23
Ethan pulls into my driveway just as Pete and the kids are disappearing around the corner. I’m standing outside because I was watching them go. It was so strange to help them pack and watch them load overnight bags into Pete’s car. I can’t think of the last time I was away from my kids for twenty-four hours.
“You ready for a road trip?” he asks. There’s a nervous air about him, like if he were standing up he’d have his hands in his pockets and be studying his shoes. I want us to be like we were on Pelican Island, where he was looking right into my eyes. I want him to touch my hair.
“I am,” I say. Ferris hops into the backseat with Brenda.
We head out of Beechwood onto the highway, and we’re quiet as we drive north. We both relax, and the silence feels as easy as our conversations do. The trees on either side of us are a deep summer green, and I feel like I’m moving through a tunnel, like a straight shot out of my life. It’s strange to have a whole day without drop-offs and pickups looming. I check my phone to see if the girls have texted. They haven’t.
Ethan’s phone rings and he answers it on speaker. I feel like I’m invading his privacy somehow, so I turn my body toward the window.
“Hey,” he says.
“What time are you getting here? People are showing up and we want to start in an hour.” It’s a young guy.
“You’ve got to wait till I get there, probably around two thirty. Promise me you’ll wait. I really don’t want you guys shut down permanently.”
“Okay. Promise. Thanks.”
He hangs up. “So I thought we could stop for lunch just outside of Devon. Let the dogs out for a bit.”
“Is that okay? He sounded like he wanted us to hurry.”
“They can skate all afternoon. And it’s good for them to have to handle things and wait sometimes.”
“They really are like your kids,” I say.
He smiles. “I guess.”
“That’s absolutely exhausting,” I say. “Why would you take that on?”
“You’ll see,” he says.
We pull off the highway into the dirt parking lot of a roadside café. There’s a wheat field out back that waves us in. I stay outside with the dogs while Ethan goes in to order our lunch.
We find two Adirondack chairs on the back deck and let our dogs off leash. I am tucking into a chicken salad sandwich and looking out onto the wheat field. Ethan’s looking at me like he’s going to say something. Then he’s looking at the fields. He turns his body toward me and shifts back straight ahead.
“What’s with you?” I say.
“I don’t know. I’m not so sure about this.”
“Your sandwich? Mine’s great.” I polish off the first half.
He shakes his head at me like I’m hopeless.
“You’re not sure about what?”
“I guess bringing you along. I kind of feel like you’re about to see me naked.”
I blush like I’m twelve years old. I feel it prickle on my cheeks.
“God, Ali, stop. I don’t mean actually naked. I know the rules.” He’s smiling now. “It’s just that you’re going to see my actual life, who I am. I don’t know what you’re going to think.”
When we’re off the highway in Devon, we head through the city. Ethan points out the different neighborhoods, the building where he has an office. We pass his favorite hot dog stand, and the proprietor waves so enthusiastically that we stop.
“This will just take a second,” Ethan says. “We can’t just drive by Mort.”
I get out of the car and follow him to the stand. The delicious salty smell of hot dogs fills the air. It reminds me of the ballpark on our first date.
“I thought you were gone for good,” says Mort. He takes Ethan’s face in his hands like he’s going to give him a giant kiss.
“Never.” Ethan laughs.
“In six years I didn’t go a week without selling this man a hot dog,” he says to me. Then to Ethan, “You’ve missed the last two games. Lyle said you were leaving the team. But I said, ‘Lyle, you’re an idiot. Ethan would never abandon the Red Hot Pokers. Not when I still owe him forty bucks.’ ”
Ethan laughs, “I think it’s sixty.” He introduces me and buys two hot dogs, seemingly out of habit.
When we’re back in the car he breaks up the hot dogs for Brenda and Ferris. “Red Hot Pokers?” I ask.
“It’s just poker. But we’re definitely a crew.”
“Matching T-shirts?”
