It's. Nice. Outside.

by Jim Kokoris

  Mary’s face wrinkled up. “What is that smell?”

  “Girls who threw up last night. Girls who drank too much tequila.”

  “Stinky!”

  “Oh God.” Mary cupped hand over her nose. “How did you stay in this room?”

  “I think they need to sleep awhile,” I said.

  “How long?”

  “Labor Day.”

  Mary shook her head, reached for Ethan. “Let’s go, buddy. You want to go swimming?”

  Ethan jumped up and down. “Swimming!”

  “All right,” I said, even though swimming was absolutely the last thing I wanted to do at that hour. “Let me get my suit. I’ll meet you down there.”

  “You stay here. I’ll take him.”

  “Dad. Come! Swimming!”

  “Come on, Ethan,” Mary said. “I’ll take you. Let’s give your old daddy-o a break. I think he had a rough night.”

  I gave Mary an appreciative look. “Thank you. I’ll take him after that. Maybe play hoops somewhere. Find a park.”

  “Hoops! Now!”

  “No. Swimming now. And hold on to the sides,” I said.

  “Let’s go, buddy,” Mary said. She gave Mindy and Karen one last look. “Our sweet girls,” she said.

  “Yes, sir, we did something right.”

  * * *

  Of all the cities and towns we had been through, Wilmington, Delaware, was probably the place I had the least desire to explore because, in all honesty, I had never heard of it. In its defense, it did seem like a nice, solid mini-city, just orderly and clean enough to make it unremarkable. For all I knew, it might have had a deep and rich history. George Washington might have slept there, possibly Lincoln too. It might have had a vibrant arts community, or a thriving underground music scene, but I never made an effort to find out. All I really learned about Wilmington, Delaware, was that it had a pretty good outdoor basketball court.

  After his swim with Mary, Ethan and I found a quiet, shady park at the end of a dead-end street. It had a small court with real cloth nets, not the chain nets many parks had, and this was a plus. Sometimes the rattling sound of the chains upset Ethan; the cloth nets were soft and silent.

  I took a few shots, then sat on a nearby bench and encouraged Ethan. He was particularly deadly that morning. He immediately hit five in a row, pushing the ball two-handed from his chest, jumping a bit as he released. I was amazed, as always. He was as good as me, as good as anyone.

  As he shot away, I wondered, not for the first time, if things had been different, if his chromosomes were normal, what kind of player he could have been. Would he have made the basketball team, would he have played? Started? Would he have been a point guard, or the shooting guard that I was? Would I have been one of those ex-jock fathers who lived vicariously through him? When you have a child like Ethan, you have to contend with a fair amount of “what if” moments, and though they diminish over the years, they could and would still ambush you at odd times and at odd places. Like a park in Wilmington, Delaware.

  “Nice shot!”

  “More!”

  “Okay, shoot more. Take your hat off—you’ll shoot better. Your hat, take it off.”

  I sat back, squinted up at the sky, relaxed. This was a good morning: the girls were burying the hatchet, I was inching closer to Mary, and Ethan was in a fine mood. What was more, he hadn’t uttered the name Rita in close to twenty-four hours. Based on experience, I knew the word had not stuck. The danger had passed.

  Eventually, Ethan walked over and buried his head in my lap.

  “What’s going on? You tired? Need a break? Halftime?”

  “Play,” he said softly. He was being shy and tentative because I often turned this particular request down. I knew what he wanted to do.

  “Play what?”

  “Play.”

  “What game do you want to play? Chess?”

  “No!”

  “Um, Monopoly? That’s always fun.”

  “No!”

  “Oh, I know, poker! That’s it. I bet Sal taught you.”

  “No!”

  “Then what game, dude-man, what game? You have me wondering here.”

  “Illini,” he said, his voice muffled.

  “What?”

  “Illini.”

  “Oh. Wow, never would have guessed that. Never. You want me to play Illini?”

  He sat up, eyes gleaming. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

  “Illini, huh?” I surveyed the park: the court was still empty, and while there was a cluster of children and parents by the swings, they were a good distance away. I stood. “Sure, why not? We haven’t played that in a long time. Okay, Illini!”

