It's. Nice. Outside. (29 page)

“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.

“That was quick,” I said to the girls.

“Not like we had to post bond or anything,” Mindy said, flipping the bear at me.

“Thank you.” I caught Red Bear against my chest and examined her furry head to furry foot. “Where was she?”

“In the Dumpster,” Mindy said. “Where she belongs.”

I held her out at arm's distance. “That's disgusting.”

“She wasn't in the Dumpster,” Karen said. “She was on top of it, on the lid.”

I sniffed Red Bear, relieved. “Oh, well, that's good. You were lucky.”

“Can we go now?” Mary asked. She was holding a large cup of coffee, her big sweet smile gone, replaced by a look of mild irritation. “What kept you?”

“I'm sorry. I had to pack. My room was a mess. Sorry.”

“I'll drive,” Karen said.

“No, I will,” Mindy said.

I turned my attention back to the girls. “I'm driving. You both sit in the back with Ethan. I think you need to spend some quality time with him. Catch up with him. It's your penance.”

“God,” Karen said.

“God can't help you,” I said, taking Ethan's hand. “No one can.”

*   *   *

After I pulled over to switch places with Mindy, who threatened to throw herself out of the speeding van because Ethan kept pinching her; and after I switched places with Karen, who threatened to throw Ethan out of the speeding van because he kept pinching her; and after I started singing,
Cracker Barrel, Cracker Barrel, Cracker all the way!
to the tune of “Jingle Bells” in Grandpa Bear's Morgan Freeman voice; and after Mindy offered me twenty dollars to please stop with the fucking singing; and after I took the twenty dollars and stopped fucking singing but then launched into a loud episode of
Hard of Hearing
, Red Bear's new reality TV show (Red Bear, shouting: “Speak up!” Grandpa Bear, shouting: “Shut up?” Red Bear: “Speak up!” Grandpa: “Shut up?”); and after Mindy offered me another ten dollars to stop the Bear thing and I said you'll have to do better than that; and after Karen upped it to fifty dollars and I accepted but then refused because I wouldn't take a personal check, we stopped at a Buffalo Wild Wings because Mindy said she would rather chew her own arm off than step foot in the Cracker Barrel that was located right next door.

“I pray that Grandpa Bear has a heart attack,” Mindy said.

“That's not funny,” I said, suddenly thinking of dear dead Chase.

Mary, who had been mostly quiet through the afternoon's ordeal said, “I think you did a great job, John. Thank you for stepping into the breach. You put on quite a show.”

I handed Ethan his Etch A Sketch and eyed Mary with suspicion. When she wanted to, she could be as sarcastic as the little one. “Really? Seriously?”

“Yes. No one else was helping. Thank you. I don't know how you kept that up for so long.”

I looked over at my sullen, greasy-faced daughters and felt my chest swell. “Well, thank you. I appreciate being appreciated. Thank you.”

“Ethan loved it. Didn't you, buddy? Wasn't Dad funny?”

Ethan drained his water, said nothing.

“I admit, I enjoyed today's episodes,” I said. “Especially
Hard of Hearing.
While it's entertaining on a certain base level, it's also important. It deals with the challenges of hearing-impaired teddy bears, a group that doesn't get enough attention.”

Mary cupped a hand behind her ear. “Whaaat?” she asked.

“I said—” then caught myself. Mary, my sweet-sweetie, had actually made a joke. I pointed at her, winked. “Well played.”

The girls ignored us. Over the top of her menu, I thought I saw Mary studying me. Her eyes were alive, and I wondered if she were smiling.

I cupped my hand behind my ear. “Whaaat?” I asked.

*   *   *

After we finished eating, I asked the waitress if she could recommend a place nearby for dessert. Despite the effort required to host the Bear marathon, I was in a good mood, raring to go. It was early, Ethan was still ensconced in his Etch A Sketch, Mary still had bemused/happy eyes, and the girls were still too hungover to speak, so I didn't necessarily want the evening to end.

“Dessert.” The waitress pondered my question. She reminded me of one of my students: young, pale, purple hair, clueless. “We have dessert here,” she said.

“I'm sure you do, but is there anything more local? We're from out of town, and we're looking to explore.”

“Explore Mason?”

“Is that where we are? Yes.”

“I don't know. Mason isn't very big,” she said. “I guess there's a Baskin-Robbins by the Exxon station. Actually, it's part of the Exxon station.”

“Is there anything else? Something that's maybe not part of a gas station?”

“I don't know. Nate's, I guess.”

“Nate's. What's that?” I asked.

“An ice cream store. They sing when they serve you. It's kind of weird. Little kids like it. I don't know if it's still open, though.”

“Wow, perfect. A weird singing ice cream place,” I said. “That's exactly what we're looking for. We were just saying that. How far is it?”

“Ten, fifteen minutes.” She placed the check facedown on our table and walked away.