It's. Nice. Outside. (15 page)

“When did Penny and Roger do this thing again? When did it happen?”

“When we first got here. The first day. I got in earlier than they thought. They thought I was coming in late. I walked in on them.”

“The pool is outside. They were doing it outside?”

“Listen, I don't want to talk about it. The details don't matter. I just want to sleep.”

“Right.” I glanced around the room, searching for something to say. “Do you remember…,” I began. “Do you remember when you didn't get into Princeton? How disappointed you were? You didn't know where to go, but at the last second, you just went to Illinois and you were so happy. Remember how everything turned out for the best? You joined the sorority, you became president, and you were a cheerleader. How you loved all the friends you made there.”

“I met Penny there.”

I scratched my jaw. “So, you want to take a nap?”

“Yeah.”

“Sure. That's a good idea. Sure.” I walked over and kissed her on the forehead. “I love you, you know that?”

She nodded.

“And you're always going to be my baby. Always. Always. Always.”

She didn't say anything.

“We'll have dinner tonight. All of us. Sal will say something stupid, and we can all laugh at him. Family. Family. Family.”

“USA,” she said quietly.

“I'll send Mindy up in a bit. You guys can talk. She really wants to see you.”

“Is Ethan here? Did he come?”

“Yes, of course. He's with Mindy. They're out somewhere.”

“Just send him up then. I don't want to see anyone else. Just send Ethan. I just want to see him. He can stay in my room tonight. He can stay with me.”

“Really? Oh. Okay. Ethan? Okay.”

“Just send Ethan,” she said.

*   *   *

A few hours later, after sitting on the balcony contemplating why bad things happen to good people, specifically Karen and, for the most part, me; and after I made a thorough examination of the pool/crime scene, looking for what, I don't know (the police chalk outline of Roger screwing Penny?); and after I declined Sal's first, then second, then third invitation to have a drink at the bar downstairs (third invite: “I'm buying, if that's an issue”); and after I spent more time sitting on my balcony considering my Overall Plan, trying to decide exactly how and when to tell Mary, we had dinner on the roof of a restaurant whose name I never got around to learning.

Under normal circumstances, I would have been delighted with the evening. It was a warm, breezy summer night, we had a fine view of Charleston, the air smelled of salt water, and we were all together for the first time in what seemed like forever. I picked at my blackened grouper, checked my watch. Of course, these weren't what I would exactly call normal circumstances.

“It's. Nice. Outside.”

Ethan was sitting between Karen and Mindy who, as far as I could tell, had yet to acknowledge each other. This disappointed me to no end. In light of everything, I had hoped for some kind of truce, if not the signing of an official armistice. Instead they both kept their heads down over their plates and took turns cutting Ethan's barbeque chicken into small then smaller pieces. Ethan, for his part, was having a wonderful time; in addition to Sal, he now had both of his big sisters fawning over him. He rocked back and forth in his chair to some private beat, a toothy smile on his face. A vibrant, rendition of “Family, Family. Family. USA” I feared, was imminent.

“Is there something wrong with your food?” It was Sally, Mary's older sister, a dour, quiet woman who had lurched from health crisis to health crisis for a good part of her adult life, the most recent being stage-two breast cancer. Resilient and humorless, she never had much patience for me, her underachieving, and unfaithful brother-in-law. During my marriage, we had politely coexisted, but since the divorce, rarely communicated directly with each other.

I looked across the table at her. She was a less pretty version of Mary, her nose a little too long, her eyes a little too narrow. Tonight she looked particularly thin and pale. I tried hard to muster up sympathy for her—she had been through a lot—but this was difficult. She was, and always had been, a first-class bitch. “It's fine,” I said. “It's very good.”

Sally kept her small eyes on me, so I made a point of eating a forkful of grouper.

“How was the drive in?” she asked.

I swallowed. “Uneventful.”

“Sure took your time about it. It would have been nice if you were here.”

“I would have liked to have gotten here sooner, but I had my hands full with Ethan. Everyone seems to be forgetting that.”

