“What? What do you mean? Home? What do you mean?”
“The place, the home, is called Ocean View. That’s where he’s going to live from now on. After the wedding, or whatever, I’m driving him up there, and … and that’s where he’s going to live.”
“What are you talking about? Live? Now? What are you talking about? You’re taking him now? What are you talking about?”
I spoke fast, hoping to overwhelm her with positive facts. “There are only thirty residents, and a three-to-one resident-to-aide ratio. Ethan will have his own room and his own bathroom. It has a gym, a full-size basketball court, and an indoor pool, which is great for him. He’ll love it. The place is made for him.”
“Wait! What?”
“It’s right outside of Camden. Very scenic. Beautiful area. Have you ever been there? Beautiful. A tourist town. It’s like a condo, in a way. We, I mean I, had to put a down payment to secure his space, so we own the room. I’ve been there three times. It’s a state-of-the-art place. Four years old. Glowing reviews. It’s very hard to get into. Very hard. He’s going to love it. We were on a waiting list, but they had this sudden opening. If we don’t take this now, he could wait for ten years, maybe longer.”
Mindy put her hands up in front of her as if trying to ward off a blow. “Whoa! Slow down. Wait a minute! Maine? Are you kidding? Maine?”
I kept going. “There aren’t many places in Illinois. Illinois is a terrible state when it comes to the disabled. The worst. The few good places have long, long waiting lists. So we looked at a lot of other places—in Kansas, Wisconsin, Virginia—and we’re on the waiting list for all of them, but Ocean View called, and it’s by far the best, by far. We ranked them top to bottom. The best one called first. The best one called.”
“When did you decide this? I can’t believe Mom never said anything.”
This was where things got a little complicated. I briefly closed my eyes even though I was driving. “I haven’t exactly told her yet.”
“What?”
“Why. Mad?”
“No one’s mad. Sit back, play with your phone. Here, here’s mine. Be careful with it. Here.”
“You haven’t told Mom?”
“I shouldn’t have put it like that. She actually does know. She’s been there, and she liked it. We were put on a waiting list. She signed the papers and everything, so she knows, she knows. She just doesn’t know that a spot opened up. We thought it would be years still. But they called and said they had an immediate opening for someone like Ethan, so I acted.”
“Without telling her?”
I checked Ethan in the mirror again, saw that he was concentrating on my phone, and kept my voice low. “I almost told her a dozen times, but I wanted her to focus on the wedding, her daughter’s wedding. I wanted her to be happy, enjoy the whole experience. She’s the mother of the bride. She’s had a rough few years. Sally’s cancer … Ethan. Let’s face it—me. Plus, I only had a week to decide, and involving her would slow things down. She probably would have wanted to go out there again, meet everyone again, which would have been hard with the wedding, impossible. Everything happened at once. So I went out there alone and took care of everything.”
“I can’t believe this. I can’t believe you didn’t tell us. Does Karen know?”
“No, no one knows. Listen, we had to act fast. It’s an immediate opening, and there’s a long waiting list. If we didn’t take it, someone else would. The conditions of the agreement were that spots would be filled immediately. She, your mother, knows this. Trust me, she’s going to be okay with this. She’ll be fine.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that. She doesn’t like surprises. I think she’s going to flip out.”
“She might be a little upset, but she’ll know it was the right move. It’s easier to get into Princeton than a place like this.”
I glanced back at Ethan again, wondering, what, if anything, he understood. My phone, forbidden fruit, was doing its job though, so I resumed the offensive: “You know, once people like Ethan turn twenty-two, once they age out, there’s nowhere for them to go. No schools … There’s nothing. No one cares. We’ve got charities for everything—AIDS, breast cancer, heart association, slow food—but no one cares about disabled adults. No one. You know how many autistic adults there are going to be in a few years with no place to go? Millions. Where are they all going to go?”
Mindy started to say something, but I kept pressing.
“Your mother and I, we’re both getting older. We need to do this while we’re still around, so he gets used to the place. If it doesn’t work, we’ll still have time to figure something else out, another plan. I don’t want to wait until I’m eighty to be dealing with this.”