“Visors,” he says with a smile, and starts the car.
We park on the street in a run-down neighborhood where there’s a crowd in front of a vacant lot. Halogen lights, identical to the ones at the skate park in Beechwood, mark each corner.
Ethan comes around to help me out of the car and holds on to my hand for a second. “This is so weird that you’re here,” he says.
“I’m excited to see it,” I say.
“We’ll see.”
We walk toward the crowd, mostly teenagers, and one with long dark hair calls out, “Ethan!” He comes over and they fist-bump.
“Hey. Thanks for waiting. Justin, this is Ali.”
“Oh, hi,” he says, and shakes my hand. “I’ve kept the gate locked and I’m trying to get people to line up. It’s been fine I guess, but they’ve been waiting a long time.”
“Okay, get Louie and Michael and I’ll let you guys in first. Then we’ll deal with the line.”
I follow Ethan into the crowd, where everyone knows him. “Dude, where have you been?” they ask. “Finally,” someone else says. They are all clamoring to get through the gate into the park. A half-pipe sits in the center, and on it is painted what might be an aerial view of this neighborhood. I want to get closer to look at the details, but Ethan and I are manning the gate.
When he’s let exactly thirty kids into the park, he starts to work the line. It surprises me to see how he interacts with these kids. He’s both a high school principal dictating where everyone needs to be and a slightly older brother joking around. I stand at the front of the line and watch. He knows everyone, including the uniformed police. He stops to talk with a couple of teenage boys, and he laughs at something they’ve said. I can’t actually hear his laugh, but I see it and hear it in my head. It’s the deep, rich laugh he uses when it’s just the two of us and he’s completely himself.
He feels too far away, immersed in this crowd, and I want to call out to him, to bring him back to me. I am relieved each time he looks up to check that I’m still there. My job is to stand by the gate and let him know if anyone leaves so that he can let the next kids in. The first person in line looks like she’s about fourteen. I try to start a conversation. “I like your skateboard.” Fun fact: I don’t know how to talk to teenagers.
“Thanks,” she says.
“Did you do that artwork or did it come like that?”
“I did it.”
“Wow, it’s cool.” “Cool” is not the right thing to say. Never say “cool.” I cross my arms over my chest to protect myself from whatever reaction I deserve.
“Thanks,” she says. “Are you Ethan’s girlfriend?”
“Um, no?” I say, and hope I’m not blushing again. “He’s my friend’s brother, I’m just here to see the skate park.”
“He went to see my brother pitch in Connecticut, because my dad couldn’t go and is superstitious about missing games.”
“I was there too,” I say, connecting the dots. “It was fun.”
“Sounded like a total bust. Now my dad’s more superstitious than ever. You skate?”
I laugh. “I’ve had a few lessons, but I have a lot to learn. Just here to watch.”
“Ethan taught me and my friends last summer. It used to be like six of us, now it’s a whole thing.”
“I can tell,” I say. Ethan is walking toward us with a little boy on his shoulders. The little boy has his hands in Ethan’s hair and is kneading it like it’s dough. By the time they reach us, his hair is sticking straight up. If he knows, he doesn’t care.
“Hey, Caitlin. You meet Ali?”
“Yep. I think you should teach her to skate.”
“I’m working on it. Let’s see if we can get you in there.” There’s no mention of the human being on his shoulders, like he’s just an appendage. Ethan waves Justin over. “All okay in there?”
“Yeah, first round is over, so some kids should be leaving,” Justin says.
“Nice. Cops are fine. I think you’ve totally managed this thing.”
Justin is beaming, and I have to look away from the intimacy of it. I have the feeling that Ethan has just given him a gift I don’t understand. This is Ethan’s superpower, I think. His ability to meet people where they are and just hold the space for them to step into their best selves without any expectation of what that might be.
I watch as Ethan gives the little boy on his shoulders back to his mother. He says something that makes her laugh. I imagine that being this man all the time feels very, very good.
