T.J. Klune - Bear, Otter, and the Kid 2 - Who We Are (48 page)

I’m sure I could go on and on about what was said that day. About the memories that we shared and the tears that were shed. The toasts that were made and the heartache we all felt. But just know the one thing that mattered the most: that, when we’d opened up the urn that held her ashes and tipped it over to let it pour out onto the beach and into the water, a wind picked up and the ashes were thrown right back into our faces. I think I inhaled some. We sat there, all wide-eyed and shocked, black smudges on our cheeks and noses and forehead, until the Kid started to laugh. He wrapped his hands around his middle, and he bellowed out great laughter, and soon we all followed suit, tears streaming down our faces as we wiped Mrs. Paquinn off each other. It was weird and morbid and hilarious, just like the person it had belonged to. I’m sure Mrs. Paquinn had something to do with that wind, letting us know that we were being too serious, that a person passing does not always need to be grieved for.

So we laughed as we spread the rest of her into the water and sand and a breeze ruffled my hair just once as the last of her slipped from the urn and was carried away on the ocean current.

I like to think that was her too.

F
IVE
days after the funeral, Otter finally came home to the Green Monstrosity. Probably a good thing, too, as he was beginning to threaten every single member of the hospital staff, especially the hardcore butch bitch named Thelma, who was his physical therapist. She’d heard him whine and complain over some basic strengthening exercises he’d been forced to do and had flatly told him that she didn’t know that huge guys like him could be such nelly bottom queens. She’d then congratulated us on our upcoming nuptials and asked if Otter was going to go the traditional route and go with a white dress with a veil. He’d scowled at her and tried to make himself look bigger, as he’s wont to do, but he only succeeded in knocking his bad arm into the wall, bringing tears to his eyes.

“You’re a big baby,” I told him, and then Thelma grinned at me like I was the greatest thing in the history of ever.

“Well, at least he’s pretty,” Thelma said as she winked at me. “Lord knows you at least have that, seeing as how you’re forced to listen to him whine like a little girl all the time. You’d think big guys would be tough.”

Otter narrowed his eyes. “I
am
tough,” he snapped. “And Bear loves to listen to me talk about
everything
. That’s why he’s my fiancé.”

I rolled my eyes and pretended to gag, even though I felt a little tingle in my stomach.
“Well, don’t you want to be able to fuck him on your honeymoon?” Thelma countered. “’Cause you won’t be able to if you don’t do what I fucking tell you to do!”
I didn’t hear Otter complain about physical therapy again after that.
Alice and Jerry wanted Otter to come back to their house, at least for a while. It’s bigger, they said. It’ll be easier for him to move around in. They said that of course the Kid and I would stay with him until he was ready to go home. But Otter just shook his head. He grabbed my hand and pulled it into his lap and said that he wanted to go to
his
house, to be with
his
stuff. And to be with
his
family. They started to protest again, but I silenced the argument when I frantically felt the need to kiss the life out of him. By the time I was finished, his parents were embarrassed, I was turned on, and Otter had the biggest grin on his face, that face that was still healing but looking more and more like the man I knew and loved.
So I brought him home, the Kid running up ahead to open the door, Otter pushing to use the crutches even though the doctor wanted him in the wheelchair for a bit longer. But Otter had his mind focused on one thing and one thing only: walking into his house on his own. Stubborn, obstinate Otter got his way.
I hovered closely behind him, trying my best to ignore the sweat beading on his forehead and upper lip, and how out of breath he seemed to be by the time we reached the porch. He allowed me to help him up the steps, and I pretended I needed to rest for a moment before we continued, just to give him a chance to breathe. The Kid watched us by the door, poised to run out and sacrifice his body as a cushion should Otter look like he was going to fall. When Otter nudged me gently, letting me know he was ready to move again, I made a big show of saying that I’d caught my breath and was ready to go again. He nodded, not fooled in the slightest.
And he made it in, and we got him set up on the couch, and before I could pull away, he pulled the Kid and me down on him, and we both squawked as we tried to avoid landing on any part of him that still hurt. The Kid ended up with his feet in Otter’s lap, his head hanging off the end of the couch. I ended up partially trapped under the big guy.