  “Dee!”

  “Right, you be Dee. Okay.”

  From time to time, at Ethan’s request, we would reenact the final minutes of the famous Illinois–Arizona game. I, of course, took on the heroic role of Deron Williams, and he of star guard Dee Brown. It was a ritual that required energy and enthusiasm. Fortunately, I had enough of both in the tank that morning.

  Back on the court, I stretched, touching my toes a few times, before launching into the well-worn narrative.

  “Wow, a close game throughout. Arizona has exploded into a fifteen-point lead. Once again the first double-digit deficit the number-one team Illinois has faced all season! This crowd is stunned.”

  “Shoot!”

  “Okay.” I officially commenced the comeback by hoisting a shot from the top of the key that was nothing but net. “Deron Williams gets three of those fifteen points back! This game is far from over!”

  Ethan retrieved the ball and bounced it back to me. I dribbled off to the left of the basket and continued the long-since-memorized play-by-play. “Brown feeds Williams. Williams for three. Got it! Deron Williams with the biggest three of his life!”

  “Face!”

  “Look at his face! The look of determination!”

  “Back!”

  “He’s putting the Illini on his back right now!”

  Ethan gleefully jumped up and down and yelled, “Go, Illini!” then bounced another pass my way. This time I dribbled to the free-throw line, faked my invisible defender, and took another shot. This too went in. Like Deron had been years before, I was on fire. “Right between the—!”

  “Eyes!” Ethan screeched with joy.

  We kept this up for a good fifteen minutes under a hazy sun, Ethan feeding me passes while I provided the running commentary, which climaxed with, “The Illini are going to the Final Four! The Illini are going to the Final Four!” Afterward we went to a McDonald’s for Sprites, where we sat happily in a booth celebrating the amazing victory.

  “Wow!”

  “Wow is right. That game was wow!” I said, squeezing his hand. “I remember Sal hugging the crap out of me after that. He hugged me so hard, he hurt my back. I was in pain for a week.”

  “Sal!”

  “Yeah, Sal. One of the world’s all-time huggers. He actually practices hugging.”

  “Me!”

  “You what?

  “Me!” Ethan stood up and extended his arms.

  It took me a moment to realize what he wanted. This was new. “What? Oh, sure, sure.” I stood and, in the middle of the crowded McDonald’s, we hugged hard.

  “Done!”

  “No, not yet,” I said, burying my face in his hair.

  “Done!”

  “No, not yet.” I said.

  * * *

  When we returned to the hotel, we found the girls slouching in oversize chairs in the lobby. With their large round sunglasses and chalky faces, they looked like strung-out rock stars waiting for their limo. Neither one said anything as we approached.

  “Well, well, well, if it isn’t Thelma and Louise,” I said.

  They remained silent, staring straight ahead, heads not moving.

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” I said. “We just had brunch with Manny. He sends his regards. ‘Hola, muchachas bonitas’ were his exact words. I hope you don’t m
ind, but I gave him your home addresses. He’s goes to New York a lot on business, he said.”

  More silent staring.

  “You guys come straight from the health club? Get a good workout in? You seem tired. Hey, where’s your mother? Did she work out with you?”

  “I’m over here.” I turned just as Mary walked up, bags in tow. She was still wearing that cheerful little dress and had, I noticed, a slight spring to her step, a perky spark in her eyes. I found this interesting, if not encouraging. There was no Valium in that woman’s system, at least not this morning. “Ready to hit the road?” she asked.

  “Hope so. Our teenagers’ binge threw us off schedule though, so we’re going to have to make tracks, limit our throw-up breaks. Do either of you have airsick bags? Might save some time.”

  “We’re right here, Dad,” Mindy said. “You don’t have to yell.”

  “I’m hardly yelling.” I, of course, was talking very loudly, enjoying the pain and torment each decibel inflicted. “And remember, we’re in one van now, so get ready for a commercial-free Stinky Bear marathon. And let’s not forget the new Red Bear reality show, Hard of Hearing! Everyone talks really loud in it.”