“You should have flown. He's flying back with us tomorrow.”

I gave her a very tight smile, returned to my food.

“Where. Pickle. Be?”

“So, you get to see any of the city?” Sal asked. He was as oblivious as Ethan to the mood of the moment, which was palpably tense. I glanced at my watch again.

“No. Just from the drive in. I ended up trying to take a nap.”

“A lot of history. You gotta go to that fort. It's right out in the harbor. They gotta boat ride every hour. Pretty interesting. There was a battle, the first one of the war, but no one died. The South fired on the fort, and the North just surrendered. I have to say, I was disappointed to hear that. They didn't put up a fight or nothing.”

“Pass the wine, John,” Mary said. This was the first time she had spoken directly to me all evening, so I eagerly accommodated, quickly reaching across the round table for the bottle. I poured her, then me, another full glass.

“The wine is pretty good.” I made a show of reading the label before setting the bottle down.

“Not bad,” Sal said.

I tried to smile, looked over at Ethan, who was happily guzzling his second Sprite, and pushed my plate away.

“You done?” Sal asked.

“I'm not that hungry.” I checked the time again. T-minus pretty soon before I had to inform Mary about Ocean View. I glanced over at her to assess her mood, but when we made eye contact, I immediately looked away.

This was not going to be easy. Mary was already dealing with a lot, and now I was going to take her youngest child to live in Maine forever. I never should have waited, never should have let it get to this point. I should have told her the moment I got the call. She was his mother. His
mother
. I reached for my wine, drained half the glass. Maybe I should wait until tomorrow morning. A good night's sleep. Coffee. Maybe tomorrow morning would be better.

“Hey, I saw our friend in the lobby,” Sal mumbled in my ear.

“What?”

“You know, our friend the Jaw.”

“Roger? What did he say?”

Sal waited until Sally asked Mary a question about the hotel before whispering, “Wanted to know where she was.”

“What did you say?”

“I told him it was none of his goddamn business.”

“Sal.”

“He tried to shake my hand, all polite. Piece of shit.”

“I wish he'd leave town,” I said.

Sal leaned in, and I could feel his breath, hot in my ear. “I can make him leave town. Hey, I make a couple of calls, I can make him leave earth.”

Before Sal said something that a district attorney could force me to repeat under oath in front of a grand jury, our waiter wheeled out the dessert tray. Sal actually rubbed his chin in thought before daintily pointing at the crème brûlée. Mindy ordered Ethan a hot fudge sundae.

“I don't think he should eat that,” Karen said.

Mindy smirked. “Why?”

“Because he'll make a mess. You can't give him chocolate.”

“If you're worried about your dress, move. Switch places. He likes chocolate.”

“Where. Ice. Cream. Be?”

“Chocolate makes him hyper. You want him up all night?”

“Those two,” Sal said.

“Chocolate doesn't make him hyper.”

I finished my wine and poured one more glass. Though I wasn't keeping an official tally, I knew I had eclipsed my two-drink minimum and was now walking the very fine line that separates the buzzed from the bombed.

“You'd think the little one would cut her some slack. All things considered,” Sal said. He pulled out a cigar from his coat pocket.

“Sal,” Sally said.

Sal grudgingly put the cigar away. “What's the point of eating outside?”

I reached for my wineglass again

“Dark. Outside,” Ethan said.

“What the hell, I'm going to make a toast,” Sal announced.

“What?” I looked at him, frantic. Though well intentioned, Sal's toasts had a tendency to devolve into Mussolini-like rants, complete with emotional declarations of family supremacy, vehement proclamations of love, and, on occasion, veiled threats against unseen enemies. “Don't,” I said. “Sal, please.”

Sal stood. “I was gonna give a toast at the wedding, so I'm gonna give one here. What the hell.”

“Sit down, Sal,” Sally said. She began rubbing her throat while nervously eyeing the other tables.

