Bear, Otter, and the Kid (The Seafare Chronicles 1)

Three weeks later, the same thing happens again.

And again and again and again.

Otter thinks he’s sick. He goes to the doctor. They do many tests. He’s poked and prodded and X-rayed and CAT-scanned and MRI’d and gives blood and urine. Two weeks later he’s told he’s perfectly healthy, at least in body. He tries to believe this, but I am one of the paramedics who rushed past him on his way up to meet with the doctor.

He thinks that maybe this is just an unhealthy obsession. He goes to a therapist. The therapist pokes and prods and asks if he’s ever considered yoga. Or meditation. Or Xanax. Otter is told he needs to relax. He’s told that he’s projecting. He’s told he needs to cut back on the stresses in his life. He’s told to take a long vacation.

He and Jonah go to Florida for a week. I’m checking them into the ho

tel. I’m the bellboy. I’m the cab driver, the bartender, the waiter, the person on the street who passes by. By the end of the week, it’s the beginning of March, and Otter starts to think about going home.

Two weeks later, Otter finds himself at the self-storage unit. He hasn’t been here in over a year. He opens the door, and the picture is where he’s left it. He picks it up and takes it home. He hides it in a box in the closet. He takes it out whenever he’s feeling sad. He takes it out whenever he’s feeling happy. He wonders if the guilt of the past three years is finally catching up with him. He thinks it’s guilt making him see me everywhere. He can’t possibly still have those strong feelings for me like he did. He thinks he just needs to make sure I’m okay. He thinks he should go home for a few weeks, just to make amends. He talks to Creed and Anna more frequently now, and they tell him I’m fine every time he asks, but he needs to see this for himself.

It’s the middle of May now, and he comes home one day and finds Jonah sitting at the kitchen table, Moxie at his feet. My picture sits on the table. Otter freezes for a moment before continuing into the kitchen. He’s just told the studio that he needs to take some time off. They’re calling it a leave of absence. He’s calling it a vacation from reality. He hasn’t yet told Jonah of his plans, but he was sure he could think of something. Now, it would seem, he won’t have to.

There is a fight and it is epic. There’s screaming and crying and accusations and kissing and making up and pleading and tears and anger and bitterness: a full gamut of emotion. Jonah tells Otter that he slept with someone from his office three months ago, and he’s been trying to figure out how to tell him. He says it didn’t mean anything. He says that he doesn’t feel as bad now, knowing Otter is cheating as well. It might be with a picture or a memory or a feeling, but it’s still cheating. Otter tells him to go to hell. Jonah says he’s sorry and he loves him. Otter believes him. Otter even loves Jonah in his own way. He thinks Jonah is a good man and that it’s not Jonah’s fault he got wrapped up in this. He tells Jonah all of this, and Jonah seems to calm until Otter pulls out his suitcases and starts packing. He starts begging then, but Otter’s course has already been set. Jonah asks him where he’s going. Otter tells him the truth. Jonah asks him if he is coming back. Otter says he doesn’t know. Otter tells him he’s not coming here to try and be with me, but to make amends for the shit storm he’s caused. He kisses a crying Jonah lightly before getting into the Jeep and driving away. Before he goes, he makes sure the picture is tucked safely in his bags.

He takes his time on the drive back to Seafare. He rehearses what he will say. He tests all of my reactions. He comes up with different rebuttals. He’s happy. He’s sad. He feels bad for Jonah and even calls him on the third day after he’d left. He gets voice mail but that’s okay. He leaves a message but does not say, “I love you” at the end. Otter leaves California and crosses into Oregon and doesn’t know if he’ll ever go back.

SO THAT’S what happened. I came back, and you know the rest. I saw you were doing fine. Actually, you were doing better than fine; you were doing amazing. You didn’t need me here, and I never really got to apologize the way I wanted to. I am sorry I left you, Bear. I am sorry that you’ve had to endure the last three years when I could have been here to make it easier. I’m sorry about a lot of things. I don’t know what it is we’re doing right now, and I don’t know if it will even last, but I don’t want to go anywhere again unless you’re with me. I didn’t think I still felt like that. But you want to know the moment I realized it all over again? When I looked at you and felt like the fight for you was all I’ve ever known?

It was when you threw my letter back at me. You took out your wallet and you threw that damn letter at my face. I told myself it was stupid to think like that, that maybe you kept it as a reminder of how much I had hurt you. But part of me couldn’t help but… hope. Even if nothing ever comes of this, I want you in my life. Anywhere you go, I want to be there. I’ve missed you, Papa Bear. God, how I’ve missed you. I don’t want to miss you ever again.

He strokes my hair. His heart beats in my ear. I rise and fall on his chest with every breath he takes. I sit up and stare deep into the gold-green of his eyes. He’s the first to break away. He looks down at his hands. I reach out and lift up his head. I wipe away a tear. He leans into my hand and kisses my palm. I think this is a dream. I’ve fallen asleep while he was speaking and this is a dream.

The fight for you was all I’ve ever known, he said to me. This is a dream. This is a dream.

I bring my other hand up and cup his face in my hands. He closes his eyes.

Can you do this? the voice asks. Can you handle all of this?

“Otter,” I say gently. “Look at me.”

He does.

I kiss him.

God help me.

7.

Where Bear

Keeps Secrets

OKAY, so we all saw that coming.

It doesn’t mean it makes it any easier.

I WAKE to the sound of a phone going off somewhere near my ear. My mind is blurry and the bed is warm, and I want nothing more than for that fucking phone to shut the hell up so I can curl back under my covers and fall right back asleep. But it doesn’t. It continues to play some song I’ve never heard before. When did I put that song on my phone? I reach out from underneath the covers blindly and finally find the offensive object and open it and put it against my ear.

“This better be good,” I growl.

“Bear?” a voice says, sounding surprised.

“Yeah, what. Who is this?”

“It’s Creed.”