ethan looked down to see his dad looking up at his face. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Noah was looking up to him in more than just the physical, logistical sense.

“This isn’t the last time we ever see each other,” Noah asked, “is it?”

“I don’t think so. Not ever. Just . . . for a while. It’s just one of those things that take time.”

“Right,” Noah said. “That’s honest. Well. Thanks again for the next forty-one years. Hope there’s at least a little of you in it.”

Then he wheeled himself away.

Ethan watched, wondering if there was any part of him that was sorry to see his father go. But he never got a clear answer on that. Feelings are a funny thing, he realized. They’re always more tangled and contradictory and complex than we want them to be. Than we care to admit.

“Oh my God,” his mother said. “Look at you!”

She was standing in baggage claim, staring at Ethan for several seconds before rushing in to close the distance between them and give him a hug.

Before she could get there, Ethan looked down at himself to try to see what she’d seen. As though he might have spilled food on himself or something.

She hit him so suddenly and so hard that he let out a little involuntary “oof” as she embraced him.

“What
about
me?” he asked into her ear.

She stepped back and looked again.

“You just look so different. Look at you!”

Ethan laughed. “Can’t really do that,” he said. “You’ll have to tell me.”

“Your eyes are totally different. And your face has changed. I can’t explain how, but I swear I’m not making it up. And you looked right at me. You used to look down at your feet. You looked right into my eyes.”

“Oh,” Ethan said. “Well . . . thanks.”

“I expected you to be different. Some different, anyway. I mean, how could you not be? And part of it . . . I could just hear it in your voice. So I was prepared for you to seem . . . but not this much. It still surprised me.”

At first Ethan didn’t answer. He just walked with her to the baggage carousel. He could already see Rufus waiting in his carrier against the far wall. Apparently he’d been brought in separately, and first.

Ethan could feel himself smiling. Maybe only inwardly. Maybe it shone out from his face as well. Ethan had no way to know.

Not that it mattered anyway.

As the carousel beeped, and started moving, Ethan said, “Turns out you were right about Blythe River. It was just the thing for me.”

“Hmm,” she said. “That flies in the face of what I was about to say.”

“Which was?”

“Not sure it matters now.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“I was going to say I pushed you too hard. I know I did.”

Silence as the bags began to slide down and drop onto the carousel. Somebody else’s bags.

“That’s true,” he said. “Maybe not that you pushed me too hard. Maybe more that you pushed me to be you and Dad. Instead of to be me. But it’s okay.”

“How can that be okay?”

“Because I figured it out for myself. And because I know you were trying to be a good mom.”

She reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze.

“Here’s a question,” he said. “Think Dad was trying to be a good dad?”

“You know . . . I actually do. I don’t think he tried to be the best husband he could be. But I think he tried to be the best dad he could. His best isn’t very good most of the time. But that doesn’t mean he wasn’t trying.”

Ethan saw the first of his bags drop, and prepared himself for the slow journey to the edge of the carousel.

“Maybe I’ll give him a call, then,” he said. As much to himself as to his mom. “See how he’s settling in at Aunt Patty’s.”