It's. Nice. Outside. (17 page)

“I don't know, Dad. I just took aspirin. It wasn't Valium. I know that's what you're thinking.”

“How'd you sleep?”

“Fine.”

“You looked tired.”

“Thanks.”

We drove a few more miles in silence. I kept glancing in the mirror, wondering how things were going in the other van. Ethan had been agitated at breakfast, licking the silverware and even yelping loudly once. I was sure he was finally sensing our tension, and was acting out.

“Too bad we couldn't all drive together, but this is better,” I said. “We need a lifeboat, a quiet van, so we can take breaks. We got a good rate on the rental. Only sixty-five dollars a day.”

Karen turned a page.

“Unlimited miles. And I can leave it in Maine for no extra charge.”

Karen didn't seem all that interested in the specifics of the rental agreement. She kept reading.

“What book is that?”

“
Gone Girl
.”

“I never read that. How is it?”

“Inspiring.”

I checked the mirror again. Mary, who was in the passenger seat, appeared to be turning around. I thought I could see the back of her head. “Why is she sitting in front? She should be in the back with him.”

“Ethan should have come with us,” Karen said.

“He needs to spend some time with his mother. He hasn't seen her in a while.”

“If you're going to keep checking the mirror every three seconds, he may as well have come with us.”

I glanced over at her. Like Mary and, I just realized, Mindy, she was wearing large round sunglasses that made her face look especially pale.

“Did you guys all buy your sunglasses together?”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

I drove another mile.

“So, any word from Roger?”

“No.”

“Do you think it's over with him. Permanently?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think you'll ever talk to him again?”

“No.”

“You were with him for a long time.”

“So. You were with Mom a long time.”

I paused. “I'm not sure what your point is.”

“I'm trying to read. That's my point.”

“Sure. Read.”

I switched lanes. While I certainly could understand her mood, I had hoped to put our time alone together, a rare thing, to good use. By nature, as I had mentioned, Karen was reserved, but I knew she needed to talk, and I was willing to walk the philandering line to help bring her out.

“So, how you feeling about everything?”

“Super.”

“You know, talking about things helps.”

“I want to read. If you want to ride with Mindy so you two can laugh and play with teddy bears together, be my guest.”

“I don't want to ride with Mindy. I just want you to know that I'm here for you. We can sort things out together.”

“There's nothing to sort.”

“Okay, well, then fine.” I checked the rearview mirror again. From what I could tell, everything seemed to be going okay in the other van, though Mindy was following me pretty close. I sped up. Just my luck she would rear-end me.

I tried a different tack. “Have you ever been to Myrtle Beach?”

“Yes.”

“Really? When?”

“What?”

“When were you at Myrtle Beach?”

“I don't remember. A golf outing. Goldman flew us all down here.”

“Golfing? When did you take that up?”

“I've been golfing since college.”

“I didn't know you were still playing.”

She closed her book. “How can you just leave Ethan at this place?”

I slowed down. “What?”

“This place in the middle of nowhere. How can you just do this?” She was looking at me now, her face blank. Then she hit below the belt. “An institution,” she said.

I took my time before answering. “It's not an institution. It's a home.”

“How can you?”

“I've given this a lot of thought, and it's for the best.”

“You didn't even tell Mom.”

“That was wrong, and I apologized. She obviously agrees with me now, though, or she wouldn't be coming with.”

“I don't think she agrees with you at all. None of us do.”

“Then why are you all coming on this trip?”

“Because you're making us. Forcing us.”

“I'm not forcing anyone to come.”

“He could stay with you for another twenty years.”

Again I took my time before responding. “It's for the best. It's best for him, and it's best for everyone,” I said evenly.

“You mean best for you.”

“Is that what you think?”

“Yes. And not telling Mom, that was unbelievable.”

“I said I was wrong and I said I was sorry.”

“You're sorry? Just like when you cheated on her. You said that was wrong too, and you wanted everyone to forgive you. Some things aren't forgivable, Dad. Sorry doesn't work on everything.”

