“What else do you want us to say?” Karen asked. “It’s really nice.”
“So, that’s it, huh, that’s it? Nothing else? That’s it?” I threw my napkin down and went to the men’s room, where I splashed water on my face and then gave myself a good look in the eye. On my way back to the table, I detoured to the deck. There was a harbor full of weathered colorful lobster boats, all gently bobbing in the twilight. Behind them, where the harbor opened up, a wall of fog was rolling in. None of this changed my mood. I was impervious to the charms and beauty of Camden. It was now nothing more than the place I was supposed to leave my son.
I returned to our table. Ethan was smiling while Sal whispered something in his ear. The women were chatting away. It was then that I realized the terrible truth: no one was going to talk me out of anything. We were going through with this. We were really leaving him, leaving Ethan. I found it hard to breathe, felt things closing in again. I closed my eyes.
“John? What’s wrong? John?” I heard Mary ask.
I jumped up and rushed out of the restaurant, weaving between tables, bumping into chairs, cries of “Where. Dad. Be?” chasing me, a question, a plea.
*
Later, after fielding concerned calls from Mindy, Karen, Mary, and even Sally; and after I refused Sal’s offer to go for a walk and smoke one of the Cuban cigars he had “got” from “some guy”; and after I did about fifty free throws; and after I paced the room, then lay on my bed then paced the room again, I forced myself to open my laptop. Ethan was sleeping with Mary so, for better or for worse, I had the night to myself.
I turned on my computer and found the essay I had started weeks before: “My Hopes for Ethan.” Ocean View asked parents to articulate their dreams for their children prior to official admission. I had tried many times to complete the essay.
I want Ethan to be happy. That’s what any father wants for his child. To simply be happy. To go through the day being loved, wanted, and watched over. I want Ethan to be in a place that cares for him. A good place, a safe place. A place where he can watch the sun set, see the moon rise. A place he can call home.
That was all I had, so I read it over, made a number of attempts to finish, but got nowhere. So, rather than write, I revised, editing that single paragraph over and over. In the end, all I was left with was: I want Ethan to be happy.
I studied that sentence until my eyes burned, and the words became distorted, fat, and blurry. I probed it from many angles before realizing it was not entirely true. To be sure, I wanted Ethan to be happy, but the reality was, the truth was, the person I really wanted to be happy was me. The person I really wanted to take care of was me. That was why I was doing all of this. That was why we were all here.
I shut the laptop, did some more free throws. Then I stood by the open window for a long time, looking into the darkness, the ocean air filling my room with whispers and sighs.
*
I had my Ethan-is-talking-normal dream that night. We were, as always, home in Wilton, sitting on the deck, eating cereal as we often did in the morning. I was staring at the finch feeder, watching the tiny red-and-yellow birds flit around the food. Ethan was drinking orange juice.
“The Cubs won last night,” he said to me. His voice was a song, high and sweet, heartbreaking.
I watched him eat. I never spoke during these dreams. I just wanted to hear him.
“We should go somewhere today,” he said. “Maybe we should go to the park.”
I reached out to brush his hair away from his face.
“I’m glad I didn’t die that time,” he said. “I’m glad I stayed alive.”
I woke up with a start, and in my Ambien-induced daze, came to the inevitable and obvious conclusion: I could not go through with this. I could not leave my son in this strange place, so far away from home, so far away from me.
*
I was calm, bordering on numb, when morning finally arrived. I watched the sun rise over the ocean, the light, unraveling over the water, before making my way down to the lobby for coffee. I figured I’d be the first one there, but found everyone but Ethan standing in a half-circle by the front door.
“What’s going on? Where is he?”
“We have to talk,” said Karen.
“Is everything okay? Is something wrong?” It was then I noticed that Sally wasn’t there either. “Where’s Sally? Is she all right?”
“She’s with Ethan in the van,” Karen said. “Dad, you’re not coming.”
“What?”
“You’re not coming,” she said again. “We’re going to register him and take the official tour and everything. You’re going to stay here with Uncle Sal.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Stay here, John,” Mary said. “You’re not up for this. Just stay here. We’ll take care of everything. He’s going to be okay.”