Joyland

"He told me. Why would that surprise you, when you know all about his intuitions?"

That was my afternoon for provoking tears. First Eddie, now Annie. Mike was dry-eyed, though, and he looked every bit as furious as I felt. But he said nothing as she grabbed the handles of his wheelchair, spun it around, and drove it at the door. I thought she was going to crash into them, but the magic eye got them open just in time.

Let them go, I thought, but I was tired of letting women go. I was tired of just letting things happen to me and then feeling bad about them.

A nurse approached me. "Is everything all right?"

"No," I said, and followed them out.

* * *

Annie had parked in the lot adjacent to the hospital, where a sign announced:

THESE TWO ROWS RESERVED FOR THE HANDICAPPED.

She had a van, I saw, with plenty of room for the folded-up wheelchair in back. She had gotten the passenger door open, but Mike was refusing to get out of the chair. He was gripping the handles with all his strength, his hands dead white.

"Get in!" she shouted at him.

Mike shook his head, not looking at her.

"Get in, dammit!"

This time he didn't even bother to shake his head.

She grabbed him and yanked. The wheelchair had its brake on and tipped forward. I grabbed it just in time to keep it from going over and spilling them both into the open door of the van.

Annie's hair had fallen into her face, and the eyes peering through it were wild: the eyes, almost, of a skittish horse in a thunderstorm. "Let go! This is all your fault! I never should have-"

"Stop," I said. I took hold of her shoulders. The hollows there were deep, the bones close to the surface. I thought, She's been too busy stuffing calories into him to worry about herself "LET ME G-"

"I don't want to take him away from you," I said. "Annie, that's the last thing I want."

She stopped struggling. Warily, I let go of her. The novel she'd been reading had fallen to the pavement in the struggle. I bent down, picked it up, and put it into the pocket on the back of the wheelchair.

"Mom." Mike took her hand. "It doesn't have to be the last good time."

Then I understood. Even before her shoulders slumped and the sobs started, I understood. It wasn't the fear that I'd stick him on some crazy-fast ride and the burst of adrenaline would kill him. It wasn't fear that a stranger would steal the damaged heart she loved so well. It was a kind of atavistic belief-a mother's belief-that if they never started doing certain last things, life would go on as it had: morning smoothies at the end of the boardwalk, evenings with the kite at the end of the boardwalk, all of it in a kind of endless summer. Only it was October now and the beach was deserted. The happy screams of teenagers on the Thunderball and little kids shooting down the Splash & Crash water slide had ceased, there was a nip in the air as the days drew down. No summer is endless.

She put her hands over her face and sat down on the passenger seat of the van. It was too high for her, and she almost slid off. I caught her and steadied her. I don't think she noticed.

"Go on, take him," she said. "I don't give a fuck. Take him parachute-jumping, if you want. Just don't expect me to be a part of your… your boys' adventure."

Mike said, "I can't go without you."

That got her to drop her hands and look at him. "Michael, you're all I've got. Do you understand that?"

"Yes," he said. He took one of her hands in both of his. "And you're all I've got."

I could see by her face that the idea had never crossed her mind, not really.

"Help me get in," Mike said. "Both of you, please."

When he was settled (I don't remember fastening his seatbelt, so maybe this was before they were a big deal), I closed the door and walked around the nose of the van with her.

"His chair," she said distractedly. "I have to get his chair."

"I'll put it in. You sit behind the wheel and get yourself ready to drive. Take a few deep breaths."

She let me help her in. I had her above the elbow, and I joy land could close my whole hand around her upper arm. I thought of telling her she couldn't live on arduous novels alone, and thought better of it. She had been told enough this afternoon.

I folded the wheelchair and stowed it in the cargo compartment, taking longer with the job than I needed to, giving her time to compose herself. When I went back to the driver's side,

I half-expected to find the window rolled up, but it was still down. She had wiped her eyes and nose, and pushed her hair into some semblance of order.

I said, "He can't go without you, and neither can 1."

She spoke to me as if Mike weren't there and listening. ''I'm so afraid for him, all the time. He sees so much, and so much of it hurts him. That's what the nightmares are about, I know it.

He's such a great kid. Why can't he just get well? Why this?

Why this?"

"I don't know," I said.

She turned to kiss Mike's cheek. Then she turned back to me.