“Why? Did you talk to her?” Mary asked.
I pulled the sheet over my head in an attempt to muffle my voice. Ethan was still asleep. “No. She tried to call, but I couldn’t talk. I was in the van, driving, and things weren’t going well.”
“When are you going to get here?”
“I’m not sure. We’re not moving as quickly as I had hoped.”
“Where are you?
“We’re getting there.”
“Where are you?”
I paused. “Louisville.”
It was Mary’s turn to pause. “Kentucky?”
“We have a ways to go.”
There was a cold silence. Then, “Why are you doing this? You should be here right now. You should be here. Karen needs you. The family needs you. You’re the father, John. The father.”
“You know, Mary, just for the record, and if you remember, I always said she should have gotten married at home, in Wilton or Chicago. Not in South Carolina. I said that from the start. This whole thing … I mean, no one is from South Carolina. Roger isn’t, his family isn’t. That might be the one state they don’t have a house in.”
“That doesn’t help her now.”
“Why does she need help? What’s wrong? What’s going on?”
“She and Roger had a fight. A big one. Something happened. I’m not sure what.”
I digested this then blurted out, “Let me ask you something. Do you think there’s any possibility that maybe—”
“He’s not gay! I know that’s what you think. You think everyone is gay!”
“I don’t think everyone is gay.”
“You think your own daughter is gay.”
I peeked out from under my sheet. Ethan was still asleep, clutching Red and Grandpa Bear, one in each arm. “I don’t think everyone is gay,” I said again. “It’s just, he made that stink about the centerpieces and how important they are to a wedding. He e-mailed me photos of flowers. Who does that? What guy e-mails flowers?”
“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.