It's. Nice. Outside. (11 page)

“Why, what's wrong? Why don't you want to talk about it?”

“Because I'm sick of talking about it.”

“Sick of talking about it? It just happened.”

“There's nothing to talk about.”

“Really? I think there's a lot to talk about.”

“There's nothing we can do about it. Besides, they'll probably kiss and make up, screw in the pool themselves.” She took a deep slug of her coffee. “I'm not sure why I'm even going anymore.”

“You have to go. Karen needs you.”

“She doesn't need me, trust me. She doesn't need anyone. You know what she said to me, she said, ‘You don't have to stay long. Just come to the service and then leave. We don't really need you there.'”

“She didn't say that.”

“Yes, she did.”

“That doesn't sound like Karen.” I shook my head. Unfortunately, that sounded
exactly
like Karen. “Well, then your mother needs you. We all need you. We need to be together.”

“Right, right. Family. Family…”

“U!… S!…” Ethan cried from the back.

Mindy and I both reflexively yelled, “A!”

Mindy opened her paper
.
“Okay, I'll go, but I don't want to spend the whole trip talking about Karen and Roger, okay? I've been hearing about this wedding for six months. It's off, so I don't need to hear about it anymore. If you want me to come along now, then that's the one condition, okay? Is that a deal?”

“She's your sister. You should show some compassion.”

“Deal?”

I was disappointed in her offer. But since we had a long drive ahead of us and since I was confident that the conversation would inevitably head back toward Karen, I agreed. “All right, fine, deal. But you need to change your attitude when it comes to your sister. She loves you.” I glanced in the mirror, checked to see if Ethan was buckled, pulled out of the parking lot, and passed by the huge ball in front of the Women's Basketball Hall of Fame.

“Hoops!”

Mindy looked up at the ball. “What the fuck?”

“Okay, now it's my turn to make a deal. Stop saying that word, okay? I don't want Ethan picking it up. That's the last thing I need, him walking around saying that. He'll say it hundred times a day. No more f-bomb. Deal?”

“I don't know what the big deal about that word is.”

“Deal?”

“Okay, fine,” she mumbled.

I merged onto the interstate, and we drove in silence. Traffic was predictably light; it was midmorning, and no one was heading east toward the mountains. I stepped on the gas, determined to make time.

“So,” I said after a while.

“So.”

“How'd you sleep?”

Mindy, head in the paper, shrugged, so I shrugged back.

“Where. Mom. Be?”

“She's with Karen,” I said. “Your poor, oldest sister, Karen.”

Mindy took another large slug of coffee, said nothing.

I made tracks, hanging in the left lane, passing anything that moved, and waited for Mindy's morphine, the coffee, to kick in. After a few minutes, and after a few more slugs, I deemed her properly medicated and made another run at conversation.

“What are you reading?”

Mindy's eyes remained on the paper. “What?”

“The paper. You're engrossed. What's so interesting?”

“Nothing. This study.”

“What study?”

“About fat people. It says that four percent of Americans are morbidly obese.”

“Oh, well, that's interesting.”

“Morbidly obese,” Mindy said. “That's a really weird description, morbidly obese. I mean, what's with the morbidly? Do we really need to distinguish between obese and morbidly obese?”

I didn't say anything.

“Do you think obese people make fun of morbidly obese people, go around saying, ‘Hey, at least I'm not
morbidly
obese.' Or do you think
morbidly
obese people walk around saying, ‘God, if I could just become obese, I could fit into those jeans!'”

I laughed a little. “Good point.”

Mindy finally looked up from her paper, and I noticed that in the very top of her left ear, she was sporting a tiny gold stud. More evidence of her growing celebrity stature. My heart sank. Earlier in the year, a prominent entertainment Web site had done a “rising star” feature on her, and she had also recently been on a late-night talk show. I had been detecting signs of a swollen head ever since. I didn't want to lose my little buddy to stardom, gossip magazines, tattoos, heavy drug use. I decided that her bright red high-tops also were a bit showy. I changed lanes and made a silent vow to somehow keep her grounded, remind her that she was the president of the math club in high school, used to have hamsters as pets.

