It's. Nice. Outside.

by Jim Kokoris

  “You done?” Sal asked.

  “I’m not that hungry.” I checked the time again. T-minus pretty soon before I had to inform Mary about Ocean View. I glanced over at her to assess her mood, but when we made eye contact, I immediately looked away.

  This was not going to be easy. Mary was already dealing with a lot, and now I was going to take her youngest child to live in Maine forever. I never should have waited, never should have let it get to this point. I should have told her the moment I got the call. She was his mother. His mother. I reached for my wine, drained half the glass. Maybe I should wait until tomorrow morning. A good night’s sleep. Coffee. Maybe tomorrow morning would be better.

  “Hey, I saw our friend in the lobby,” Sal mumbled in my ear.

  “What?”

  “You know, our friend the Jaw.”

  “Roger? What did he say?”

  Sal waited until Sally asked Mary a question about the hotel before whispering, “Wanted to know where she was.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I told him it was none of his goddamn business.”

  “Sal.”

  “He tried to shake my hand, all polite. Piece of shit.”

  “I wish he’d leave town,” I said.

  Sal leaned in, and I could feel his breath, hot in my ear. “I can make him leave town. Hey, I make a couple of calls, I can make him leave earth.”

  Before Sal said something that a district attorney could force me to repeat under oath in front of a grand jury, our waiter wheeled out the dessert tray. Sal actually rubbed his chin in thought before daintily pointing at the crème brûlée. Mindy ordered Ethan a hot fudge sundae.

  “I don’t think he should eat that,” Karen said.

  Mindy smirked. “Why?”

  “Because he’ll make a mess. You can’t give him chocolate.”

  “If you’re worried about your dress, move. Switch places. He likes chocolate.”

  “Where. Ice. Cream. Be?”

  “Chocolate makes him hyper. You want him up all night?”

  “Those two,” Sal said.

  “Chocolate doesn’t make him hyper.”

  I finished my wine and poured one more glass. Though I wasn’t keeping an official tally, I knew I had eclipsed my two-drink minimum and was now walking the very fine line that separates the buzzed from the bombed.

  “You’d think the little one would cut her some slack. All things considered,” Sal said. He pulled out a cigar from his coat pocket.

  “Sal,” Sally said.

  Sal grudgingly put the cigar away. “What’s the point of eating outside?”

  I reached for my wineglass again

  “Dark. Outside,” Ethan said.

  “What the hell, I’m going to make a toast,” Sal announced.

  “What?” I looked at him, frantic. Though well intentioned, Sal’s toasts had a tendency to devolve into Mussolini-like rants, complete with emotional declarations of family supremacy, vehement proclamations of love, and, on occasion, veiled threats against unseen enemies. “Don’t,” I said. “Sal, please.”

  Sal stood. “I was gonna give a toast at the wedding, so I’m gonna give one here. What the hell.”

  “Sit down, Sal,” Sally said. She began rubbing her throat while nervously eyeing the other tables.

  “Thirty seconds, that’s all I need. I’m not running for president here. I’m her godfather, and I want to say a few things.” He smiled at Karen, who stared at him, stone-faced. “Honey…,” Sal began. “All I want to say is, you’re gonna be all right. You’re gonna meet some great guy, and you’re going get married. A doctor. A lawyer. Maybe a ballplayer. You’re beautiful. Look at her, she’s a damn model. I could fix you up in a minute. I got lots of friends. Good guys.”

  I thought I heard Mindy mumble, “You mean, Good fellas.”

  Sal continued. “So you’re going to be all right. It’s that prick’s loss. He’s a damn fucking prick, and if he comes near you, I swear to God, I will personally—”

  He caught himself in midthreat, put his head down, then picked up his wineglass. “All I want to say is, I love all of you. All of you. And may we be together always … and always be together.”

  Other than Ethan, who said, “Where. Ice. Cream. Be?” no one responded. I gave Sal a half hearted thumbs-up and poured myself some more wine. It could have been worse.

