T.J. Klune - Bear, Otter, and the Kid 2 - Who We Are (40 page)

Otter and I stayed up late that night sitting shoulder to shoulder on the couch, our feet propped up on an ottoman. He told me stories about college, some I’d heard before, others that were new. He asked questions about what my plans were. I hesitated for a moment, then told him I wanted to be a writer, and he became the first person I ever told. He watched me intently before saying that I’d better do it, then, that I was going to be the greatest writer ever known. I blushed, feeling the beer in my veins flowing wonderfully. I wondered, for a brief moment, what would happen if I laid my head on his shoulder.

I didn’t know why I thought that.

Eventually, I was too drunk to stay awake, and he pulled me up the stairs and put me in Creed’s bed. He stared down at me for a moment as if he wanted to say something further, that something was on his mind, and his eyes grew dark when I asked him what was wrong. He told me nothing was wrong, he was just tired. He said good night and shut the door gently behind him.

I awoke once that night, the press of my bladder more urgent than my need to sleep. I got out of bed and walked toward the bathroom, only to have the door open and Otter walk out. He froze when he saw me in the dark hallway, and there was a moment then, a moment where we watched each other and something happened, something flashed, bright and heavy, and I heard him gasp quietly to himself, a subtle intake of breath that I almost missed. He wore only shorts, and the moon slid out from behind the clouds and soft light poured in through the window, illuminating his skin, the muscles in his chest and arms, his flat nipples, the light dusting of hair.

And then he spoke, his voice hoarse: “I never asked you,” he said. “How’s Anna doing?”

I stared at him, unable to look away. “She’s… fine. She’s….” He walked toward me, and I started to tremble, and I thought—
earthquake oh god earthquake

—he was going to stop in front of me, that he was going to tower over me because I was just a little guy. But he didn’t. He walked past me, his bare arm brushing against mine. He didn’t say another word as he disappeared into his room, shutting his door behind him.

I
PARK
in the little side parking lot, unable to see the beach below due to the sand-dune crest. My brow furrows for a moment as I look around and see my car is the only one in the parking lot, Otter’s Jeep nowhere to be seen. I ignore that little sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, because it doesn’t mean anything. It’s probably part of the surprise, or whatever’s going on. He’s probably heard my car drive up and is staring up the hill, grinning that Otter grin, the gold-green flashing as he waits for me to stop being such a chicken shit, to get out of the vehicle and just fucking go to him. I close my eyes and briefly imagine what set up he’s got going on down there, if there’s a table with food, with music playing softly on the stereo, candles flicking in the cool ocean breeze. Maybe there will be a misanthropic seagull that’ll ruin everything, but in reality making things all that much better. Maybe there will be more, because he’s there. He’s waiting for me. I open my eyes and the dashboard clock says 5:31.

Showtime.

I open the door. I close the door. I put one foot in front of the other, my suit jacket flapping in the wind, the beach grass bending back toward me as my feet touch the sand, my toes dig in to the tiny particles that feel like home. I almost pause then, almost stop because I’m scared, but I think it’s a good thing. I think… I think I know what’s about to happen—

bear i’ve been thinking
—and my eyes start to burn. Oh my God.
But don’t I just run? Don’t I just
fly
over the hill?
And stutter to a stop.

The beach. The beach is empty. The tide is out and the beach is empty, and all I can hear is the subtle crash of waves, the cacophony of birds above me. Sirens, in the distance.

I’m confused. Maybe I got the time wrong. Maybe he’s running late. Maybe I’m in the wrong place. Maybe—

 

he up and left and i’ll be alone forever

—I hadn’t understood what was happening. Maybe he didn’t want to ask me a question at all, that question I can’t stop thinking about now that I’ve thought it, that question I’ve thought about unintentionally for months now, and even though it’s too soon, even though it can’t be real, I’ll say yes, I’ll scream yes. I’ll beg and plead and do anything just so he asks the question so I can say yes.

I walk down the hill to the beach. It’s starting to get colder, and I can feel the sea air start to seep in through the suit jacket, and it bites at my skin, nips my ears. I pull my phone out of my pocket and flip it open. No missed calls. No voice mail. No text messages. I tell myself to stop being stupid. That if something was going to happen, if there was something wrong, I’d know.

