“Yeah, punt him,” Karen said. “Every time I call, he’s at Dad’s.”
“I have him as much as your father does, probably more! I don’t know what he’s telling you!”
“I’m not telling them anything.”
Mindy: “You’re always bitching, Dad.”
Karen: “You’re always hiding behind Ethan.”
Mary: “You’re always complaining. And I’m sorry my sister has cancer!” Now it was she who stood. “Let’s go, Ethan.”
Ethan, who had been absorbed in the phone, looked up and bounced his eyes between Mary and me. “Where. Go?”
“To our room. We can eat dinner there. Come on.”
“No! Eat. Pickle!”
“Yes.” She tried to take his hand, but he pulled free.
“No. Eat!”
“Fine,” Mary said. She snatched her red bag and stormed off. A second later the girls pushed their chairs back.
“We’re leaving at eight tomorrow,” I managed to say.
“Why. Mad?” Ethan asked. “Why. Mad?”
The girls left with their mother; I watched all three of them march away in a military file.
“I’m not mad,” I said between clenched teeth. “I’m not mad.”
8
The next morning, since we were no longer speaking and since driving hundreds of miles together was apparently no longer a realistic or desired option, Karen and Mindy, independently and unbeknown to me, arranged to have two rental cars dropped off at the hotel. With the exception of Ethan, everyone now had their own vehicle.
We gathered silently in the lobby around eight, presumably, I hoped, for a détente breakfast, when the cars pulled up. As soon as I saw the drivers hand Mindy and Karen their keys, I realized what was happening, and I lost it.
“Your own cars? Are you kidding? This is nuts! You two are impossible!” I expanded my glare to include Mary. “All of you! Do me a favor, and don’t come.”
“Fine!” Karen said. “Just leave Ethan.”
“No, he’s coming with me!”
“Then we’re coming,” Mindy said.
“Go home! Everyone!”
“John, let’s talk.”
“I’m done talking, and I’m done with all of you.” With that, I grabbed Ethan’s hand and bolted from the hotel.
*
“I’m surprised Stinky Bear didn’t get his own car,” I said as we pulled onto the highway.
My plan was to drive to I-40, then eventually hook up with I-95, which would take me all the way to Maine. From now on, it was straight-shot interstate, no sponging Blue Highway moments, no side trips or authentic southern BBQ restaurants, no resort hotels. I wanted to get there as fast as I could. I wanted to get this ordeal over with.
“Just you and me again,” I said to Ethan. “Just you and me.”
“Stinky. Bear.”
“And Stinky Bear.”
“Red. Bear. Grandpa. Bear.”
“Those guys too. Forget everyone else. We don’t need them. I hope they all get flat tires. Ha! Can you imagine Mindy trying to change a tire? Karen? Ha! The little princesses. Your mother too. All of them!”
I drove with insane intent, never bothering to check on how the convoy behind me was faring. My free throws the night before had not helped, and I had slept little, fuming in my pillow, my anger, my hurt (as well as my guilt), escalating over what had transpired at dinner.
I suspected I wasn’t acting rationally, suspected I was at a breaking point, in fact, maybe had already broken, but I didn’t care. I moved up my seat close to the steering wheel, pressed the gas, and tried to lose myself in the rush of road: sixty, sixty-five, seventy miles per hour. The land was flat, uninspiring, the day gray and indifferent. I was, by nature, a slow and distracted driver, but I wanted to fly now. Ethan amused himself with an Etch A Sketch and I kept both hands on the wheel and we sped on.
Seventy-five, eighty.
The girls’ words had drawn blood. Was this how they saw me? Selfish? A drunk? A failure? Was I that big of a disappointment? Had they a right to expect more? Had they a right to judge me?
Eighty, eighty-five.
When we passed the exit for Wilmington and my phone went off, I silenced it. When I thought I heard honking behind me, I ignored it.
I had not asked for this life. Ethan had happened, and everything after that had followed. I did the best I could. Every day, every minute, every second, I did the best I could.
“Do they think I want to do this? Do they?” I said this out loud, my voice tight.
Ethan glanced up from the Etch A Sketch.
“This is a very, very tough decision, very tough. But someone has to make it. Sooner or later someone has to make it. So I made it. I made it. I’m your father, and I know what’s best. No one loves you more than me, no one!” I shook my head, pounded the steering wheel, the Doubt and Guilt overwhelming me. “I don’t want to do this, but I have to, okay? I have to! It’s the right move, the right move. It’s a good place, a good place.”
“Why. Mad?”
“I’m not mad. I’m not mad.”
I wiped away a tear, and Ethan went back to the Etch A Sketch.