  “When the going gets tough, the wine gets going,” Mary said. I thought this was an attempt at humor and started to smile, until I saw the look on her face.

  “It’s just wine,” I said.

  Sally stood. “I have to go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back. Sal, watch my purse.”

  “No one’s taking your purse.”

  Once she was gone, Mary said, “Don’t you have anything you want to say, John?”

  “No. I think Sal said it all. Other than we all love you Karen—”

  Mary cut me off. “Don’t you want to tell us where you’re taking Ethan?”

  I didn’t think I heard her right. I couldn’t have heard her right. My throat tightened. “What?” I squeaked.

  “Tell us where you’re planning on going. Where you’re taking Ethan, or at least, wanted to take Ethan.”

  I had heard her right. I tried to clear my muddled mind. “What do you mean?”

  “You tell me what I mean.”

  I looked at Mindy, who shrugged. “I didn’t tell her.”

  “What’s going on?” Sal asked. “Where you taking him? Are you coming back on the plane with us? We have to take the noon flight. It’s the only one.”

  “I got a call today, a few hours ago,” Mary announced. “From the Ocean View Home in Camden, Maine. That’s where John is taking Ethan. That’s where Ethan is going to live for the rest of his life. They wanted to know if I had signed the final consent papers yet.”

  “Where. Ice. Cream. Be?”

  “Home? Papers? What’s she talking about, John?” Sal asked.

  “John is taking Ethan to Camden, Maine, to live for the rest of his life, and he didn’t tell me.”

  “What the hell is she talking about?” Sal asked.

  “Where are you taking him?” Karen asked. “What’s going on?”

  “He’s taking him to a place in Maine. A home for people like him,” Mindy said.

  “To live?” Karen asked.

  “Yeah,” Mindy said.

  “And you knew about this?”

  “He just told me. I didn’t know about it. He told me earlier today in the car.”

  “So you told Mindy and not me?”

  “I said he just told me!”

  I was woefully unprepared for this, woefully outnumbered and woefully drunk. I offered token resistance. “It’s a good place,” I said.

  Mary deliberately pulled her napkin from her lap and folded it carefully before placing it on the table. “You didn’t think they were going to call me?”

  Everyone was staring at me, even Ethan. “It’s a good place,” I said again.

  Mary glared and stood up. “The minute he was accepted, you should have told me. The minute. I’m his mother.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I know. But…”

  “We should have made this final decision together.”

  “I know, I know.” I tried to walk toward her, but she pointed at me, so I stopped. “Don’t. Don’t,” she said.

  “Mary. Please, just listen, please.”

  She picked up her purse and stormed off, narrowly avoiding our waiter, who was approaching with the desserts. I watched as she disappeared through the doorway. Mary, Mary, sweet contrary.

  “Where. Mom. Be?” Ethan asked as the waiter placed his hot fudge sundae in front of him. “Where. Mom. Be?”

  * * *

  I left right after Mary but did not give chase. Instead I wandered numbly through the crowded streets of Charleston, berating myself. I should have known they would try to contact her. It was a stupid and selfish plan. I was a stupid and selfish person. I walked fo
r a long time.

  I no longer remember how I made my way to the Inn, but somehow there I was, back on the balcony, alone again. It was a starless night, and I felt weightless in the dark, listening to the tide of the Atlantic.

  “Dark. Outside,” I said.

  I swung my legs up on the railing and closed my eyes. Why had I decided this had to happen? I needed to think things through so I could explain them to Mary.

  Over the past two months, I had been spending a lot of time with Ethan, much more than usual, as Mary immersed herself in the logistics of the wedding, and attending to Sally, who was recovering from her final round of chemotherapy. Since school was out for the summer, I had Ethan a good part of every day, a brutal stretch of survive and advance. Consequently, I was frazzled, exhausted, and constantly teetering on the edge of the Black Despair.

