by T. J. Klune
“Oh no,” Otter groans. “Bear, you need to calm down.”
Too fucking late. “What? It’ll be fine! No worries! The kid will come out okay, and he’ll be fine. It’s not like he’s going to be born with a horn or a tail or anything, right? I mean, how often are kids born with tails? Not that often, right? Right? I need to google that so I can see how many children are born with tails. Oh my God. What if he can wag the tail? What if we can’t get it removed because it’s attached to his spine and brain stem somehow and by removing the tail, he’ll be paralyzed for the rest of his life? If we do remove it and he’s paralyzed, the other kids will be mean and say his name is Doorstop, and then I’ll be forced to dropkick some stupid little fucker for calling my son that, and we’ll end up in court because you can’t dropkick children! I’ll go to jail and spend the rest of my days making license plates and covering my asshole so I don’t get accidentally raped in the showers! Or what happens if we get the tail removed and it messes him of neurologically and he grows up to be some kind of sadistic serial killer? I don’t know if I could be the parent of a serial killer. Everyone will whisper behind our backs every time we go to the store, and I’ll turn and look at them and shout that all I wanted was some goddamn eggs and we were good parents! We didn’t make him a serial killer! He didn’t play violent video games or see scary movies and he ate his vegetables and did well in school and never tortured animals as a child! But no one will listen and then we’ll be forced to go to his execution and he’ll see us there and scream that we should have never removed his tail and that we did this to him! We made him this way! Did we even test for that? Was that one of the tests? To see if our sperm makes serial killers with tails?”
“No, Bear,” Otter sighs. “I don’t think there was a test for serial killers with tails.”
“Well, there should have been!” I shout at him.
Then two things happen at once.
A phone rings.
The doorbell rings.
“That’s my phone,” Otter says. “It’s downstairs. You need to take a deep breath and answer the door. Someone showed up a bit early.”
“No violent video games!” I tell him. “And he eats all his vegetables! I don’t care what he tries to say. Those goddamn Brussels sprouts are going down his throat or he can stay at the dinner table all night!”
“All night,” Otter says, putting his hands on my shoulders. “Bear. Focus.”
“I am focused!” On my son being a serial killer with a tail. As I should be. (Because what if being born with a tail causes you to be a serial killer?)
He turns me around and steers me toward the stairs. “You need to get the door. I need to see who called to make sure everything’s okay.”
The phone stops ringing. But then it starts again.
There’s a knock at the door.
We reach the bottom of the stairs. He kisses me hard, knowing full well my brain is still racing at a hundred miles an hour. I’m a little breathless by the time he’s finished, and a little turned on, and a little turned around. Gosh, and today started so well.
“Good?” he asks.
“Blargh,” I tell him.
“Good,” he says and pushes me toward the door, then turns to the living room, where his phone is going off again. Must be important.
The doorbell rings.
Right. Get the door. No more babies with tails. At least until later.
“Huh,” Otter says as he picks up his phone. “It’s Megan.”
Megan. The surrogate. She had an appointment today to get an ultrasound. She told us it was okay if we didn’t come to this one, because she knew we’d be getting the house ready for Ty to come home. We thought it’d be better to have everyone meet her later. She’s a sweet girl. A bit of a ditz, but sweet nonetheless.
And now she’s calling us repeatedly after a meeting with the ob-gyn.
Headlines flash across my mind: THE SERIAL KILLER KNOWN AS THE TAILED DOORSTOP STRIKES AGAIN! STAY INSIDE! LOCK YOUR DOORS! YOU ARE NOT SAFE!
I hear him answer the phone.
Someone pounds on the door.
I open it.
“Is everything okay, Megan?” Otter says in the living room.
There’s a little girl standing on the porch of the Green Monstrosity. Dark hair, braided down the back of her head. Dark, tired eyes. A smudge of dirt on her nose. A backpack slung across one shoulder. Her eyes widen as she stares up at me. There’s something familiar about her that I can’t quite place.
“Can I help you?” I ask, trying not to show this little girl that I’m pretty much a fucking lunatic.
“Slow down, slow down,” Otter says into the phone. “Say that again, Megan.”
“Man,” the little girl on the porch says. “He sure wasn’t kidding. The color of this house is like an abomination against Mother Nature.”
A buzzing sound starts in my ears. “Who wasn’t kidding?” I ask her.
She rolls her eyes. There’s something so familiar about it that I take a step back. “Tyson,” she says. “You must be Bear. Derrick.”
“Wait,” Otter says. His voice sounds rough, like he’s having trouble speaking. “What?”
“How do you know my name?” I ask the girl.
She fidgets on the porch. Looks away. Back at me, then away again. “Ty said if I ever needed help, I could find him here.”
“He’s on a trip,” I tell her. “He’ll be back this afternoon.”
“You’re shorter than I thought you’d be,” she says. “How disappointing to know that’s what I’ve got ahead of me.” She takes a deep breath. It comes out shaky.
“I don’t…,” Otter says. “What do you mean hidden behind the other one?”
And it clicks into place. “Izzie?” I whisper.