We didn’t move for hours.
That first night, Otter scowled at the cot I’d set up for him downstairs, knowing there was no way in hell he’d make it up the fifteen steps it’d take

for him to get to the second floor. The cot wasn’t big enough for the both of us, and though I’d planned on sleeping next to him on the couch, he’d snapped at me that he didn’t need a fucking babysitter and that I should just go up to bed.

And I did.

It hurt, finally having him home yet not being able to lie down next to him. I’d tossed and turned for over an hour, until I heard a muffled scratching noise coming from the hall. Someone cursed, and then the door to the bedroom opened and Otter hobbled in, completely drenched in sweat. He hopped and skipped over to the bed, dropping his crutches along the way. I just watched and waited. He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled his wet shirt up and over his head and then laid down on his pillow, turning to look at me defiantly, like he was expecting me to scold him. Instead, I got up and got a towel from the bathroom and wiped him down. I threw the towel onto the floor and wrapped myself around him. “I sleep up here from now on,” he muttered. “Don’t you tell me where I can and can’t sleep in my own house.”

“Don’t call me your fucking babysitter,” I said, scowling right back. He sighed. “I missed my bed.”
“Neat.”
“I missed you more.”
“Shut up.” A pause. “Me too.”

There was quiet, at least for a while. I was drifting off when I heard him say my name.

“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For not being there when you needed me.”

I refused to let him see how his words affected me, but a tremor slipped through, and his grip around me tightened. “Yeah,” I said hoarsely. “That first day must have been hard.”

 

“It was.” Not to mention every day that followed, but that didn’t need to be said.

Silence. Then, “Bear?”
“Yeah?”

“You knew I was coming back for you, right? That I’d never leave you?”

“Yeah. I know.”
“Bear?”
“Yeah?”

“You were strong, weren’t you? You were the strong one. For everyone else.”

 

“I guess.” I shuddered again.

He kissed my forehead. “You’ve always been the strong one,” he whispered in the dark. “I’m glad you finally figured it out. But if it’s okay with you, I think I’ll be strong enough for both of us, at least for a while. Is that okay with you?”

“That sounds good to me,” I said as I found my spot in the hollow of his neck. As I drifted away, his hand rubbed my back, and he whispered quietly in my ear, and when I fell asleep, I dreamt of him and me, because there
would
be a him and me. I’d been given a gift, and I would never forget it.

F
OUR
weeks later, the cast was removed from Otter’s arm. The first thing he did was slide the ring from the chain around his neck and put it on his finger.

It was a little loose, but that’s okay.
12. Bear, Otter, and the Kid

I
SUCK
at saying good-byes. It seems like I’ve said too many of them in my lifetime, and one would think I’d be a pro at it by now, that it wouldn’t affect me as much. But I’m not, and I don’t think I ever will be. Saying good-bye can hurt, because you don’t know when and if you’ll ever see the other person again. You don’t know what will happen to them, what their lives will be like after you part. So I try to avoid them at all costs. Unless it’s inevitable, like this is.

It’s almost time for you and me to say good-bye.

I don’t know when we’ll see each other, or if we’ll ever talk like this again, you know: you and me. Besides, aren’t you just sick and tired of hearing from me by now? Christ, I know I can go on and on. Sometimes I get sick of hearing myself, so I know how it must be for you. Who knows, maybe it’ll be someone else’s turn to tell you about themselves. There’s so many other stories out there aside from my own, and I think it’s time to see what else there is to hear, what else there is to be told.

It’s not like—
Sorry, what was that?
The Kid? What about the Kid?

Oh. Right. I got custody. Duh. Did you really think I wouldn’t? Come on. I know that sometimes it got sad (totally not my fault, by the way. I just told it as it was—don’t blame me if you looked like a Wookiee when you cried), but even
I
wouldn’t end it on such a downer. Please tell me you never had any doubt. Of
course
I got the Kid. He’s mine, and no one can say otherwise.