  The day that Ocean View called about the opening had been particularly difficult. It was a Saturday morning and since C.C., our weekend respite worker and usual godsend, was on vacation, Mary had agreed to take him the entire day so I could recover. At the last second, just as I was getting Ethan into the car, Mary called to say she felt a migrane coming on and couldn’t do it. A short, heated discussion followed that ended with us racing to be the first to hang up on each other.

  A long lonely day ensued. We ran a series of mindless and unnecessary errands and made three separate trips to the park to shoot hoops in the hot sun. The tedium was broken up by a number of Tonto appearances and a licking festival of Woodstock proportions at the hardware store.

  Ethan and I were in my small condo about to have an early dinner, when Dawn Elkin, director of admissions from Ocean View, called to inform me of an unexpected opening. Could Ethan be ready by the end of the month? I paused, then I heard myself answer yes.

  I actually did call Mary right afterward, but she didn’t answer, and I decided not to leave a message. I was exhausted, still angry, and in no condition to discuss the issue. I would tell her the next day. Sunday came and went, however, as did Monday and Tuesday, and before I knew it, I was packing the van.

  Now I questioned why I hadn’t told her.

  The wedding was certainly a factor, as was the knowledge that Mary had given her tacit approval months before. There was another reason, however, a more honest reason: Ethan had to go somewhere, and I didn’t want Mary interfering. I feared she would slow the process down, if not stop it entirely. And I wasn’t sure I could wait any longer.

  My life with my son had been anything but easy. The simplest things, taking a shower, emptying the garbage, checking the mail, could quickly turn into a terrible ordeal. I knew I was at the end of things and needed help. Ocean View was that help. Ocean View was salvation.

  I was sitting on the balcony, trying to juggle my bitterness and guilt, when I heard my phone ring. It was Rita.

  I was in a bad way, desperate for a friend, so I actually considered, briefly, very briefly, picking up, but the wine was ebbing, and I knew I needed to face things. So I got a cold bottle of water from the fridge, pressed it against my forehead for a moment, and called Mary.

  “Listen…,” I began. “I’m sorry I did it this way, I know it was wrong. But we couldn’t wait. We have to do this now.”

  She was silent.

  “Mary?”

  “I won’t let it happen. I won’t sign it, the final consent.”

  “I know it’s hard, but you agreed to this. We both did.”

  “I thought it would be five years, ten years. How did this happen so fast?”

  “It just did. They said he’s the right fit right now. Someone just like Ethan moved out or something, so … so I guess they’re equipped for him, and … and they get special funding for him or something. I don’t remember all the specifics. I have it written down somewhere. Anyway, we jumped way ahead on the list, years ahead. I didn’t ask a lot of questions.”

  “You should have.”

  “It doesn’t matter. He’s in.”

  “I’m not ready. He’s not ready.”

  “They told us it could happen at any time. They told us that. That was one of the conditions. You knew that. They said we had to be prepared to move fast. We might miss our chance and go back to the end of the line. You knew this could happen.”

  “They said the likelihood of this happening was very, very small.”

  “But it happened.”

  She didn’t say anything.

  “Listen, you’ve been there. You know it’s a good place. You loved it when we visited. And for years, we’ve talked about doing something like this. It just happened sooner than we thought.”

  “A lot sooner! You should have told me! Damn you, John! You had no right. “I should have been part of this decision. What were you thinking? When, exactly, were you planning on telling me? When you got there? When he was already living there? When?”

  “The day after the wedding. The next morning. It wasn’t going to be ideal, I know, but that’s when I was going to do it, tell you. I figured we would, you know, discuss it, and then you would agree and come with me. Us.”

  We were both quiet. A breeze picked up, and I felt it against my face.

  I tried again. “I’m sorry. But I knew you were busy with the wedding, and Sally, so I took care of everything. I went back out there two weeks ago when you had him. I met everyone again, saw his room, met with his aides and therapists. Everyone was very nice, everything looked nice, so I made the down payment. I flew in and out in one day.”

  I waited for her to say something, but she didn’t. So, with nothing to lose, I threw out a Hail Mary of scattered thoughts.

