by Jim Kokoris
“Fine! Do whatever you want!” I slammed the phone down and took deep breaths.
* * *
Sal picked a lobster place on the water that Mary and I had been to the year before. Though I remember the food being good, I had no appetite. I alternated between looking out at the darkening ocean and staring at Ethan, who was innocently spooning lobster bisque. The girls, though subdued, seemed strangely relaxed, chatting away about a reality TV show. No one was talking about Ocean View, a fact that confused and irked me. Didn’t they know what was happening the day after tomorrow? Didn’t they know?
Throughout the evening I had repeatedly asked about their impressions of the home and received only brief but positive responses. Whenever I pressed the issue, the subject was changed. I tried once more to engage them.
“So, you all liked it? Ocean View?”
“Well, I’ve been there before,” Mary said.
“Yeah, we told you, we thought it was nice,” Karen said.
“Yeah,” Mindy said. “Real nice.”
“So, that’s it?”
“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.”
“Where is he?” I started to push past them, but Sal grabbed me by the wrists. “Just relax, John.”
“He’s staying, Dad, at least for now,” Karen said. “It’s for the best. We’ll get him registered, then we’ll be back. We know you don’t want to leave him, we know you can’t. So we’ll handle it. You’ll see him again this afternoon. Everything is going to be fine.”
Mindy started to cry, and Karen took her hand and continued. “We saw the home yesterday, and you’re right, it’s a nice place, it’s a beautiful place. They have the gym and the pool, and the attendants seem nice. And the café has lots of pickles. And they have those special bikes he can ride, those big bikes.” She stopped and looked away. “He’ll be happy there, we think.”
“When they get back, I’m going to rent a boat,” Sal said. “He’ll love it. I’m gonna bring some food on board. A little wine. We’ll have dinner on the boat. I got those cigars.”
“What are you talking about? Food, boat!” I pried myself away from Sal. “He’s not staying, I was wrong. He can’t stay. Mary? Mary? Say something! I was wrong. I’ve been thinking about this. I was wrong. This place is too far away. It’s crazy. I don’t know what I was thinking. He can’t stay here, he can’t. It’s ridiculous. It’s so far!”
Mary couldn’t meet my eyes. She looked down, and then she, too, was crying. Karen took her hand too. “Dad,” she said. “This whole trip, we saw how hard it is. We barely made it here. Let’s stick to the plan.”
“We can’t leave him! We can’t! I’m just going to take him out again.”
“Daddy,” Karen said. “Please. Just stay here. Please. Please.” They all turned and walked away.
I tried to follow, but Sal grabbed me by both wrists, this time much harder. “They don’t want you to make a scene up there, John. You got to take it easy on this. You’ll get Ethan all excited. We’ll take a walk, get some coffee. It’s going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay. But you gotta do what I say now. Do what I say, and don’t make this hard, because I ain’t le
tting go. I ain’t letting go.”
* * *
Sal took me to a coffee shop in downtown Camden, and pushed me down and into my seat. I was still in shock.
“So.” Sal rested his huge bear arms on the table. “How you doing there?”
I glanced out the window. It was sunny out. Nice outside.
Sal raised his cup, tiny, toylike in his bear hands. “It’s not like you haven’t left him before, John,” he said “Those two weeks at that camp up in Wisconsin. That special-needs place. He loved that place. You told me yourself, he didn’t want to come back. This place is just like that camp, but a lot nicer. I went up there before you got here. Ate lunch in the dining room. They let me eat there. Got good food, an indoor pool. They come into town every day. Shop, eat. They integrate with the community pretty well. The nuns, they told me that. Some of them even have jobs.” He took a sip of his coffee.
“Ethan is never going to have a job.”
“So? That’s some big tragedy? Who wants a fucking job?” He smiled, drank more of his coffee. “Mary said you gonna take a trip or something. Drive around the country, maybe head out West. You ever been to Vegas? I can put you up there. The Mirage. I’m comped there. One of my clients. Won’t cost you nothing but room tax. Place is okay, ain’t the Wynn, but it’s okay. Nothing wrong with the Mirage.”
