It's. Nice. Outside. (8 page)

“John. Stop it. Just stop it! I don't have time for this.”

“Where is she?”

“She's in her room.”

“Is Mindy there? Can't she talk to her?”

“Mindy? She's not here yet, not that she would help.”

“What do you mean, she's not there? She should be there by now.”

“She's not here. She said she's coming Friday.”

“Friday? Unbelievable. Friday? God damn her! Well, listen, I'll be there as soon as I can. We'll drive faster and longer. I'll be there in a couple of days.”

“Try to call her.”

“Mindy?”

“Karen. The one getting married, John. Karen.”

“I'll call her now.”

“Don't call her now. She's sleeping. She took a pill.”

“A pill? Why is she taking pills?”

“Call her later. I have to go.”

“Wait!”

She was gone.

*   *   *

Throughout his life, Ethan had gone through some terrible phases during which he demonstrated uncontrollable, compulsive behavior. Tics, the doctors called them. This was another term we didn't take to. Tics implied something minor, harmless: a twitching of the eye, a slight shaking of the head.

Ethan's tics were nothing like that, and we had endured them all: his Yelping Phase in which he yelled at the top of his lungs unexpectedly in public; his Licking Phase where he tounged anyone and everything in which he came into contact; Question Mode, which featured him repeatedly asking, dozens of times in the same day, the exact same three or four questions in the exact same order: “What Time Is It? Do Now? Where Eat? Where Sit? What Time Is It? Do Now? Where Eat? Where Sit? What Time…” His Hand-in-the-Mouth Phase was arguably his worst. It involved him sticking his hand down his throat until he gagged and sometimes threw up; his Fingernail-Picking Phase was fairly benign, since a lot of people fooled with their nails; and finally Ethan had his Squatting Phase, which had him kneeling down in public and feeling the ground with his hands. (This started during the summer when hot sidewalks intrigued him.) Mindy, addicted to old TV shows, referred to this last act as “pulling a Tonto,” in honor of the Lone Ranger's sidekick, who frequently felt the earth to determine if horses were approaching. “Dad, he's pulling a Tonto again,” she would yell from the driveway. “Hey, Ethan, is Iron Horse coming?”

Over time, the tics, save for the fingernail pickings and occasional licking, all passed, though they could temporarily flair up for a few days here and there.

Unfortunately, while we were walking down the hall to breakfast in the hotel, Tonto reared his head.

“Come on, Ethan, get up, let's go. Come on. Up!” I placed my hands under his shoulders and gently pulled him to a standing position. He was squatting on the ground.

We walked a few more feet, then down he went again, both hands flat on the carpet, his face pensive as a doctor's while listening to a stethoscope. I knelt next to him.

“Ethan, the ground isn't hot. Come on, let's eat. Come on. It's nice inside.”

A man in a dark suit, swinging a briefcase, turned the corner and walked toward us. He paused when he got close, and since he was a normal man in the middle of a normal morning, he asked a normal question.

“Lose something?”

Ethan and I were now both on all fours. “Nope,” I replied.

“Oh.” The man stepped close to the wall and passed.

When he was gone, I tried once again to pull Ethan to his feet. “Okay, let's go, buddy. Up. Now.”

We took a few more steps, then once again he sank.

“Please, Ethan!”

We essentially crawled to the coffee shop, where the smell of food, bacon in particular, seemed to overpower his compulsion. When we approached the hostess, he finally stood and allowed her to lead us to a table by a window.

“Thank. You!” he said cheerfully when she left. Then he handed me a menu, said, “It's. Nice. Outside,” very conversationally, and politely reached for his water.

I ignored him. Karen, Mary, Tonto. The day was off to a bad start. I checked my phone, scanned the restaurant for our waitress.

“It's. Nice. Outside.”

I opened my menu. “Yes,” I said petulantly, “I suppose.”

“Nice! Outside!”

I closed my menu, glared at him. “Okay, fine, okay, it's nice outside, whatever. It's perfect. Now, just drink your water and please try to be quiet. I need to think.”

“Why. Mad?”

“I'm not mad.”