“So this is Tennessee,” she said.

“Yep. The South.”

“Looks like the North to me.”

“It's not. People are different.”

“What, you've made a lot of friends?”

“Nice. Outside,” Ethan said.

“Very nice,” Mindy said. She returned to her paper.

“Hot. Out.”

“Not too bad,” I said.

I passed a semi with Georgia plates, hauling a load of lumber, then flicked on the radio and found a country music station, which I thought appropriate.

“Off!” Ethan yelled after he realized it wasn't Merle Haggard singing “Silent Night.”

“So, is Will Ferrell a nice guy?”

“What?”

“Will Ferrell, the actor.”

“Why are you asking about him?”

“Just trying to keep the conversation going. I've been alone a long time.”

“You've been with Ethan.”

“He's not exactly Larry King, okay?”

She folded her paper and tucked it between the armrest and her seat. “Yeah, he's okay. Has kind of a big head.”

I glanced at her. “Staying grounded must be hard when you're a big star. But's it's important.”

“No, I mean, literally. He has a big head. Like, physically. When you're working close to him, it kind of throws you off; it's like this big thing, staring down at you. But he's okay. Pretty funny.”

“Oh.” I drove another minute. “Is he married?”

Mindy didn't say anything.

I shrugged. “You two did a lot of skits together. I noticed that.”

Mindy pulled out her phone then immediately put it away.

“No service in the Deep South?”

She slid down in her seat. “I'm not gay, Dad.”

I jumped. “What?”

“Mom told me you think I'm gay.”

“I never said that.”

“Yes, you did.”

“I'm not sure what she told you.”
You can't tell that woman
anything,
I thought.

“I'm not gay. I would tell you if I were. It's not like some big deal, okay? I don't like meeting guys, the whole dating thing, that's all. I don't have time.”

“Okay … I'm not exactly sure how you can get married if you don't like meeting guys and the whole dating thing, but okay.”

“Who says I want to get married? Why would I ever want to do that? You and Mom weren't exactly a commercial for it.”

“You know, you're right; this is none of my business.”

“It's not.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

I turned the radio back on.

“Off!” Ethan yelled.

I turned it off, drove awhile, then glanced back. Ethan was studying the distant mountains with his mouth open, a sure indication that he was thinking, absorbing, pondering. I wondered what he thought of the mountains, how he was processing them. He had spent his entire life in Illinois, and had never seen anything like them before. I regretted not having time to pull over and explain them to him.

“Mountains,” I said. “Big hills.”

“I know what mountains are.”

“I'm talking to Ethan.”

A few minutes later we plunged into a short tunnel, which utterly amazed and frightened him.

“Wow! Dark! Dark! Where. Sun. Be?” He leaned forward and took hold of my shoulder.

“Yes, dark.” I reached up and patted his hand. “But we're just about out. See, all done. Sit back now. Go on. All done.”

He sat back. “All. Done!”

“So, are you and Mom going to get back together?”

My heat skipped a beat. “Sit back, Ethan. All the way! “I swallowed and took my time before answering. “What? Why would you ask that?”

“You're probing me about my love life. Why can't I probe you about yours?”

I swallowed again. “Not that I'm aware of.” I waited a moment, then, “What brought that on?”

“I don't know. You're not with what's-her-name.…”

“That's been over for a long, long time. And I was only with her.”

“And Mom isn't with anyone. She's never been with anyone, as far as I know.”

I pretended to fiddle with the air conditioner. “Did she say something?”

“No. I'm just asking. You seem to spend a lot of time together. I mean, you live one block from each other. Not many divorced people live one block from each other.”

“We actually live three blocks from each other. And it's because of Ethan. It's just easier.”

“She misses you,” Mindy said. “She talks about you a lot. Do you miss her?”

“You know, let's not talk for a while. I want to concentrate on the road. Get there.”

“Whatever you say, Daddy-o, whatever you say.” She smirked and moved her seat back some. “So, are we driving straight through or what?”

“We won't make it.”