“I’m not going there.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.” I looked out the window again. The streets were crowded with people in shorts and wide-brimmed hats. A day in Camden, Maine, a day in paradise for them. I closed my eyes. I hated this town.
“I’m not leaving him,” I said.
“Hey, you’ll visit.”
“I should be up there now.”
“You don’t need to be nowhere right now except sitting in that chair. Let the girls handle it. You done enough. You got everyone this far. Let someone else do some lifting. Besides, you want to break down up there, get everyone upset? Ethan? You’re in no condition.”
“When did you all plan this?”
“Plan what?”
“This. Everything. My not going up there.”
“Oh.” He scooted his chair closer to the table. “Well, we’ve been formulating it for a while, discussing it. Calling one another, putting the, you know, the strategy together. Mary said the trip changed her mind. She knew you could never go through with it though. The girls were starting to come around, and then they saw the place and loved it, so we made the final decision yesterday, decided to give it a shot. It all fell together, the pieces fell together like clockwork. We weren’t supposed to talk about it at dinner last night. See, that was another part of the strategy. Karen’s idea. They didn’t want to upset you, one of your last nights and all. They wanted it to be, you know, all pleasant. A family dinner. The girls, they’re concerned about you, the drinking. They worry about you. They love you. They’re good girls. They love you. That’s got to be nice, huh? Having daughters who love you. Wish they were my daughters.”
“I thought you were here to talk me out of it.”
“Yeah, well, surprise.” He smiled and finished his cup. “Coffee’s good.”
I closed my eyes, wondering what Ethan was seeing, what he was feeling. What did he think of the pool? His room? The gym? Did he shoot his first basket? Did he know that this was where he might spend the rest of his life? Did he know we were going to leave him?
I opened my eyes, stood. “I should be up there now. I’ll be all right.”
“Sit.”
“Sal.”
He pointed at my chair. “You can go tomorrow. Now, sit down now. I promised the girls. Don’t make me get dramatic here. We got enough drama going on today.”
I slowly sat back down.
“They’re just registering him. Paperwork, a physical, and another tour of the place. Let the girls handle it; it’s their turn.” He pushed my cup toward me. “Drink. Relax. Afterward we’ll go walk around, take in the town, get lunch somewhere. This is a real tourist area. Really nice. We got to explore Camden. They say it’s where the mountains meet the sea.”
“I’m not exploring Camden.”
“You gotta lighten up.”
“You think this is easy, sitting here? He’s my son.”
Sal’s face softened at that. He leaned forward with hunched shoulders. “Hey, I know it’s tough. I’ve seen that kid grow up. Been there most of the way. All your kids, the girls. They’re like my kids, like it or not. I know there’s been times when you haven’t liked it. Hell, I know there’s times you haven’t liked me, but you let me be around, and I appreciate it. That was good of you. And with Sally’s health, you, the girls, Ethan, you may be all I got one day.”
He stopped and picked up his cup but put it right back down. When he spoke again, his voice was slower and softer, like he was sharing a secret. “Now, you know, I ain’t Mr. Perfect, no one ever going to call me a saint. But I done some good things. Especially some of the stuff I did with Ethan. I’m good around him. Ball games, the parks. Taking him for hot dogs. Took him to the Bears game that time.” He pointed at me and smiled. “And you told me not to do it, remember that, you made a big stink, but he was fine. The whole time, didn’t make a peep, not a sound, four hours, overtime, taking it all in, big eyes. You drove me nuts, every minute calling, asking how he was doing. We had a great time. Beat Philly. I tell you, I cleaned up that game. Twenty Gs. That spread was all messed up.” He paused, shook his head. “I gotta tell you, he makes me do something good, that’s all I’m saying. A bad guy doing something good. Plus, I mean, I love him, maybe not as much as you, but I love him. I’m his uncle. He’s my nephew, only got one.”