“I don't know what you want me to say then.”

“You're selfish.”

“I'm selfish.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Is that what you think?”

“Yes. You're dumping Ethan, aren't you?”

I swallowed, felt blood rush to my head. “Dumping him.”

“Yes. So you can be a free man. You dumped Mom, now you're dumping him. You're dumping him so you can do what you want, fuck other women.”

With that, I put my turn signal on and pulled to the shoulder. I checked to make sure Mindy saw me.

“What are you doing?”

I came to a full stop. “Please get out.” I didn't look at her.

“What?”

“Please get in the other van. Please just leave. I know you're going through a bad time right now, but so am I, so it's best that we're apart. I don't need to hear about all of my faults right now. I need to be alone for a while. Alone.”

I thought she might apologize, hoped she might apologize, but saying sorry wasn't my queen bee's thing. Instead she said, “Fine,” unbuckled her seat belt, and got out.

*   *   *

I drove faster than I should have through some place called Francis Marion National Forrest. From time to time I caught glimpses of the ocean on my right, but I was inured to the scenery. Karen's words had stung, and rather than the usual guilt, I felt anger. She had no right to say what she had said. None. She spent, at most, what, a few hours with Ethan a year, and had long ago forgotten what it was like. I had nothing to apologize for and nothing to explain, especially to her. I had made this decision with everyone's best interests in mind, and I was sticking to my plan. This was the best I could do.

My phone buzzed the moment I emerged from the forest.

“I think we need to take a break,” I heard Mary say. There was some commotion in the background, and I had a hard time hearing what she said after that.

“What?”

“Things are getting bad!” she yelled.

“What? Oh. Okay. All right. Can you make it to the next town? It's not that far.”

The noise intensified. Ethan, I thought, was crying.

“Will you
please
shut up? Shut up now! You're impossible!” Mary yelled.

“What's happening? What's he doing?”

“Pull over now!”

I flipped on my blinker. “Is he that bad?” I yelled.

Mary yelled back. “He's not the problem!”

*   *   *

“I'm sorry, but she's such a bitch,” Mindy said.

“Can you watch what you say?” I glanced in the mirror instinctively, looking for Ethan, until I remembered he was still in the other van, then pulled back onto the highway.

I had envisioned this trip many times, constructed many scenarios, both bad and good, but none of my permutations, none of my calculations, had included this particular situation. My anger with Karen vanished as I assumed my familiar and permanently assigned role of the family—fixer, Mr. Make It Right.

Ignoring the fact that I had just thrown Karen out of the van, I said, “You have to be patient with her. She's under a lot of stress.”

“I don't give a shit about her stress! I've been hearing about her stress since I was eight years old!”

“There's no point in yelling.”

“I'm not yelling.”

“I'm pretty sure you're yelling. Almost positive, in fact.”

Mindy took out her phone then jammed it back into her hoodie pocket. “Why can't we get any service here? Where are we? I'm sick of this place. Bunch of Southern fucking rednecks.”

“It's not the South's fault you had a fight with your sister.”

Mindy sunk low in her seat, her bottom lip protruding, pouting, like a ten-year-old.

“Just curious … I know it's none of my business, but exactly what happened back there? Did she pull your hair or something, make a funny face?”

“Don't make a joke out of this.”

“What happened?”

“She's just a bitch.”

“Come on. You have to remember what she just went through, what's she going through, okay? She was supposed to leave on her honeymoon in a few days. Bali.”

Mindy was unimpressed. She crossed her arms and closed her eyes.

“You and your sister have to make an effort. We're going to be together for a while. This was your decision to come on this trip. I didn't force you to come. So we may as well make it as pleasant as possible. A family vacation. We never took one.”

“Do not use the word
vacation
on this trip. Do not.”

I passed an exit for Georgetown, moved into the right lane, checked on the other van, purposely sighed so Mindy could hear me, purposely sighed again to make sure she heard me, and drove on.

