THE NEXT MORNING I TOOK THE BOYS DOWN TO THE WILDERNESS LODGE’S LOBBY, where we found Jeff and Darla huddled in the corner, reviewing the day’s itinerary.

Darla chirped, “You thought yesterday was something, wait till you see what we’ve got planned—”

I walked right up to her, snatched the itinerary from her hands, and told her how it was going to be.

“I don’t get it,” Darla said. “Are you worried they’re having too much fun?”

“No,” I said.

“Oh, I see,” she said. “You want them to learn something.”

“Not exactly,” I said. That was when I turned to Jeff and said, “I just want them to see something real.”

TIM

TIM

TIMES I WANTED TO LEAVE: 5:02 A.M., 5:15 A.M., 5:52 A.M., 6:05 A.M., 6:36 A.M., 6:57 A.M., 7:10 A.M., 7:32-7:41 A.M., 8:01 A.M., and most every moment from that point on. But did I go? No, I stayed. I sat stuck in the cushy white chair. Apoplectic, but too tired to move. It was 9:47 A.M. when the room phone rang. Jolted out of my catatonia, I reached for the receiver. “Hello?”

She didn’t say anything at first.

“Yes, I’m here,” I said. “I’m still here!”

She said nothing.

“I’ve done my part. Where are you?”

No answer, but I could hear her breathing.

“Is this is some big joke to you? You find it funny? It’s no joke!” I was quiet for a long time. “I’m giving you five minutes to get here—Wait, I’ll give you an hour. Then I’m gone. You have one hour, do you hear me? One—!”

Click.

I should’ve left. Right then. Who am I kidding? I shouldn’t have even been there. What kept me there? This part is hard to admit. I had said I’d wait an hour. So I clung to this idea that I was a person of my word. In the fog of my own moral war, I’d somehow worked out that I was the honorable one. I was holding up my end of the bargain, forgetting that I was violating a much bigger vow—the biggest vow of all—my vow to Kate.

I was disoriented when I heard the knock. It was more of a banging, really. The daylight streaming into the room made me squint. I half stumbled to the door and pulled it open only to find . . .

BEA MYERLY

BEA MYERLY

CLEARLY, I WASN’T THE PERSON HE EXPECTED. STILL, THERE I WAS, ALL PUFFED UP, full of outrage and disgust. But seeing him, the shame/shock look in his eyes, just made me sad.

“Mr. Welch,” I said.

He said nothing at first. The only sound was of this once great man deflating. Finally, he managed a faint “Hello, Bea.”

“May I come in?”