I looked Sal in the eyes, my brother-in-law of more than thirty years, a man I took pains to avoid, who at times, I could barely tolerate. Now this. “You’re not a bad guy,” I managed to say. “Ethan loves you. You’re not a bad guy, Sal.”
My comment must have caught him off guard. He glanced away, embarrassed, then smiled. “Hey, now, don’t go telling no one that. I got a reputation to keep.” He patted my hand once, then went to get more coffee.
* * *
There are times when you have to rely on other people, sit back and let them help you, be quiet, be appreciative, and stay out of their way. The day we registered Ethan at Ocean View was one of those days, a day that my family came forward, picked me up. I felt helpless, ashamed, but I knew they were right. I didn’t want to go up there and wasn’t sure I could do it the next day.
I spent the rest of the morning and a good part of the afternoon with Sal, walking the streets of Camden in a daze, trying to think things through. We had lunch somewhere and then ended up on a bench that overlooked the harbor.
“Mind if I smoke?” Sal asked.
“It’s fine.”
Sal lit up. “How you doing over there?”
“I’m okay.”
He shielded his eyes with his hand, scanned the water far below. “They must be Red Sox fans up here. And Patriot fans, since they got no other teams. Must be strange rooting for teams so far away.”
I nodded, said nothing. Sal blew smoke.
“Place like this, makes you think, though,” he said. “Clears your mind. You think about your life, everything. Mistakes you made. Bad shit you’ve done. I’ve done some things, nothing major, but things nonetheless.”
“We’ve all done things,” I mumbled.
“What?”
“We all have regrets.”
“Oh yeah? What’d you have to regret? What, you stooped that woman? That don’t make you a bad person, don’t make you evil or nothing. I told Mary, that was a mistake. She should have given you a pass on that. I told her that. You get one pass on that issue, I think. Men are men.”
“You never did that.”
“Jesus, Sally, she’d cut my balls off.”
I leaned forward and rested my elbows on my knees. “I’ve done other things.”
He chuckled.
“You? The professor? Yeah, like what? Cheat on your taxes?”
“I could have looked harder for a place closer to home. Maybe they were right; maybe I was trying to find a place as far away as possible. I didn’t think it at the time, but that’s maybe what I was doing. I was doing this for myself.”
“So, that’s all you got? That’s your big crime? Finding a place that cost, what, a hundred grand for your son? Best place in the country. That’s all you got?”
“I’ve done other things.”
“Yeah?”
I continued to look straight ahead, down at the water. “When he was about eight, he almost died.”
“Who? Ethan?”
“Yes.”
“Yeah, I remember that. He had that thing. That attack, that thing.”
“Seizure.”
“Yeah. We were all worried.”
“I remember waiting in the hospital, wondering if he was going to live. And for a second, a second…” I couldn’t finish that sentence.
“And for a second, you thought it might be best if he just went, end all the suffering,” Sal said.
I opened my eyes, looked at him.
“You were thinking it would maybe easier for him, maybe for everyone.”
“Yes.” I choked back sudden tears. “How did you know that?”
“Because that’s maybe what I would have thought.”
“What kind of father thinks that? What kind of man thinks that?”
“You thought that, you didn’t wish that. Big difference.” Sal squinted out over the harbor, dropped his cigar, stepped on it. “You know,” he said. “You gotta take it easy on yourself. You did everything you could, John, everything you could.”
“I should have done more.”
“Here.” He put his arm around me, and I buried my head in his shoulder, wept like a boy. “Come on. Get ahold of yourself. No one’s dying here. Sun’s out. We’re in fucking Maine. We’re going on boat tonight. I’m bringing lobster on board. Nine-hundred-bucks’ worth. Cleaned the ocean out; they got nothing left down there.”
I sat back up, sniffled. “I’m not leaving him.”
“John.”
“No. I’m not.”