She nods. “Ty said to find him if I needed help.” She sniffs, and I can tell she’s trying to keep it together but it’s a losing battle. “And I need help.”
“Are you sure?” Otter says from behind me. “How could they never see that…? I don’t… there’s… two… oh fuck.”
“What happened?” I manage to say to Izzie.
A tear spills over her cheek. Just one. She looks up at me, and even before she says it, I know. Somehow, I know. And in the darkest corners of my heart, I feel relief. Pure, white relief. “She’s dead,” Isabelle McKenna says. “Mom. She’s dead and I have nowhere else to go and Ty said if I needed help to find him and I need help! I need help so bad.” Her chest hitches and I fall to my knees, and for the first time in my life, my little sister launches herself into my arms. The weight of her reminds me so much of Ty that a lump forms in my throat. She sobs bitterly against my chest. The blood roars in my ears.
“Twins,” Otter says into the phone. “Jesus Christ. We’re having twins?”
Yeah, the only thing I’m sure of right now is that I’m about to fucking freak.
Author’s Note
TO THE readers of this funny little family of mine:
You’ve watched them as they’ve grown.
You’ve watched them as they’ve loved.
You’ve watched them as they’ve lost.
You’ve watched them as they’ve carved out their own little place in the world and were able to stand tall and fight for what they deserved.
It hasn’t always been easy. Sometimes it’s been downright unfair.
But that’s life, I think. And what we learn from that will always help to shape who we are. The good times and the bad.
There’s one more story to tell. One last time we’ll return to Seafare, Oregon. To Bear, Otter, and the Kid (though he’s not really a kid anymore, is he?), and we’ll see what we see. I don’t know when, but one day soon, I hope.
They’re not real, I know. Those three. The others. Creed. Anna and Mrs. Paquinn.
Except that they are. At least to me. I’ve known them for years. I know how they think. I know what they’re scared of. What they love. What makes them happy. It isn’t going to be easy s
hutting that door.
I’ve taken them this far, though, and I will see them to the end.
One more time, then. One more time before we say good-bye.
As always, thank you for taking them in as you have. I promise you their ending will be the one they deserve.
TJ
Excerpt
Sequel to The Art of Breathing
Family is not always defined by blood. It’s defined by those who make us whole—those who make us who we are.
And here, at the end, Bear and Otter will be tested like they’ve never been before.
There’s a knock at the door from a little girl who has nowhere else to go.
There’s a phone ringing, bringing news they do not expect.
There’s a brother returning home after learning how to stand on his own.
As these moments converge, all of their lives will change forever.
Beginning in Bear, Otter, and the Kid and continuing in Who We Are and The Art of Breathing, TJ Klune has told a saga of family and brotherhood, of love and sacrifice. In this final chapter, the events of the past pave the long and winding road toward a future no one could have imagined.
Prologue: Or, Where Bear Answers the Door
DO YOU remember how it all began?
I do.
This is the way my world ended.
Bear,
I know this is going to be hard for yu to read, but I hope yull understand.
I have to leave, Bear. Tom got a job out of state and Im going with him. Im doing this becuz I think it will be easier on all of us if it is red rather then sed.
This is a chance for me to make something for myself. Tom sez there are a lot of jobs where we’re going which will be better then here in Seafare. Remember my last job? At the Pizza Shack? Remember how well that went? In case yu can’t tell from this just being a letter, I was being sarcastic. It didn’t go well at all. (At least we know my future is not in pizza!)
I know yu never liked Tom, but he treats me ok. Yu shoudnt worry about him and me, as we’ll be fine. Well, I know yu won’t worry about him, but still. Hes stuck around longer then yur father did, and don’t even get me started on Ty’s dad. At least Tom hasn’t hit me yet or anything. He even said that when I save up enouf money, he’ll let me get one of those online degrees from University of Phoenix Arizona, or whatever its called. Imagine me, with a college degree!
Speaking of that, I hope that yull get a chance to be a writer like yu want to. I know this kind of messes up yur plans about going to school next year, but why do u need college for that? Yuve been making up stories since you were a little kid n e ways so its not like they could teach yu anything else, right? But that skolarship thing will be there later, right? It’s not like yu could never get it again. It just cant be right now becuz I need yu to do something for me.
Tom sez that Ty can’t go. He sez that having the Kid around will just “freak” up his concentration. (Ok, he didn’t say freak, but yu know what I meant) I know this seems like I am making a bad decision but last nite I had a dream. It was all black around me and there was a flashing light really far away. I felt like I had to walk a long time to reach it. I finally got there and the light was a sign for a motel. Yu know what the motel was called, Bear? It was called the LAST CHANCE MOTEL. Do u see what that means? LAST CHANCE MOTEL. It means it’s my last chance! My dream was a message, I know it, and I think Whoever is watching over us knew I was having a tuff time making this decision and that’s why I had the dream.