“Thirty seconds, that's all I need. I'm not running for president here. I'm her godfather, and I want to say a few things.” He smiled at Karen, who stared at him, stone-faced. “Honey…,” Sal began. “All I want to say is, you're gonna be all right. You're gonna meet some great guy, and you're going get married. A doctor. A lawyer. Maybe a ballplayer. You're beautiful. Look at her, she's a damn model. I could fix you up in a minute. I got lots of friends. Good guys.”

I thought I heard Mindy mumble, “You mean, Good
fellas
.”

Sal continued. “So you're going to be all right. It's that prick's loss. He's a damn fucking prick, and if he comes near you, I swear to God, I will personally—”

He caught himself in midthreat, put his head down, then picked up his wineglass. “All I want to say is, I love all of you. All of you. And may we be together always … and always be together.”

Other than Ethan, who said, “Where. Ice. Cream. Be?” no one responded. I gave Sal a half hearted thumbs-up and poured myself some more wine. It could have been worse.

“When the going gets tough, the wine gets going,” Mary said. I thought this was an attempt at humor and started to smile, until I saw the look on her face.

“It's just wine,” I said.

Sally stood. “I have to go to the bathroom. I'll be right back. Sal, watch my purse.”

“No one's taking your purse.”

Once she was gone, Mary said, “Don't you have anything you want to say, John?”

“No. I think Sal said it all. Other than we all love you Karen—”

Mary cut me off. “Don't you want to tell us where you're taking Ethan?”

I didn't think I heard her right. I couldn't have heard her right. My throat tightened. “What?” I squeaked.

“Tell us where you're planning on going. Where you're taking Ethan, or at least, wanted to take Ethan.”

I had heard her right. I tried to clear my muddled mind. “What do you mean?”

“You tell me what I mean.”

I looked at Mindy, who shrugged. “I didn't tell her.”

“What's going on?” Sal asked. “Where you taking him? Are you coming back on the plane with us? We have to take the noon flight. It's the only one.”

“I got a call today, a few hours ago,” Mary announced. “From the Ocean View Home in Camden, Maine. That's where John is taking Ethan. That's where Ethan is going to live for the rest of his life. They wanted to know if I had signed the final consent papers yet.”

“Where. Ice. Cream. Be?”

“Home? Papers? What's she talking about, John?” Sal asked.

“John is taking Ethan to Camden, Maine, to live for the rest of his life, and he didn't tell me.”

“What the hell is she talking about?” Sal asked.

“Where are you taking him?” Karen asked. “What's going on?”

“He's taking him to a place in Maine. A home for people like him,” Mindy said.

“To live?” Karen asked.

“Yeah,” Mindy said.

“And you knew about this?”

“He just told me. I didn't know about it. He told me earlier today in the car.”

“So you told Mindy and not me?”

“I said he just told me!”

I was woefully unprepared for this, woefully outnumbered and woefully drunk. I offered token resistance. “It's a good place,” I said.

Mary deliberately pulled her napkin from her lap and folded it carefully before placing it on the table. “You didn't think they were going to call me?”

Everyone was staring at me, even Ethan. “It's a good place,” I said again.

Mary glared and stood up. “The minute he was accepted, you should have told me. The
minute
. I'm his mother.”

“I know. I'm sorry. I know. But…”

“We should have made this final decision together.”

“I know, I know.” I tried to walk toward her, but she pointed at me, so I stopped. “Don't. Don't,” she said.

“Mary. Please, just listen, please.”

She picked up her purse and stormed off, narrowly avoiding our waiter, who was approaching with the desserts. I watched as she disappeared through the doorway. Mary, Mary, sweet contrary.

“Where. Mom. Be?” Ethan asked as the waiter placed his hot fudge sundae in front of him. “Where. Mom. Be?”

*   *   *

I left right after Mary but did not give chase. Instead I wandered numbly through the crowded streets of Charleston, berating myself. I should have known they would try to contact her. It was a stupid and selfish plan. I was a stupid and selfish person. I walked for a long time.

I no longer remember how I made my way to the Inn, but somehow there I was, back on the balcony, alone again. It was a starless night, and I felt weightless in the dark, listening to the tide of the Atlantic.