Ethan eyed me suspiciously. Anger always fascinated him. Though he frequently misread it, confused it with other emotions, he liked to explore its root cause, which, more often than not, was him. “Why. Mad?”

I took a deep breath. “I'm not mad. I'm worried. It's not your fault. I'm worried about Karen. And your mom is upset with me. Why, I don't know. Your mom is something else sometimes. She just…”

He searched me with his big brown eyes.

“Listen, I'm not mad at you. I love you.” I reached out and patted him on the top of his hand.

“Shut. Up. Idiot.”

I opened my menu again. “Let's just eat, okay?”

We had just finished ordering when my phone went off.

“Dad, where are you?”

Mindy. Another problem orbiting my cluttered universe. “Oh, it's you.”

“Mom says you're only in Kentucky.”

“Mom says you're only in New York.”

We didn't say anything.

“Why are you only in New York?” I asked.

“Why are you only in Kentucky?”

“I'm closer to South Carolina than you are,” I said.

“I don't know about that, Dad. I just checked Google Maps and,
technically
, if I stand at the southernmost point of my apartment and lean—”

“Mindy! Just get down there. Things are hard enough.”

There was another silence.

“So how is he?” she asked. “How's he doing?”

I glanced up. The “he” in question was now absorbed by his nails. “Busy.”

“What's he doing?”

“He's doing a crossword puzzle. Here, talk to him.”

Ethan looked up from his fingers, surprised, and took the phone after I thrust it at him. “Hi!” He listened intently, his eyes narrow in apparent thought. Then he said, “Shut. Up. Idiot,” and handed the phone right back to me.

“Always good catching up with him,” Mindy said.

I took a swallow of coffee, wished it were stronger. “So, what's going on with your big sister? What's this about some kind of fight?”

“No idea what's going on.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

I took another gulp of coffee. “When are you coming down?”

“Soon.”

“How soon?

“I'm trying to figure out my travel.”

“Mindy, please just book a flight! You're not going to another planet. You're going to South Carolina.”

“That's another planet, Dad.”

“They picked this date around your schedule. Do you remember that? They waited until you were off for the summer so you could attend.”

“I never asked them to do that. Besides, she doesn't even want me there. She'd just be embarrassed if I weren't there.”

The waitress placed our orange juice down on the table, and Ethan attacked his glass.

“You're her sister. Her younger sister, and you should be there. And don't come empty-handed. Make sure to bring something. A wedding gift. Buy something.”

“I hope she's registered at Newark Airport, because that's where I'm flying out of.”

“Mindy.” I shook my head and pried Ethan's juice away from him. It was a huge glass, and he was draining it fast. “You know, I have it hard enough.”

Mindy was quiet. “How's he been?”

“Yesterday was bad.”

“How bad?” Her voice changed, softened. When it came to Ethan, we usually circled the wagons.

“Bad. He just pulled a Tonto.”

“God, Tonto.”

“I'm not sure what I was thinking.”

“Can't you get on a flight somewhere?”

“I have all our things. And what would I do with the van? Too late for that. I'll make it. We'll be okay. Survive and advance.”

Mindy was quiet again. “Where do you think you'll be tonight? How far can you get?”

“I don't know. Knoxville. It's a long drive, but I think I can make it. That's where I'm aiming, at least.”

“Knoxville, Tennessee?

“Yes, that's where Knoxville is, yes.”

“Knoxville, Tennessee. Okay,” she said. “I'll meet you there. We can drive the rest of the way together.”

“What? No, don't, don't. I don't need you to come. Your mother needs you more. And your sister. We'll be okay, really. Just get to Charleston.”

“Where are you staying in Knoxville?”

I sighed. I had no energy to argue with Mindy. Besides, part of me really wanted some company, some help. I was, in fact, desperate for it. “A Marriott. I don't have the address on me.”

“I'll find it. I'll just tell the cab driver to take me to the tall building with electricity. There's probably only one in Knoxville.”

“You don't have to do this.”

“Tell Red Bear I'll meet her in the hotel bar. Bye, Dad.”

I shook my head, then slid Ethan's orange juice glass back to him. “Bye, sweetheart.”

