I hang my head.
“I may not be the biggest Kid in the world, and I may not be the smartest, and I may not have been around to learn everything there is to know, but I do know this: people in love do the stupidest things. You should know that better than anyone. After all, you’ve been lucky to love two people who loved you back. But you walked away from Otter. Twice. Without giving him a chance either time. How fair is that?”
There’s no point in disagreeing with him. So I don?
??t.
“You have so many great people in your life, people who are willing to do anything for you.” His voice begins to take on heat. “They bend over backwards for you, and all you can do is push them away. How long is it going to be until you push me away?”
My eyes snap shut. “I would never—”
“You say that now,” he shouts at me, spitting venom, surprising me with his anger, “but I would’ve thought you would never push anyone else close to us away, either! How can I be expected to take care of you if you won’t even take care of yourself?”
I say nothing.
The little Kid in my lap continues: “We’re only given so many people in our lives, so many people that will love us unconditionally. Why do you think that is? I think it’s because of times like this, times when you think they are gone and you see just how big of a hole in your heart that you have. And it’s big, isn’t it, Bear? We’re all a puzzle and when one of us is gone, that piece is missing, and we’re incomplete. You above all others should have realized that.
“You have a chance, a chance to make something for yourself, something that is just for you, but that you can share with the rest of the world. How dare you throw it back in our faces.”
The Kid suddenly stands before me, and it’s like he’s ten feet tall. His eyes blaze, his jaw set, and I think how much he looks like me. He really is mine. “The Bear I know wouldn’t let this happen. The Bear I know would kick and scream and claw his way to protect what’s his. The Bear I know would fight. And fight. And fight until he had nothing left in him, because the Bear I know would never give up.”
“I punched Jonah in the face,” I say stupidly.
The Kid snickers. “I know. Otter told me. I meant figuratively, you dumbass. You probably shouldn’t be punching anyone. You know why?”
I shake my head, and he leans down, pressing his lips against my cheek. “Because you’re just a little guy,” he says, “and you need all of us to help fight for you. Let us do this, at least this once.”
I look up at him. “Can I do this?” I ask, hoping.
He, who’s great and wise and kind, tells me I can.
I look past him, at the ocean and the sun and the waves. There’s no argument against any of his words. And I know, as I’ve always known, that when my nine-year-old vegetarian ecoterrorist-in-training tells me to do something, I better goddamn do it.
I raise my hands to him, and he pulls me up. I hug him to my side and marvel how his head barely reaches my stomach. “I’d be lost without you,” I say truthfully.
He laughs. “Duh.”
I look up the sandy dune to the parking lot and see only my car.
“Did you walk here?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “They all drove me. Everyone wanted to get out and run down to you, but I told them to go home. To just let me go. That sometimes, what needs to be said should just be between brothers.”
“Where do we go from here?” I ask, meaning now, meaning forever.
The Kid looks up at me and dazzles me yet again: “We go home, Papa Bear. They’re waiting for us.”
“All of them?”
“All of them.”
THE drive is quiet. The Kid holds my hand, playing with my fingers. I think everything that needs to be said between us has been said, but then I hear him mumbling something to himself as he looks out the window. When I hear the words, I grin:
Otter! Otter! Otter!
Don’t lead cows to slaughter!
I love you and I know