But Tom does say that Ty can’t go. So I am going to leave him here with yu. Yu were always better at taking care of him then me. Remember when I was sick for like a month last year couldn’t move, and u took care of Ty becuz we couldn’t afford to send him to camp at the YMCA? Yu did a really good job then and I remember thinking yur going to be a good dad some day, not like yur dad. Now that I think about it, yu take care of Ty a lot more then I did anyways like a good brother should and yu were always better at it. That is why I feel ok about leaving him here with yu. I just think it would be better for him if he stayed here. What if something happens to me when Im with Tom? I don’t want him to see that.
I got sumthing I printed from the internet for yu. Its called a Power Of Attorney. It means that yu can do stuff for Ty without me. Like doctors and school and stuff. It means yull be in charge I guess. At least thats what I got from it. Denise from downstares told me about it. Yu would normaly have to be there with me to have it notterized, but Denise owes me for that time I gave her some smokes when she couldn’t afford to buy more. Her kid is a nottery public or something (do yu really have to go to school to learn how to sine and stamp papers? How hard can that be?) and she will cover for me and notterize it. Yull have to wait for yur birthday but thats real soon. Its my present to yu. I hope yu like it.
I am going to miss yu, so yu know. Yu grew up ok, despite everything. I hope yu don’t hate me or n e thing for this, but maybe Ill be back one day if this doesn’t work out. Maybe, I don’t know. Maybe, I was never meant to be a mom. I see yu sometimes and I think how much better it would have been for yu if yu were never born. But I remember yu as such a happy baby, not like Ty who cried all the time. Yur smile still makes it worth it and I hope yull still smile even after this.
Please make sure Ty gets the note I wrote for him.
I don’t know what else to say.
Please don’t try looking for me. I don’t want Tom to get mad.
Mom
P.S. I left a little bit of muney to help yu out for now. I really can’t give more becuz Tom sez we need to save for our future. Remember, Rent is due at the beginning of the month, along with the other bills. Yu paid those for me n e ways, but what kind of a mom would I be if I didn’t remind yu.
THERE WAS a second note.
Do you remember that one too?
Ty,
Yu listen to yur brother and do what he sez, ok? Mommy loves yu!
Mom
That’s what I found when I came home from work that day. It was a Saturday night. I didn’t know where the Kid was.
She left $137.50 in an envelope with my name on it.
The next day, I turned eighteen. Three days after that, I graduated high school.
It’s funny, then, after everything, that when the doorbell rings, I don’t even think of her.
I haven’t thought of her in months.
There are other things now.
Like the man before me, that look of fond exasperation on his face as I spout off about how our kid is going to grow up to be a serial killer with a tail. God, I love him so fucking much. “Did we even test for that?” I ask him, sounding hysterical. “Was that one of the tests? To see if our sperm makes serial killers with tails?”
“No, Bear,” my husband sighs. “I don’t think there was a test for serial killers with tails.”
“Well, there should have been!” I shout at him, even as we stand in the room painted the palest of blues with cartoon elephants and tigers stenciled onto the walls in a field of grass and flowers. There are clouds on the ceiling above and a goddamn crib, a crib where our son is going to be in about three months, because for some reason, Otter fucking Thompson convinced me that we should knock up some woman we didn’t even know, a pretty young thing named Megan who was injected with my spunk and now has a child growing inside her. A fucking baby that no one knows about, and what the hell were we thinking?
I’m pretty sure I’m on my way to a full-scale meltdown.
The doorbell rings.
A phone rings.
Otter looks over his shoulder. “That’s my phone. It’s downstairs. You need to take a deep breath and answer the door. Someone showed up a bit early.”
“No violent video games!” I tell him. “And he eats all his vegetables! I don’t care what he tries to say. Those goddamn brussels sprouts are going down his throat or he can stay at the dinner table all night!”
“All night,” Otter agrees. He drops his big hands on m
y shoulders, squeezing me tightly, grounding me. “Bear. Focus.”
Which, honestly, is probably the wrong thing to say.
“I am focused,” I snap at him. Granted, I was focused on the idea of our son murdering people with his tail and feasting on their insides, but whatever.
“You need to get the door,” he says, steering me toward the stairs. “I need to see who called to make sure everything’s okay.”
His phone cuts off but immediately starts ringing again.
There’s a knock at the door.
We reach the bottom of the stairs, and before I can walk to the door, he spins me around and kisses me hard, mouth working over mine, the barest hints of his tongue on my lips. Pretty much everything short-circuits at that, like it normally does with him, even after all these years. I’m rather breathless when he pulls away and can’t even glare at the smug little twist in his smile.
“Good?” he asks me.
“Blargh,” I tell him.
“Good,” he says, pushing me toward the door. He turns to the living room, where his phone has started ringing again, and whoever it is better have a good goddamn reason for blowing up his phone like that.
The doorbell rings again.
“Huh,” I hear Otter say. “It’s Megan.”
Which, honestly, given that she just had another OB appointment (it’s like she’s going daily), is not making me feel any better. I don’t know how parents of serial killers ever show their faces in public again. I mean, what the hell would the neighbors think?
The phone rings again.
There’s a pounding on the door.
I open it just as I hear Otter say, “Is everything okay, Megan?”
I’m thinking about how things are changing.
I’m thinking about how we’re having a kid.
I’m thinking about how I would go to the ends of the earth for the man standing in the living room.