  “We could wait for ten years, maybe longer. Do you want to wait for ten, twenty years? We always knew this day was coming. There’s no place close to home. We’ve been over that. There’s nothing available. Nothing. We’re on all those other waiting lists, but that could be years, years, plus this one is the best—you know that. The best one called first. We got lucky, very lucky. So we have to do this; we have to try to do something now, while we’re still relatively young and healthy. This is what we wanted, what we agreed on. You liked the place, you loved it. He’s going to love it. I know he will. He’ll have lots of attention, lots of structure. The pool, the gym. Now, I know the timing was or is terrible, I know I should have told you, I know I shouldn’t have done this around the wedding, but I didn’t know this would happen, any of this would happen. Their calling. I didn’t know. Two, three weeks ago, I didn’t know anything.”

  I stopped to catch my breath. “It’s hard now, but it’s the right move—you know it’s the right move.” I stopped and took a drink of water. My heart was racing. “Hello? You there? Hello?”

  She finally spoke. “I’ve only been out there once. I need to go back and see it again. I planned to. I thought I had time. Years.”

  My heart leaped. I had hoped for this. “Come with! Drive out there with us. Ethan and me. Leave with us tomorrow! Tomorrow morning! Just come with us. We’ll do this together.”

  She didn’t say anything, so, hopeful, I pressed on. “Karen can come too. Why not? We can spend some time with her, get her away from everything. She was going to be on her honeymoon anyway, so she has the time. If nothing else, this trip will be good for that. We never see her anymore.” Then everything caught up with me, the long trip, my Overall Plan, the past nineteen years, and I said something stupid—honest, but stupid—and when I did, I erased any progress I had made.

  “I don’t think I can do this anymore,” I said. “It’s just too hard. I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can do it anymore.”

  I could feel her stiffen on the other end. “So this is all about you, then. Not Ethan, not me, not the girls. You.” She hung up.

  I stared at the dead phone in my hand and considered tossing it off the balcony. But I was a high-school English teacher, and I didn’t do things like that. So I slipped it back into my pocket and sat there listening to the South Carolina wind for I didn’t know how long. Eventually
, I went inside and took my position on the free-throw line, made ten straight, then crept into bed and slept.

  In the morning, I was awakened early by a loud knock on the door. It was Mary, wearing large round sunglasses, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, as always.

  “The girls are downstairs,” she said. “We’re going.”

  I had been in a deep sleep and was confused, disoriented. “Home?”

  “Maine.” She turned and began to march down the hallway. “Get dressed.”

  I was suddenly wide-awake. “Really? You mean, you’re coming?”

  “We all are.” She was at the end of the hallway.

  “Really? Karen too?” I yelled after her.

  “We all are.”

  “Mindy?”

  “All of us!” she yelled as she turned the corner.

  7

  I stood outside the airport with Sal as he blew a final plume of smoke and flicked his cigarette. “They got a helluva lot of strip joints in South Carolina. Not that that matters,” he said.

  “You know, it probably doesn’t.”

  “Wish we were going with you.”

  “We’ll be fine.”

  Sal put his hands in his pockets and jingled some change. His barrel chest inflated for a moment as he took in a big breath then slowly let it recede. He had already given Ethan a number of bone-crushing good-bye hugs (as well as five hundred dollars in cash) but was reluctant to leave. “This home, this place, you want me to make some calls? Ask around? Some of those places are pretty messed up. I read about them from time to time. You sure you checked it out good? Top to bottom? Thorough search?”

  “It’s a good place.”

  “What’s the name again?”

  “Ocean View.”

  He winked, then gave a half wave to Ethan, who was in the back of the van. “Got a view of the ocean, huh?”

  “Yes.”

  “Nothing closer to home? I mean, Maine, Jesus. I don’t even know where the hell it is.”

  I patted myself down, looking for my phone. “It’s a good place.”

  “It’s all so quick.”

  “It’s not that quick.” I found my phone in my back pocket, checked to see if it was juiced. “We’ve been talking about this a long time. We were out there last fall. Remember when Ethan stayed with you that weekend?”