It's. Nice. Outside. (22 page)

She continued to assault the pad like a coach diagraming an intricate, last-second, inbounds play. “Stuffed animals won't help him,” she said. “He needs to be challenged.”

“Teach him new fart noises then.” I smiled in the mirror.

“You treat him like he's a child. Are you still dressing him in the morning? Are you still giving him a bath?”

I didn't say anything but kept up with the smile.

“Dad, you need to stretch him.”

“That's a little easier said than done, sweetie. Play with the Etch A Sketch. He likes that.”

“That's not going to help him. You have to teach him new things, help him be more independent. You've given up on him.”

“I haven't given up on him. I teach him things.”

“Like what? What's the last thing you tried to teach him?”

“Well, let's see. Oh, just last week, I taught him how to play the French horn. He picked it right up.”

“I. Starving.”

“You're not hungry,” Karen said. “You just ate a big breakfast. Now, come on. Let's do some reading. What am I pointing at?”

Karen's prodding inevitably activated Question Mode.

“Where. Mindy. Be?”

“She's in the other van.”

“Where. Mom. Be?”

“She's with Mindy.”

“Where. Sal. Be?”

“I don't know where Uncle Sal be. Here, see what I wrote? That's the word
pickle
. You like pickles.”

“Where. Sally. Be?”

“She's with Sal.”

“Where. Mom. Be?”

“I just told you.”

This kept on until Karen broke down and gave him a can of Sprite.

“Going to the Sprite pretty early in the game,” I said.

“Just drive.”

The Sprite bought her all of four minutes. As soon as Ethan finished, I knew what was coming.

“Pee-pee.”

“You don't have to go,” she said.

“Pee-pee. Now!”

“Ethan, we've only been driving for fifteen minutes. Here, now let's do the alphabet. I'm going to write a letter, then you're going to circle it. I'm going to use capital letters, since they're easier to recognize.”

“Pee-pee now! Now! Now!”

“You don't have to go!”

“Yes. Pee-pee. Pee-pee.
Bad!
”

“Dad, does he really have to go?”

“You just gave him a can of pop. What do you think?”

“It can't run through his system that fast.”

I put on my blinker. We were coming upon an exit. “He has a very unique system.”

*   *   *

We stopped at one of those sprawling mega truck stops that offered all of life's basics: food, clothing, showers, books, booze, massages, and, much to Mindy's enormous delight, guns.

“Now. We. Are. Talking,” she said.

In the men's room, Ethan relieved himself of the Sprite, urinating a solid, gushing stream that could have put out a forest fire.

“A lot of pee-pee,” I said softly.

After he was done and after he made a careful inspection of all the open stalls (“Wow! Stinky!”), we wound our way back through the eighteen-wheelers' metropolis, passing by a large magazine rack that ran half the length of an aisle.

“Hold on a second.”

I perused the paperbacks, picked up a trashy romance novel for Mary,
Betrayed Love
, thought about it, and selected another,
Forever Love
.

On the way to the checkout line, we passed the gun department, where I spotted Mindy leaning over the glass counter. She was sporting a new oversize Bud Light cap and talking to a bald, pinched-faced older man.

I took in the crowded truck stop; the bald man; the guns; my condescending, professionally provoking daughter, and concluded that this was a volatile and potentially violent mix. I cautiously approached.

“Tell me why the Glock is so great again,” I heard her say.

“Squeeze off more rounds with it.”

“Squeeze off more rounds,” Mindy said, nodding. “Great, I'm going to be doing
a lot
of shooting.”

I tapped her on the shoulder. “Ready to go?”

She ignored me, her eyes glued to the guns under the glass. “Do you have anything else. Any Uzis? I heard they're pretty good.”

The man assessed her with small, watery eyes. “No, but I got an AK-47. Got it out back.”

“An AK? Perfect. I lost mine.”

The man squinted at her.

“Yeah, left it on the bus. Really stupid.”

I took Ethan's hand and scurried away.

