Mary lowered her window. “Mindy, get back in. Come on, get back in. Please. Don’t do this.”
I watched Mindy sit down on the top of the hill and put her head between her knees. I could tell she was still crying by the way her shoulders were shaking.
“Oh, baby.” Mary opened the door and was about to get out, when Karen stopped her.
“Mom, don’t. Wait in here,” she said. “Just wait in here.”
“What?’
“Wait in here. I’ll get her.” Karen jumped out of the van and quickly made her way up the hill to Mindy, who was really sobbing now.
“Are you okay?” Mary asked me.
I sat in the backseat, Ethan’s head cradled in my lap, and watched as Karen put her arms around her sister and drew her close, their shoulders both shaking together.
“We’re fine,” I said. “We’re fine.”
*
The sun broke through a cliff of low-hanging clouds just as it was setting. Ethan stopped dribbling to stare and point.
“Sun!” he said.
I nodded. “Yes. Sun. It’s setting. It’s going away for the night.”
He stood still for a moment and watched the city skyline turn pink before returning to the task at hand. “Go, Illini!” he cried as he launched another shot.
We were performing another reprise of the Illinois–Arizona game, this time in a small, hilly excuse of a park just south of Boston. We had been there for close to an hour, killing time, my less-than-enthusiastic play-by-play filling the quiet evening. I was tired and defeated, and unlike my Illini, I had no comeback in me that night.
After the near accident and Mindy’s breakdown, we drove for a while in stressed silence. Once we found a roadside Courtyard, we went our separate ways; the women to their respective rooms, and Ethan and I to the pool, then a walk, then dinner. Throughout the afternoon, I repeatedly tried to call Mindy, but she hadn’t picked up.
I flipped Ethan the ball and watched him dribble toward the basket then awkwardly pull up and bank a shot from a few feet away. I cheered then checked the time. It was close to seven thirty, and I knew the sometimes dicey transition, from basketball to bed, would have to begin soon.
“One more basket!” I yelled.
“Ten!”
“Okay, ten more. But hurry. It’s getting dark outside.”
“Mom!”
“Mom?” I turned and saw Mary approaching, making her way down an incline by the swings. She was wearing one of Mindy’s black hoodies, and her arms were crossed in front of her as she walked, a pensive pose. Ethan ran over.
“Hello! Hello! Hello!”
“Hi, baby.” She hugged him hard.
“How did you find us?”
She shrugged. “I went for a walk, heard him yelling.”
“Oh yeah. He’s very into it tonight.”
Ethan returned to the court and resumed his shooting.
“He’s good at it,” she said.
“Thank Kyle Baker for that.”
“Thank you for that,” she said. “You spent a lot more time with him than Kyle did.”
It was nice of her to acknowledge that, so I shot her a smile, but she didn’t smile back. She just watched Ethan play through worried and tired eyes. “So, how’s Mindy? I tried to call,” I said.
“Karen was with her when I left. They went to get pizza together.”
“That’s nice, that’s good. At least they’re together. Did you eat?”
She shook her head, waved at Ethan.
“Is Mindy’s going home?”
“She’s not going anywhere.”
“Never seen her that way.”
“She’s always been wound too tight,” Mary said. “That’s why she is who she is.”
“Karen okay?”
“She’s fine.” Ethan was chattering away incomprehensively, trying, I think, to imitate my excited commentary. Mary kept her eyes on him. “John,” she said. “I think we need to get to Maine, to the home, as soon as we can. Tomorrow. I think it’s time we get there.”
I turned cold. “They’re not expecting us until Wednesday.”
“I think it’s time we get there. This is wearing on us. The Sals are already there.”
I didn’t think I heard her right. “What do you mean, the Sals? What are they doing there?”
“I asked them to come.”
“What? Why?”
“I want my sister there. I want her there.”
I paused. “Oh. Sure. Okay.”
“We can make it tomorrow,” she said.
“Tomorrow. Okay. Tomorrow. We won’t stop. I’ll call the hotel, get our rooms early.”
“Karen already did that.”
“Oh, okay.” We were both watching Ethan now. In the growing shadows, he was setting up for a free throw, positioning his feet while he bounced the ball, his face a mixture of concentration and delight. He had no idea what was happening, no clue what the next day would bring.
He sensed our eyes on him, stopped dribbling, and looked back. Then he pointed up at the sky.
“Sun. Gone!”
I didn’t turn. I just kept watching him.
“Yes, the sun is gone,” I heard Mary say.
*
Later that night, after I gave Ethan his bath and his meds and dropped him off Mary’s room, I called Rita. I owed her this.