As I was saying, it sucks that—
Sorry, didn’t catch that?

The wedding? Oh, come on. You don’t want to hear about that. It was just—

Really
? Oh, Jesus Christ. You act like you’ve never
been
to a wedding before. It was pretty much the same as every other wedding ever. There was a beach and cake and balloons and tears and trite vows and tuxedos and smiling, happy people. Okay, there might have been
some
differences. Well, maybe quite a few, now that I think about it. Fine, it really wasn’t like any wedding you’ve been to at all. You happy now? I mean, how many weddings have
you
been to with a vindictive seagull, bad poetry, and placenta? Well, I can proudly say I’ve been to one, and that it was my own.

All right, all right. You win. I can’t tease about custody
and
placenta, for God’s sakes, and not follow through with it. I’m not
that
big of an asshole.

So, one last story, then.

 

One last story before we say good-bye.

O
N A
day in March that looked like any day that had come before it, Eddie and Georgia gave their final report to the judge, a surly-looking man named Theodore Higgins. I had told myself not to be intimidated each time we’d gone before him but had failed spectacularly, knowing that he was judging me (ha!) every time he laid eyes on me. It didn’t help that his eyebrows had commandeered his face and grew out in great tufts that twitched when he moved his face from side to side. He looked like the quintessential villain; the only thing he was missing was a handlebar mustache and an eye patch.

Intimidated, indeed.

Georgia and Eddie sang our praises, testifying that the Kid had a good home in the Green Monstrosity, and that he had good role models in Otter and me. It’s odd, really, to hear other people talk about you like you’re not in the room, speaking to another who could change your life with a single decision. It didn’t help that I was absolutely convinced that the judge hated my guts for reasons I couldn’t quite figure out. I was sure he glared at me every time I entered the courtroom, my tie choking the life out of me (“Geez, Bear,” the Kid had said. “Stop acting like a freaking drama queen!”), the look on my face obviously indicating that I would be an unfit guardian to Ty. I told Erica I didn’t think I was going to do so well under cross-examination. She told me that there wouldn’t be cross-examination. I told her that there is
always
cross-examination on lawyer shows on TV. She told me to stop watching TV.

Only Erica and Otter knew of my mother’s visit to the hospital. We’d led the others to believe that she had mailed the papers to Erica’s office. It wasn’t meant to be a lie, nor did we want to purposefully deceive the others, especially The Kid. It was a decision born out of the need to protect, the desire to keep her as far away from the situation as possible. I’d been nervous when I first told Otter, sure that he was going to get pissed off at me for not telling him sooner. I’d waited until he was home and settled before I finally worked up the courage to tell him. I should have known what his reaction would be. He was angry, oh yes, probably angrier than I’d ever seen him, but it was not directed toward me. If anything, part of it was directed toward himself, that frustration again building from his missing week, where he felt he had let me down, when he wasn’t there to protect the Kid and me from the world around us. I’d rubbed his back as he gripped me tightly, again whispering that he had us, that he would never leave, and that he was going to be the strong one for me, for us. I didn’t want to push it any further, knowing that flash in his eyes when I told him about Jonah’s part in all of this meant that he was giving serious consideration to committing firstdegree murder. So I let him think he was consoling me, when I was actually clutching at him to keep him from flying out of the house in a violent rage. He told me later that he’d suspected as much about Jonah’s involvement. I almost allowed myself to become angry with him for keeping that from me, but he was already kicking himself because of it, like it’d been all his fault, and I just didn’t have it in me to make it worse.

We made the decision, between the three of us, to leave my mother’s visit and confession out of any discussion having to do with Tyson. When I showed him the paperwork, that his mother had given him up, I expected there to be anger there, too, maybe even a few tears. It’s not every day you receive a piece of paper showing that the woman who gave you life doesn’t want you anymore. A piece of paper with a signature was the last piece of the puzzle started almost four years ago. But none of that came: no anger, no sadness. There was a sense of relief on his face as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes and grinned at me and jumped into my arms and babbled in my ear, I knew we’d be okay.