After paying for the book and a couple of Hershey bars, we made our way outside and headed toward the rental van. I wanted to make a grand presentation of
Forever
Love
to Mary, who was sitting up front, checking her phone.

When I held up the book, she lowered her window and smiled the cute little sweet-sweetie I'm-embarrassed smile that made me fall in love with her when I first saw her across a hot classroom in Lincoln Hall at U of I close to a lifetime ago. It had been a while since I had seen that smile. “What's that?” she said.

I held the book up so she could take in the cover in all of its glory: a young, shirtless man kneeling on the ground, gazing up at a young woman who looked queen-like in a flowing white gown. Both the man and woman's hair was swept back to reveal beautifully stoic faces. Behind them, a moon was rising over a restless sea.

“Tolstoy's last book,” I said.

She took the book, then slyly snatched one of the Hershey bars out of my hand.

“Enjoy,” I said. “And let me know how that book ends. It sounds very pro-love.”

When we reached our van, I was not really surprised to find Karen sitting in the driver's seat.

“What do you think you're doing?”

“I thought I'd drive for a while. Give you a break.”

“We've only been driving for twenty minutes.”

“I drive faster than you. Where's Mindy?”

“She's buying a machine gun. Come on, I'll drive.”

“No, I think we should revise our seating strategy.”

“Our seating strategy. Revise it.”

“Yes.” She stared straight ahead, both hands on the wheel. “I think we can accomplish more with this configuration. Be more productive.”

“But I thought you may want to teach Ethan Latin. You know, stretch him. He's expressed an interest.”

Karen started up the van.

“Fine,” I said, sliding open the side door. “I can confirm our reservations for Fredericksburg from back here.”

*   *   *

Back on the road, I launched into a classic episode of
The Stinky Bear Show
, featuring scenes from famous movies. Offering exaggerated accents, acts of simulated violence, and extravagant body functions, it was one of Ethan's favorite routines.

“Fredo! I know it was you. You broke my heart!” I said as Grandpa kissed Stinky roughly on the lips. “You broke my heart!”

Stinky Bear then farted loudly.

“That's from
Godfather: Part Two
, minus the fart,” I explained to Ethan in my John Nichols voice. “Heartbreaking scene. Fredo wasn't a bad guy. Just stupid.”

“More!” Ethan cried. He pounded the seat with delight.

“Ooookay! More it is!”

My next scene featured Stinky Bear doing sit-ups while Grandpa Bear angrily looked on.

“Now, why would a slick little hustler like you sign up for something like this?” Grandpa demanded.

“Wanna fly jets, sir!” Stinky shot back.

“My grandmother wants to fly jets! Now I want your DOR!” Grandpa Bear yelled. “I want your DOR!”

“I ain't quitting!” Stinky Bear yelled as I furiously bent him backward and forward at the waist.

“Give me your DOR! Spell it. D-O-R!”

“No, sir!” More sit-ups from Stinky Bear.

“That's it, then. You're out!”

Stinky stopped with the sit-ups. “You can't do that! You can't do that!” he yelled.

“Why not?!”

“Because I got nowhere else to go!” Stinky cried. “I … got … no … where … else … to … go!”

Grandpa Bear then farted.

“Officer and a Gentlemen
,
”
I said to Ethan. “Lou Gossett Jr. is a sergeant trying to get Richard Gere, a recruit, to drop out of the air force officer's school. Great scene, great line. And just so you know, in the actual movie, Lou Gossett Jr. did not fart. Or, if he did, it was a silent one.”

“More!”

“Sure. Sure. I have all day. Nothing but time, nothing but sweet, sweet time.” I began to pummel Grandpa's face with Stinky's furry little paws while loudly humming the theme from
Rocky
.

“Dad, can you knock it off? I'm getting a headache.”

I stopped with the pummeling. “Sure. But can I drive?”

Karen was quiet.

“I said, can I drive?”

More silence.

I leaned forward and raised Stinky close to her ear. “Yo! Adrian!”

*   *   *

“They don't serve booze at the Cracker Barrel,” I informed Karen. “Sorry, but no wine.”