*   *   *

After an early but good lunch in a ghost of town called Williamsburg; and after an impromptu, very short, and very disappointing stop at Cumberland Falls (the falls, Ethan and I agreed, weren't all that impressive); and after an impromptu, not very short, and very rewarding poo-poo stop at another Cracker Barrel (his crap, Ethan and I agreed, was very impressive); and after a stop at a McDonald's for Sprites where the bears vocalized their love and respect for me (Red Bear: “I know I speak for all of us when I say there is no finer man or father than you, John Nichols”—me: “Well, thank you, Red Bear, thank you”—Red Bear: “Now … you wouldn't happen to have anything stronger than Sprite, would you?”), we arrived in Knoxville right on schedule. Consequently, I was in good spirits when we pulled into the parking lot of the cavernous Marriott on the banks of the Tennessee River.

“Well, that was a
Blue Highway
kind of morning,” I said as we bounded up to the reception desk. “We got a chance to see a waterfall, have lunch. You were good today, buddy, real good. And now we're by a big river. Lots. Of. Water. Don't. Fall. In!”

“Yes. Ma'am!”

The clerk behind the desk, a young guy with thick-framed glasses and too much aftershave, glanced up from behind his computer and gave me the trying-to-act normal-around-Ethan smile. I appreciated the effort.

I smiled back at him. “We'd like a room on the first floor.”

He punched some keys, looked up again, and nodded. “Thank you for being a Marriott Gold member, Mr. Nichols.”

My chest swelled, and I bowed my head. “You are most welcome,” I said humbly.

Since we were early, we had to cool our heels while they readied our room. Ethan was compliant, absorbed in an old batteryless cell phone I had brought from home, a favorite of his. He punched the numbers officiously, mouth open, as we sat in some chairs just off the bar. Blessedly, there had been no trace of Tonto since breakfast.

“You like that phone, huh? Watch the roaming charges though!”

I sat back and watched Ethan work the phone. His face was serious but content as he pressed more numbers and then pretended to listen.

“Who are you calling?”

“Mom.”

“What's she up to?”

“Poo-poo.”

“Good for her. Give her my best. Tell her I love her and always will.”

“Yes.”

“Do you think she loves me?”

“Shut. Up. Idiot.”

“Did she tell you to tell me that?”

“Yes.”

“She's the best. Such a sweetheart.” I smiled and continued to watch him. Calm, happy. I never took his quiet moments for granted. I sat back, crossed my legs.

“Who are you calling now?”

“Mindy!”

“Old Mindy. Funny, funny, famous, little Mindy. You don't think she's gay, do you?”

“Yes!”

“Really? Not that it matters. I mean, it doesn't, right? I would like grandkids though. I know that's selfish, but I would. I guess she could still have them somehow though.”

“Yes!”

“Adopt or something.”

“Yes!”

“You would be Uncle Ethan, and I would be Grandpa. No, I mean, I would be
Super
Grandpa. Hey, here comes Super Grandpa! That has a nice ring to it. Super Grandpa.”

Ethan smiled, put the phone down, then said, “Oh!” and picked it right back up.

“Who you calling now?”

“Um, Karen!”

“Karen?” I sat up. “That's right. I should call her too.”

Just as I was pulling my own phone out, it went off. The number wasn't immediately familiar, and even though it was a risk—Rita was still at large—I answered.

“Hello?”

“Here's Johnny!”

My heart sank. “Hey, Sal.” I stifled the “Oh, shit!” that had started to come out.

“Sal!” Upon hearing his uncle's name, Ethan tried to grab the phone. I pressed the speaker button and gladly gave it up.

“Sal!” Ethan cried again.

Sal's Bronx baritone filled the air. “There he is, Mr. Big! Is it nice outside, or what? Ten to one, it's nice outside.”

“Nice. Outside. Hot.”

“I don't know where the hell you are, but yeah, it's fucking hot here.”

“Sal, watch what you say.”

“You been a good boy?” Sal asked. “Walking the line?”

“Yes!”

“Yeah? When you get here, we're gonna eat a lot of pickles. Live it up.”

“Where. Sally. Be?”