Then it hits me and I almost grin. Maybe they
wanted
to get me out of the house, make me come someplace so they could set something up at home. Maybe that was the surprise. Maybe Anna and Creed and Mrs. Paquinn and the Kid and Otter are all rushing to do something at the house right now. Maybe their parents are there. Maybe Isaiah, though I doubt it. What could it be? If that’s the case, I’m going to
kill
them all for making me come out to the beach when it’s cold. Barefoot, no less.

Should I call him? No. I’ll wait another minute or two. I can imagine the conversation already, though. He’ll say hello, and I’ll demand to know where he is. He’ll laugh, a low chuckle in my ear that’ll send shivers down my spine that having nothing to do with the sea breeze. He’ll tell me that I have to come home because he has something to show me. I’ll scowl at him through the phone and tell him I don’t like being tricked, but he’ll see right through me and will tell me he loves me, and that he’ll see me soon and that everything will be okay, everything will be fine and it will. It will. It will.

I can’t wait anymore. I call him. It goes straight to voice mail. “Hey, it’s me. I’m at the beach, like your note said. You on your way?”

 

Five minutes later: “Me again. I’m cold, you jerk. Where the hell are you? If this is your idea of a joke, I’m not laughing.”

Ten minutes later: “Otter, I’m going to leave if you don’t call me back. And when I find you, I’m probably going to yell at you and make you sleep on the couch. Love you.”

Twenty minutes later: “I’m cold, I have sand on my legs, and I’m pretty sure there is a homeless guy standing by my car. Your excuse had better be good because I’m going to kick you in the nuts. Otter… you’re freaking me out here. Call me back. Bye.”

Then my phone rings. It startles me, and I almost drop it to the ground. I answer it without even looking at the display. I know who it is. “You asshole,” I say, grinning into the phone. “Where the hell are you?

You think it’s funny—”
“Bear?” a little voice says, cracking.
“Kid?” I say, surprised. I look down at the display. A number I don’t

recognize. I hear background noise that sounds like it’s coming over a speaker. Someone coughs.

“Bear,” he says again, and he sounds desperate.
No,
I think.
No. No. No.
“Kid, where are you?”
“The hospital.”
“Why?” I croak.
“It’s… oh, Bear. Oh. Oh.”
Otter.
“Tell me, Tyson. Tell me. Please, oh God, tell me. Please. Please.” He starts to cry. “It’s… Mrs. Paquinn. We were talking, and then she

said her face felt funny and then her eye started to droop.” A great, gasping sob. “She started talking like she was drunk, and then she fell down! She fell down, and her head hit the carpet, and it made a weird noise. I called 911, and the ambulance came, but she wouldn’t wake up! I yelled at her and I screamed at her, but she wouldn’t get up!”

“How did you get to the hospital?” Please say Otter. Please say Otter.

“I rode in the ambulance with them. Bear, they… they stuck needles in her and said that it looked like she’d had a stroke, and I couldn’t look away because she’s not dead! She’s
not
dead!”

A soothing voice murmured in the background, but Tyson was already on his way to being beyond consolation. I could hear the hysteria in his voice, the panic that was sharp and biting. “Mercy Hospital?” I say roughly.

“Yeah. Oh, Bear. She can’t leave me. She just can’t. Please come help me. I need you. I’m just a little guy, and I can’t do this by myself. I need you to help me.”

“I’m on my way, honey.”
Otter.
“I’m on my way and you just hold on. You close your eyes and don’t open them until I get there, you hear me? You don’t open your eyes until you know I’m there, until I’ve got you. I’m coming for you.”

“Okay. Hurry.” And then he’s gone.

I only make it four running steps before my phone rings again. I almost ignore it, but it has the same prefix as the hospital, and I know I’m the emergency contact for Mrs. Paquinn. “Hello?” I snap into the phone as I stop. I’m dizzy and I don’t think I can run and talk at the same time.

“I need to speak to Derrick McKenna, please,” a female voice says. “Speaking. Who’s this?”
“Mr. McKenna, my name is Dr. Elizabeth Moore. I’m an emergency

room physician over at Mercy Hospital.”
“I’m already on my way. My little brother just called and told me.” “Oh,” she says, sounding surprised. “I didn’t know anyone had been

notified already.”

 

“My little brother was with her when it happened. He rode in with her in the ambulance.”

