I step into the tent, change into some dry athletic pants and a t-shirt, and hang my wet clothes and towel on the little clothesline I strung up between two trees. The Jacobsons have a laundromat on the premises, one of those coin machine things, so I do my laundry when I need to. But my clothesline works just fine for damp towels and swimsuits and such.
My phone rings as soon as I settle back with a book. I stare at the screen. It’s my mom’s number. I watch it until it has rung so many times that it could go to voicemail any second. At the last instant, I accept the call.
It’s not my mom. It’s him.
It’s actually my mom playing hardball. It’s her pulling out the big guns. It’s her way of getting out the bazooka to kill a fly.
A small voice says, “Dad? Are you there?”
I sit in silence, breathing into the phone, afraid to speak.
“Dad?” the little voice says again. I hear the change in his voice when he holds the phone away from his mouth to talk to my mom. “Nobody’s there,” he says. And he sounds disappointed.
What I’m disappointed in is my mom. She knows I’m not ready to make contact yet. I’ve already told her that I can’t do it. I need to fix a few things first.
“Ethan,” my mom barks into the phone. “I know you’re there. I can hear you breathing.”
“Mom,” I reply. “I’m here.”
“I know you’re there, son. Good God, do you think I’m an idiot?”
That’s something no one could ever call my mother. “No, ma’am,” I reply. “I just didn’t expect the call.”
“I’ve been leaving messages all week.”
“I was going to call you back.”
She makes a rude noise into the phone, one that she would have slapped me for if I’d made it in her presence. “Sure, you were.” I hear a rustling on the other end. “Here,” she says, and it sounds like she’s a few feet away from the phone. “He’s there. Say hello,” she prompts.
“Dad?” Mitchell says, his voice quiet.
“Hey,” I reply. My voice cracks, and I have to stop and clear my throat. “How’s it going?”
“Umm, okay, I guess. Nana said I could call.”
“I’m glad you did.” I sit up and cross my legs, my heart racing in my chest. “Did you have a good day?”
He holds the phone away from his mouth and asks my mother, “Did I have a good day?”
I hear her throaty chuckle. “You did. Tell him about going to the zoo with your other grandparents last weekend.”
I freeze. He went somewhere with them? When did she start letting him go with them? And why didn’t she tell me?
He begins a conversation, tells me all about the bears, the lions, the penguins, and the chocolate-covered ants he ate in the snack bar. Apparently, it was insect week at the zoo.
“Your grandmother let you eat ants?” I ask. I can’t imagine Imogene and Derrick letting him breathe without one hand guiding how he does it, much less allowing him to eat ants.
“I had two. There was a limit.” He yawns into the phone.
“I’m really glad you called,” I say, as my heart starts to slow down to a normal rate.
“You are?” he asks, and the fact that he has to ask makes me hurt deep inside.
“You can call me anytime,” I tell him. I pay for a phone when I don’t even have a house, just so my mother can get ahold of me in case of an emergency.
“You mean that?”
“Anytime,” I repeat, and I mean it in the depths of my soul.
“Will you come and see me soon?”
“Well, I’d like to,” I say. “But—” I’m about to make an excuse about why I can’t, but he cuts me off.
“When do you want to come?”
“Umm…”
My mother’s voice rings out as she takes the phone from him. “Don’t make a promise if you’re not going to keep it,” she warns me. Then she hands the phone back to Mitchell.
“I have a baseball game next weekend. You could come and watch.” His voice is tiny and hopeful.
“I don’t know if I can do that, Mitchell,” I say. I squeeze my eyes shut. I want desperately to see him, but I’m not ready. He’s not ready. Nobody is ready. And the people in the small town where I know he’ll be playing ball are not ready to see me. They’d probably as soon spit on me as look at me.