There’s a feeling in my chest, specifically my heart. It’s a little like gliding down the half-pipe after you’ve let yourself glide up a little bit. It’s both a terror and a thrill to know you could fall.
“Hungry?” he asks when we’ve locked up the park at seven. We’re alone on the street now and I feel relieved not to have to share him with all those people.
“I am.”
“Good,” he says. He leads Brenda, Ferris, and me down the street, and he takes my hand. I like being out of Beechwood and in a place where it’s okay to look like a couple. I like trying it on, showing off for anyone that passes by: look at me with this wonderful man. “This is going pretty well,” he says.
I squeeze his hand. “I’d say so. I like your life.”
“That was the tip of the iceberg.”
“What else do you do?”
“Well, I run the Halloween dog parade on this street every year.” He looks at me out of the corner of his eye.
“Dog parade,” I say.
“It’s total chaos, but it’s great. Barb is making a witch costume for Brenda. Ferris would love it. You should come.” You should come.
“Sure,” I say.
We stop at a small restaurant with a red door and two tables outside. The restaurant itself is faced in stone and occupies the corner of a more modern brick building. He opens the door and I step back in time. It’s the smallest restaurant I’ve ever been in, with only six tables—three occupied—and an old wooden bar with four stools. One waiter seems to be managing all of it. His face lights up when he sees Ethan, a reaction I’m starting to expect in Devon.
“Ethan! You didn’t tell me.” He places the tray he’s carrying on the bar and starts to smooth imaginary wrinkles from his shirt.
“This is Ali,” Ethan says. “Ali, this is Jamey. He does everything here but cook.”
“It’s a beautiful place,” I say. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” And I really haven’t. It sort of feels like the Hogans’ house. Something painstakingly crafted and out-of-date that no one would bother building now.
“It’s one of a kind,” Jamey says. “And here forever, thanks to Ethan.”
I turn to Ethan for an explanation. I get none.
“Can you seat two of us for a quick dinner? Outside?” He gestures to the dogs.
“Sure. But they say it’s going to rain.”
“They always say that,” Ethan says. “We’ll take our chances.”
Jamey leads us outside, and we sit at a small bistro table. I ask for a glass of pinot noir, and Ethan says, “Water for me, please. I’m her ride back to Beechwood.”
“So,” Ethan says when I have my wine. “That’s my life.”
“You have a pretty full life.”
“Yeah.” He looks at me for a few beats, like he’s not sure if he wants to go on. “There’s a lot to do here, for the kids. And for everybody really. No limit to the problems needing to be solved.”
“And you saved this restaurant?”
“Not really. I just filed the paperwork to make it a historic landmark.”
“Of course you did.”
“It took me an hour.”
He leans down and pets Brenda under the table, as if to change the subject. A taxi passes. An older couple stops to say hello. They show us photos of their grandchildren on their phones and ask to see new photos of Theo.
“Do you know everyone in this town?” I ask when they’ve walked away.
“I know a lot of them. Those two are clients. I helped with their lease. There’s one landlord in Devon who is terrified of me, so everyone in his buildings comes to me with their leases and stuff.” He smiles. There is no sign of Scooter here; there’s no wrinkle in his brow. Everyone in Devon looks at him the way I do.
“How’d you even get here in the first place?”
“I was assigned to defend a big real estate firm that was accused of endangering tenants in Devon. I was making a lot of money in the city, my parents were so happy. I’d been at the law firm in Manhattan for five years. Everything was fine, but that case sort of stopped me in my tracks.” He takes a sip of my wine. “I was turning thirty and hanging out with a bunch of people I didn’t really connect with. I was questioning things, you know?”
“When I was thirty I had two little kids and was about to get pregnant again.” I take my wine back.
“At least there’s meaning there. Making people.”
“Yes,” I say.