 

“I’m sorry… I think I may have made a mistake. This is Derrick

McKenna, correct?” She recites my number back to me.
“Yeah,” I growl impatiently. “You have a Theresa Paquinn there, just
brought in with a nine-year-old named Tyson. He’s the one that called me.
She apparently had a stroke or something?”
Oh, God.
I hear Dr. Moore flip through some papers, and then she sighs. “I’m
afraid I don’t know anything about a Theresa Paquinn. Derrick, that’s not
why I called.”
Confusion. “Then what are you calling about?”
“Oliver Thompson.”
No. No. No.
“What about him?” I hear myself ask.
“Mr. McKenna, there’s been… there’s been an accident.”
“Otter,” I mutter. “Otter. Otter.”
Don’t lead cows to slaughter! I love you and I know. I know. I know. I
should have. Told you. Every day I should have told you.
“Mr. McKenna? You’re listed in our system as his emergency contact.
Do you know him?”
“Is he alive?” I ask, my voice just above a whisper.
“Yes,” she says carefully. “For now. I’m not going to lie to you, Mr.
McKenna. It’s… serious. According to the EMTs, he was T-boned on the

driver’s side of his vehicle by a van that ran a stop sign. Mr. Thompson’s vehicle was pushed into a tree.”

 

“He’s my….” Love. Life. Heart. Everything. “Partner.”

 

“Oh.
Oh
. Mr. McKenna, I am so sorry to have to tell you like this. Will you be on your way?”

 

“Yes.”

“Just ask for me when you get here, and I’ll come out when I can. I need to get back to check on your… partner. He’s in good hands, okay? I’m going to do everything I can to bring him back to you.”

Back from where?
“Okay,” I say, my voice breaking.

 

“Do you have someone that can drive you? It’s probably not a good idea for you to be operating a vehicle.”

Like hell. Like fucking hell I am going to wait here for someone to come get me. “I’ll be fine,” I say, trying to make myself sound stronger, like I’m in control.

“If you’re sure,” she says, sounding distracted. “Remember: Dr. Moore.”

“Okay.”
Then she’s gone, and my phone slips from my hands.

And I can’t support my weight anymore. I fall to my knees, and as the night darkens around me, as the waves crash on the earth and the stars come out in the sky, I tell God what he has to do. What he needs to do. What he’d better do.

You give them back. You give them back to me because we’re not finished. I’m not done with them. They’re not yours! They’re mine!
And then I’m on my feet, racing for the car, ignoring my heart left back on the sand.

9. Where Bear Receives a Poem

H
AVE
I ever told you how I feel about hospitals? No?
I hate them.

From the antiseptic smell, to the sterile white walls, to the way that everyone smiles at you, like they know what you’re going through, like they know exactly what you’re thinking. They don’t. They can’t know. They’ve been here too long, seen too much death and horror. They’re desensitized. They’re muffled. But still they smile and nod. A comforting hand dropped on a shoulder. A quiet voice while you sob. They know, they say. They know it can be hard to hear.

They don’t know. They have no idea.

The doors whoosh open, and I walk into the fluorescent white, and it’s blinding, and I wonder if this is what people mean when they say they saw a light when they die, this flash that overwhelms the senses all at once. Is that what it feels like after you die? I don’t want it. I don’t want it to happen. Fuck the light.

I scan the room, suddenly at a loss as to where I need to go. I don’t know who I need to talk too. I can’t remember the doctor’s name, because all I can think is
Otter
, all I can think is
Mrs. Paquinn
, all I can think is
the Kid.
They’ve taken everything else from me, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing.

“Help,” I croak out. “Someone. Help me.”

But there’s no one. No one looks at me. No one even notices me. Can’t they see I’m breaking? Can’t they see that everything I love is in this place and if only I could just find them? And then. Then, then, then.

I see her. I know her. She’s walking toward me, her head down. I know her. I love her. I’d even
loved
her once. Her name. Her name. “Anna?” I call out, my voice high and strained.

She looks up and no. No, please. Oh, please, no. Her face is streaked with tears, and she sees me, and suddenly it’s like she crumples, and she wraps her arms around herself, and I bend over and gag, and all I can think is
which one? Which one is it?
I ignore that little voice in me that screams the name of the one I hope it
isn’t
, because that is a dark voice, a selfish voice. A voice that sounds exactly like my own.