I had no idea what had transpired in the other van. No idea what had transpired with Mindy and Karen, period. Years ago their relationship had somehow and without warning jumped tracks. Was it simply a bad case of sibling rivalry, jealousy, as Mindy said? Or had the strain and stress of growing up with Ethan played a part? Or was it my fault, the affair, the divorce? Was their relationship somehow a reflection or a consequence of my failings, my parenting?

The sad fact was, they used to be friends, best friends. When they were young, they used to take hikes together in the nearby forest preserve, have picnics in the backyard, share peanut butter-and-honey sandwiches, Pepsi from a thermos. They were sisters. Karen would walk Mindy to school, zip up her jacket, hold her hand when they crossed the street. She was very protective of her, a mother hen. For years they shared a room, clothes, toys, inside jokes. Mindy's first audience was Karen, not me.

To be sure, they never were particularly sweet girls. As I have mentioned, Karen was always distant, Mindy, sarcastic. They sprang from Mary's womb that way, their hardwire already in place. But when they were young, they had some sweetness in them, especially when it came to each other. I was there, I witnessed it. At night I would sometimes sing them the old Beach Boys song, “God Only Knows,” and listen to their shared giggles. I would watch them say their prayers, hear them bless each other out loud. God only knows what happened to them.

Whatever it was, it wasn't right. They were sisters. They used to share a room. They had been through too much together. What happened? What unraveled? How did the bond break? The bond should never break. Wasn't that the whole point of being sisters, of family? The bond should never break.

I drove fast, past another exit, the road vanishing underneath me, the gray sky looming low.

*   *   *

After Ethan had a meltdown because Karen wouldn't let him put his head through the open sunroof (we stopped at a rest area and drove around the parking lot for ten minutes so he could scratch that itch); and after Mindy had a meltdown because her phone kept cutting out when her agent called about her first movie offer (we stopped at a gas station so she could finish discussing
Upchuck Chuck
, a film about a food critic with stomach issues); and after Karen had a meltdown because the florist from Charleston called to say they were still charging her/Mary/me the full amount for the undelivered flowers (we stopped at a Cracker Barrel parking lot where Karen told them exactly what they could do with their undelivered flowers); and after we stopped at what I thought was an authentic southern BBQ restaurant but was really a dump (Me: “Don't judge a book by its cover. I'm sure the food is great!”); and after we stopped to go to the bathroom at various gas stations and truck stops because the pulled-pork sandwiches proved to be a poor and turbulent choice (Me, yelling: “I didn't force anyone eat those sandwiches, okay? That was
your
decision”), we arrived exhausted at the Marriott in Myrtle Beach.

“I'm going to order room service,” Mindy said as we trudged across the hot parking lot. “I'm going to order a fucking gun so I can kill myself.”

“I am going to take a bath,” Mary said.

“Swimming!” Ethan said.

“I'll take him,” Karen said.

“You will?” I was surprised by this offer. “Thank you, honey.”

She shrugged, grabbed Ethan's hand, and dragged him away.

I stopped to fumble with my luggage while everyone walked ahead of me.

“Hey, let's all meet for dinner at six thirty,” I called out. “That sound good? We'll all have dinner together. Everyone! And enjoy the place. Costing me a lot of points. Enjoy it. It's like we're on vacation!”

*   *   *

At the hotel bar a few hours later, Mary said, “Do me a favor: don't use the word
vacation
anymore.”

In a number of ways, and on a number of levels, my ex-sweet-sweetie and I were an odd couple, a mismatched pair of socks. I was optimistic to the point of delusional, she realistic to the point of grim. I was, at best, vague on details; she, at the at the very least, obsessed with specifics. I'm tall, blond, fair-skinned, blue-eyed; she's short, brunette, dark-skinned, dark-eyed. I like the Sox, she likes the Cubs. Our lives together for thirty-some years had been a testament to opposites attracting. And make no mistake about it: for most of those thirty-some years, we were crazy for each other. Love, go figure.