  “Oh, fuck,” Mindy said.

  “Hey, watch the words, please,” Mary said, motioning to Ethan.

  “I just remembered, I think I left Red Bear at the bar last night.”

  “What?” I stopped with the mocking. “What are you talking about? You think you left Red Bear at that bar? What bar, that tequila place? That place?”

  “Yeah. I’m pretty sure I left her in the bathroom, I think. Or somewhere.”

  “You think?”

  “You were dancing with her on the bar,” Karen said.

  “I was?”

  “You were?”

  “Yeah, then you threw her to that guy. Remember? That guy who bet you wouldn’t take your shirt off?”

  “I did?”

  “You did?”

  The cavalier way they were discussing the abuse and abandonment of Red Bear outraged me. “What is wrong with you? Why did you even bring her there?”

  Mindy shrugged. “She wanted to come.”

  “She’s not your bear. You had no right to do that.” I eyed Ethan, not sure how much of this he was taking in, worried how he may react. He was picking his nails, unconcerned; he’d never thought all that much of Red Bear.

  “We have to get her.” I checked my watch. “It’s eleven thirty. The place is probably open now.”

  “John, it’s just a bear,” Mary said. “You just said we’re running behind. We’ll buy another one.”

  “Another one? What are you talking about, another one? We can’t leave Red Bear. That’s Ethan’s bear. He’ll be asking for it. He needs his bear. That bear is important. What kind of people do that, leave bears?”

  I felt everyone’s eyes on me, but I remained steadfast. I admit, my attachment to the bears was probably fodder for a therapist, but I didn’t care. For years they had been an important part of our lives, had helped me through some long days, and we weren’t about to leave any one of them, even Red Bear, the Ringo Starr of the group. “Go over there and get him. Her.”

  “You’re kidding,” Karen said.

  “‘No Bear Left Behind,’ that’s our policy,” I said. “I mean it. Those bears are … are family.”

  “Family?” Karen repeated.

  “Just, go, go!”

  Both girls emitted sighs and heaved themselves up and out of the big chairs.

  “Take Ethan with you.”

  “What?” Karen said.

  “Take him with you. He’ll keep an eye on you.”

  Mindy groaned. “I cannot believe this. Come on, dude-man.”

  Ethan looked up from his nails, confused and alarmed. “Where. Going? What. Doing?”

  “We’re Saving Private Red Bear,” Mindy said. “Come on.”

  I watched them leave, Ethan walking between his sisters, holding their hands. The girls took baby steps, their feet barely leaving the ground, shuffling more than walking. I heard Ethan ask, “Why. Mad?”

  “They’re acting like they’re fifteen,” I said.

  “They’re just blowing off some steam together,” Mary said. “Hey, I’m going to get some coffee. Why don’t you get your things and meet me at the restaurant.”

  “Coffee?” I turned around and that was when I saw Mary’s smile, big and sweet. Exactly why she was smiling, I wasn’t sure. It may have been the bears; for years, I suspected, she secretly got a kick out of my devotion to them. It may have been the girls; she too was glad they were reconnecting. Or maybe, just maybe, she finally realized she was as in love with me as I was with her. (Note: that last one might have been a stretch.) Regardless, if she was happy, then I was happy. “Coffee? Absolutely. Yeah, just give me a few minutes,” I said, and hurried off.

  * * *

  Just when you think you’re getting somewhere, life intrudes. I was pretty sure someone had written that line somewhere, and it came flying back at me when my phone buzzed a few minutes later. I was in my room, quickly packing and riding the wave of Mary’s smile, and once again answered without first checking who it was.

  “I need to see you,” Rita said, her voice husky, urgent.

  I froze, caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, an ex-philanderer-in-the-headlights, and said, “Oh. Hi.”

  “I need to talk to you. I need to see you.”

  “This isn’t a good time.”

  “Don’t say that to me.”

