There was guilt, and then there was the more serious form, father’s guilt, and I was experiencing the latter. With her words from the other night—You walked around in an Ethan daze when I was growing up—now ringing in my ears, I came to the conclusion, long suspected, that I had never really been there for my queen bee. Self-sufficient, independent, and strong since the day she was born, she was the third adult in our house, someone who made her own choices, did her own thing. In short, someone who never asked, so never received. Mindy, a precocious child and, of course Ethan, were other stories, demanding time, attention, and energy. But Karen never needed my help, ever. That was, of course, up until now, and when she finally had asked for it, finally had reached out, what had I done? I had ignored her calls, cut her short, dismissed her running off to see Roger as a distraction.
Ethan had a lot to do with this—he was a huge responsibility—but while that might be an explanation, it was no excuse. Over the years I should have made time, found time. In the end, was one child, regardless of his or her needs, any more important than another?
“Why didn’t you tell me she was crying?”
“I don’t know. It’s a pretty private thing.”
“You should have said something.”
“I just did.”
“Call her or … or text her. Tell her to meet me in the lobby in twenty minutes.”
“She was just crying.”
“Just do it! Please! Just tell her I’m going to be there as soon as I can.”
*
When we arrived at the Marriott, Mary finally woke up, pushing off the door groggily, and asking, “Where are we?” Her hair was matted down on one side, her face flushed red.
“At the hotel. I’m going to find Karen.”
“Swimming!” Ethan cried. “Me. Out!”
Mary cleared her throat and fumbled in her bag for her glasses. “Are we getting out here?”
“No, I’m going to find Karen, and we’re leaving. Everyone, just wait here. We’re not staying.”
I jumped out of the van and hurried across the parking lot, my intentions still unclear. I wasn’t sure what I was going to say or do when I saw Karen, wasn’t sure what I was hoping to accomplish. Apologizing, admitting negligence, and offering love and support were all options. One thought was clear, though: for once, I was going to make her a priority.
I worked my way through the lobby, weaving through small packs of people wearing plastic name tags. A conference of some kind was obviously taking place, and there must have been a coffee break because a crowd was growing and it was hard to walk, much less locate, Karen.
After circling the noisy room for a few minutes, I ended up at the front desk, where I asked the clerk to ring Karen’s room. Apparently, though she had already checked out.
“When did she do that?” I asked.
“I really can’t give out that information, sir.”
“But I’m her father.”
“I’m sorry.”
I checked my phone for messages, then surveyed the room again. The place was packed now, mostly with young men talking and gesturing animatedly. I was about to plunge back into the crowd and resume my search, when somehow, over the din, I heard the all-too-familiar sound of Ethan in distress.
“Swimming! Now! Swimming! Now!”
The center of the crowd parted, and there he was, crawling frantically on his hands and knees toward me. Mindy followed, clutching Stinky and Grandpa Bear in mad pursuit.
“Excuse us! Excuse me! Watch it, move it, don’t step on his hands!” Mindy yelled. “Come on, Ethan, get up. Excuse me! He’s all right. He just lost a contact.”
I watched the scene unfold with a sinking heart. Not this, not now.
“Swimming! Swimming!”
When Ethan saw me, he stood, his face red, wild, helpless. I ran over to him and took him in my arms. His body was rigid, so I rubbed his shoulders to calm him. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” I cooed. From a safe distance, a group of men looked on with confusion, and then, inevitably, sympathy.
“He just bolted out of the van. I couldn’t stop him,” Mindy said.
“It’s okay. He’s all right.”
“Is she here?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. They said she checked out.”
Mindy handed me Stinky Bear. “She said she was here. She just texted me.”
“She did? I can’t find her.” I gently pressed Stinky against Ethan’s cheek to dry his tears, while the crowd drifted back to its meeting. As the room began to empty, a placard in the corner came in to view: YOUNG UROLOGISTS SOCIETY OF AMERICA.
“Dick doctors,” Mindy muttered. “A whole roomful.”
I kissed Ethan on the top of his head, smoothed his hair. “You okay now? Everything okay? You shouldn’t crawl like that. You’re a big guy. Big guys don’t crawl on the floor. You have to stop doing things like this. You have to.”
I felt his body stiffen again. “What’s wrong? Relax. Everything’s okay. All done. Just relax.”
“Karen!” he yelled.
“What? Karen? Where?”
“Karen!” Ethan pulled away from me and bolted, stiff-legged, arms flapping, toward the entrance of the hotel.
I followed his path, and he was right, there she was, Karen, standing in front of the revolving doors dressed in sweat pants and a blue T-shirt, her hair pulled back in an unfamiliar ponytail. Mindy and I quickly made our way to her.
“Hey, Karen, over here!”
When she saw us, she gave a small and decidedly unenthusiastic wave, murmuring, “Oh, hi,” when we reached her. Ethan hugged her hard while she absently rubbed his hair.
“Swimming!”
“Yeah, swimming. Sure.” Her voice was flat.
“Are you okay?”
“I was going outside to look for you. I just checked out.”
“Is Roger here? Are you with Roger?”
She ignored my question. “Where’s Mom?” she asked.
“She’s outside.”
“Pee-pee.”