Her worst fears confirmed, Karen slapped her menu down on the table and disappeared in the direction of the equally alcohol-free Old Country Store.

“What's with her?” Mindy asked.

“What do you think?” I pushed my menu aside. I had no appetite for anything but alcohol and aspirin.

We were sitting in a booth by a window just off another exit, still buzzing from the road. That day's ride had been particularly brutal, a death march of Bataan proportions. We stopped an agonizing six times, the last at a desolate water-filtration plant somewhere in northern Virginia, where I'd attempted to play catch with Ethan/Tonto in an empty parking lot. It was hot out and, much to Ethan/Tonto's intense delight, the parking lot was asphalt, always an intriguing surface to explore since it heated up so well. It took us a full hour to coax Ethan/Tonto back into the van.

I drained my water, tried to gather myself. Everyone was exhausted and on edge.

“What a nightmare,” Mary said.

“It wasn't so bad. We got through it,” I said.

“That fucking Tonto thing.”

“It comes and goes,” I said.

“It really came today,” Mary said. “It really came today.”

I looked around the half-empty restaurant, searching for poor Karen, then made the mistake of saying, “Poor Karen,” out loud.

Mindy glared at me. “Poor Karen.”

“Come on. Try to remember what she's going through, okay? She was supposed to be getting married. Instead, she's eating here. How would you feel?”

Mindy gave an especially slow shrug. (Note: as you may have discerned by now, the Nichols women are frequent shruggers. They're also very good at it, world-class. They raise their shoulders deliberately, holding them up high and tight for an exaggerated second, before carefully lowering them back to standard, Greenwich Mean position. It's an effective and sometimes dramatic way of conveying a “not in my job description,” “I don't know,” or, in Mindy's case, “I don't give a fuck” sentiment. I was never sure of its origins, but over time the gesture had become an ingrained part of our family's culture, a primary form of communications. Even Ethan did it occasionally.)

“She's never been able to spend any time with Ethan,” Mindy said.

“That's not true,” I said.

“It is so true. I always babysat him. She never did.”

“Well, she was always on a date or at a party or something. You never left home.” That last part kind of slipped out.

Mindy's pale pixie face turned evil, her lips curling upward. “And what's that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Where the hell is our waitress—”

“What did you mean by that?”

“I. Starving.”

“He didn't mean anything. Let's eat and find a hotel,” Mary said.

“I went out. I had friends.”

“I know you did.” Then, since the hole I was digging apparently wasn't quite deep enough, I said, “You and Karen emphasized different things, that's all.”

“What does that mean? Different things?”

“Just drop it,” Mary said.

“Well, she liked athletics, for example, and you loved animals.”

“Okay, here come the hamster jokes again.”

“I never said anything about the hamsters. You know, we're all tired right now.…”

“You never let me have a dog. All I got were the stupid hamsters.”

“We couldn't have a dog because of Ethan, you know that. That would have been a bad combination. And those hamsters were great, they were great. I mean that. I miss them. Lassie, Benji, Lassie-Who-Won't-Die. That one lived forever, remember that one? It just wouldn't die.” I looked hopefully across the table at Ethan. “Do you have to go to the bathroom?”

“No.” He had gotten ahold of Mary's phone and was punching numbers.

“Are you sure? I can take you. You had a lot of water at the water plant.”

“No.”

“You sure?”

“Shut. Up. Idiot.”

“I wish this fucking place served booze,” Mindy said. “Why are we here?”

“Watch the language. And there's nothing wrong with Cracker Barrel,” I said. “Their food is actually pretty good. And he likes to browse the store; they have a lot of knickknacks.”

“You mean they have a lot bullshit. This whole restaurant is built on bullshit. They should call it the Bullshit Barrel.”

“Hey, watch the language,” I said again. “We don't need him picking up on any new words.”

“I just want a glass of wine. Today was nuts.”

“I think you could use a break from the booze,” I said.

“Okay, Dean Martin.”

“Where. Karen. Be?”

“Good question. Where is she?” I asked.