“How far are we?”

“Normal distance or Ethan distance? Normal distance, we're only about five, six hours away. Double or maybe triple that with him, though.”

“I bet we can make it. He's quiet now.”

“We can't make it.”

“Yes, we can.”

“No, we can't.”

“You have to push him sometimes, Dad. You give in to him too much. He manipulates you. He tangles you up in knots.”

I looked over at her. “Tangled up in knots” was an old expression/accusation from the War Years.
Dad, he's tangling you up in knots! Just let him yell.

“It's been a while since you've spent quality time with your baby brother. I have a reservation in Asheville, North Carolina. I'll be happy if we make that.”

“We can make it to Charleston,” she said. “I'm here now. There's two of us. Let's just drive through and get there and get this over with. Everything's going to be okay. Isn't that right, Ethan?” She turned and slapped Ethan five. The Starbucks must have been really strong.

“Nice. Outside!” Ethan yelled, smiling.

*   *   *

Twenty-five minutes later, after Mindy sang increasingly loud and frantic renditions of “The First Noel,” “Hark: The Herald Angels Sing,” and “White Christmas”; and after Ethan tried to throw Grandpa Bear and then Red Bear and then Stinky Bear out the window; and after he yelled, “Shut. Up. Idiot,” a near-record twenty-eight straight times (note: thirty is the record); and after Ethan pinched Mindy hard; and after Mindy cried, “Fuck,” with so much pain and emotion that she made me think of Pavarotti; and after Ethan repeatedly asked Mindy, “Why. Mad? Why. Mad? Why. Mad?” while she closed her eyes and tried to ignore him; and after Mindy finally opened her eyes and pounded her seat while screaming, “I'm not fucking mad! I'm not fucking mad! I'm not fucking mad!” we pulled off at the small, hilly town of Homer's Den and went to a park.

“Why. Mad?” I asked.

Mindy shook her head as she trudged alongside me. “God, that was nuts, just nuts.”

We made our way across a deserted baseball diamond toward the equally deserted playground, taking in the town along the way. The main street, which ran hard against the base of the hills, was made up of brightly colored, one-story businesses: drugstore, diner, bakery, post office. The buildings seemed to have been carved out of the bottom of the hills. I had never been in a place like this, a small town, a village crowded by rock.

“What are you looking at? What's wrong?” Mindy asked me. Ethan started pulling on her hand.

“The town, the hills, it's strange. But it's beautiful,” I said.

Mindy had no time to respond, because Ethan had yanked her ahead. I slowly followed.

“You're not having a stroke or anything, are you?” Mindy asked.

“Why would you ask that?”

“Your face, it went, like, slack.”

“We're in an interesting place. I was absorbing it. Sponging it up.”

Mindy scanned the park, then the town. “Not much to sponge.”

“It's different.”

“You don't get out much, do you?”

“You know I don't.”

Mindy considered me through a squint. “Okay, why don't you sit down. I'll push him.”

“He can swing by himself now.”

“He can?”

“Yes, he finally learned. Only took fifteen years.”

Mindy looked at Ethan, her pixie smirk replaced by genuine pixie surprise. “Wow. Ethan, you can really swing by yourself?”

He pulled hard on her hand. “Swing!”

“You have to get him started, though,” I said. “But he can do the rest.”

“Okay, let's go then,” Mindy said.

“All right. I'll call Karen.”

I sat on a bench and watched Mindy push Ethan. One of the things I always admired about my middle child was how she acted around Ethan in public. Never embarrassed. Even when she was young, she hugged him, laughed with him, teased him. Her naturalness and, of course, her humor, were infectious, disarming, and put other people at ease around Ethan. It was one of her best attributes, maybe what I loved about her the most.

Karen, the cheerleading, sorority girl, was much more self-conscious, checking to see who was looking at us at restaurants, walking ahead or behind us in stores. Her behavior was understandable, particularly during the teen years, when everyone in your family is a source of embarrassment. Mindy never went through that phase, though. I suspected that Ethan fit her worldview: wild, unexpected. At once hilarious and tragic.