“Anyway, I had to come up here a few times to take depositions, and it became pretty clear to me that my client was totally in the wrong.” He leans back in his chair and I want him to come close again. “Long story short, we won the case and I quit. I moved up here and started a private practice, and I finally felt at home. For the first time in my life, I felt like myself.”
“And you gave the kids a skate park.”
“I gave myself a skate park. It was so cheap. No one wanted an empty lot in this neighborhood. And now it’s just an investment of time, getting the police on board and getting the rec center involved.”
“And is it worth it? I mean, all that time you spend on this stuff blew up your last relationship.” I want to take back the word “last” the second I’ve said it. I’ve made it seem like I think we’re in a relationship, which of course we’re not.
“Totally worth it. I’m a person who people turn to here. It feels good. Knowing who I am feels good. That might sound a little crazy.” He takes a breath and looks away. He’s quiet for another beat, as if he’s making a decision. “Ali, I don’t think you get how messed up I was in high school.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I reach for his hand.
“I hung out with a bunch of kids who were high all the time, and it was fine. I wasn’t into sports, and I couldn’t really see any place else I might fit in. I think I’d resolved to just ride out high school in a haze. But by the time we were fifteen, they started moving on to harder stuff and I was sort of stuck deciding if I was going to dive in with them or be totally alone. It sounds crazy now, but at the time those really felt like the only choices.”
I think of Greer, so close to those teen years. “That must have been scary.”
“It was. I was a kid and I wanted to be part of something. I didn’t feel like I fit in at home. I was lost. One day—it was April—I was supposed to meet them at the rec and we were going to drive to find some guy one of them had started buying from. I got there early, and there were a bunch of kids at the skate park. I watched for a while, and I knew there was something there that I wanted. I remember thinking they didn’t look trapped, you know? The whole scene was totally intimidating, and I would have never walked in, but Mr. Kennedy was there. Do you remember him? The music teacher?”
“I do.”
“He waved me in. Asked me to come help him move a cooler of water.” He shakes his head. “If he’d asked me if I wanted to try skateboarding, I would have said no and my life would have gone a totally different direction. I think about that all the time. Long story short, I walked into the skate park. My friends showed up and left without me. Nicky Bowler was dead eight months later.”
“I remember this,” I say. “He was Ryan’s little brother.”
“Yeah, he was my friend. It was horrible, and it could have been me. I got really lucky. What were the chances Mr. Kennedy would see me there and wave me in?” His gaze is intense as he holds mine.
“So then the skate park kids became your friends?”
“I didn’t really fit in there either, actually. But the thing about skateboarding is it takes so much concentration that I would forget that I didn’t know what to say or how to act. And I was finally good at something. It helped. Then I went to college and law school and tried to figure out how to turn myself into a success so that my parents would finally see me as a grown-up. And you’ve seen how well it’s going with my parents.” He laughs a little, then meets my eye. “I came up here and it felt like it could be a fresh start. I decided to be the architect of my own experience.”
I feel the first drop of rain on my wrist, and before I have a chance to wipe it away, the sky has opened up. We grab our dogs by the leashes and race to the tiny awning over the red door. We are surrounded by three walls of water, and I love the way it sounds. I love the way summer rain comes out of nowhere and hits you hard like a love affair. Rain like this couldn’t last more than a few minutes.
“I guess they were right about the rain,” Ethan shouts.
I laugh and pull my hair over my shoulder and wring out the ends. My T-shirt is soaked, and I cross my arms over my chest. Ethan’s soaked too, and he smiles down at me. I like being trapped in this tiny space with him.
“Listen, I know wet socks are kind of our thing,” he says, “but I don’t think I’m up for a four-hour drive home soaking wet. Let’s go get some dry clothes at my apartment.”
“Do you want to stay here tonight?” I ask. His eyes catch mine, like I’ve surprised him.
“We could. Up to you.”
He’s pulled back the curtain on his life, and I want to see more. I want to see his home, his books, his heart. “Let’s stay,” I say.