  “Rita, I’m in Delaware with the family. I can’t talk. Everyone is here. I told you that. Maybe we can talk when I get back, though, truthfully, I’m not sure why.” She didn’t say anything. “Is there something wrong? Is there a problem?” I asked.

  “Chase died.”

  “Chase?”

  “Chase. From the club. He died two weeks ago.”

  “I’m sorry. Chase?”

  “You know, Chase. Chase Hart.”

  “Oh, right. The tennis player. Him.” Chase was the quintessential aging archconservative, someone I avoided, particularly in the locker room, where he was known to launch into unprovoked political tirades while naked, his testicles dangling frighteningly low. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “It’s so sad. Heart attack. They couldn’t revive him.”

  “Did you know him well?”

  “Very well. We had become very close. Very close.”

  I glanced at the clock, reluctantly sat on the bed. Mary, smiling, happy Mary, was waiting for me, and I was discussing the demise of Chase Hart, a man whose balls used to upset me. “How old was he?”

  “Sixty-seven. Just gone like that, just gone.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. How are you holding up?”

  “I don’t think I can go on. I really don’t.”

  I looked down, focusing on the carpet. “Well, it’s sad.”

  “I miss you.”

  I wasn’t exactly sure of the exact connection here, how Chase Hart’s dying resulted in her missing me, so I said, “I don’t think you miss me.”

  “How do you know what I feel, how I feel?”

  “Rita, have you been drinking?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s not even lunchtime.”

  “I’m not drinking now.”

  “Oh.”

  “But I will be. Soon.”

  “I have to go.”

  “I need you. I need to talk to someone. I’m very alone right now. I hate being alone. I hate it. When are you coming back?”

  “You’re not alone. You have lots of friends, you have family. Your cats.”

  “I’ll come out to meet you. Tell me where you are. I can leave today.”

  The image of Rita bursting into a Cracker Barrel made my heart seize. “That’s not going to work. It’s not. And you know, you really shouldn’t call me anymore. We’ve been done for two years now. It’s over between us. You know that.”

  “I don’t want to die alone.�
��

  “Rita, just stop it. Stop it, come on. No one’s dying.”

  “Chase died.”

  “Well … right … okay … but you’re not.”

  “I need to see you. Why is that such a big thing? Why can’t you do that for me?”

  I took a breath. “Because I’m getting back together with Mary.”

  Silence. Then, “You are?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you back together now?”

  “Not officially, no. But I will be. We will be. Very soon. That’s what I want, and I think that’s what she wants.”

  “John, you said that two years ago. If you were going to get back together, you would have been back together by now. She doesn’t want you back. She doesn’t. It’s time you face reality. She doesn’t want you.”

  I had had enough. “Listen, I’m sorry about Chase, I really am, but I have to go now. Good-bye. Good-bye.”

  “Don’t say good-bye to me!” She actually yelled this, but I hung up anyway.

  * * *

  I resumed my packing but went about it now much more slowly, a sense of foreboding settling in. The call, Rita’s desperate and insistent tone, her sadness, everything, rattled me. (Note: adding to my concern was the fact that I had watched the movie Fatal Attraction not two weeks before, and worried a boiled rabbit, or more likely, a boiled Stinky Bear, was in my future.) I considered calling her back with hopes of calming her, maybe promise a visit when I returned, but decided against it. Such a response would just encourage her, and Rita was not someone you encouraged any more than necessary.

  My ex-mistress was persistent, had no quit in her. She worked out every day for exactly ninety minutes, rain or shine. Elliptical, treadmill, StairMaster, then maybe some tennis; she pushed herself with a vengeance like few women her age. She also had a temper. Once, when I had been detained at school and failed to show up for one of our afternoon sessions, she called and gave me a bloody earful. Another time I saw her fling a tennis ball at a competitor after a disputed line call. The throw had been the talk of the locker room.

  My involvement with such a volatile woman was stupid on all levels, her sudden reemergence in my life more than a little worrisome. I feared I had not heard the last from her.

  * * *

  By the time I returned to the lobby, everyone, including Red Bear, was waiting impatiently.