Page 46 of Three Weeks With My Brother

"Exactly. I probably wouldn't have gone."

He laughed. "Did you tell her to try to make sure they're all better by the time you get home?"

"I didn't want her to kill me."

He laughed again. "Christine would kill me, too. You guys are going on vacation in a couple weeks? Just the two of you, right?"

I nodded. "Yeah. We'll spend a few days relaxing at the beach."

"You know she gets to decide what to do the entire vacation."

"Oh, I know. I've already figured that out."

"I mean, every bit of it," he added for emphasis. "Instead of scuba diving, you'll be browsing through stores for hours, looking at kid's clothes. And she'll ask you whether you like the shirt with the pink bunny or the yellow duck, and you have to act as if you're giving the matter a lot of thought."

"I know."

"And you'll have to treat her like a queen and pretend you're enjoying yourself."

"I know."

"In fact, you're pretty much going to have to grovel."

"Believe me. I know." I shrugged. "But it's only fair."

"Ah, the trade-offs we have to make." He smiled. "Isn't marriage great?"

In the evening, we rode a gondola up the side of one of the peaks near Tromso.

At the top, we made our way to a lodge for a mountaintop cocktail party. With windows lining two walls, we could see the lights of Tromso twinkling in the darkness. Outside the windows there were snow flurries. It seemed hard to believe that only a few days earlier we'd been sweating in places like Ethiopia, India, and Cambodia.

It was our second-to-last night on the tour, and people were beginning to exchange phone numbers and addresses. Everyone was tired but in good spirits; it was hard to believe that our trip was nearly over.

Instead of mingling, Micah and I went to sit by the windows. We were in a reflective mood, and, watching the snow flurries, we talked about the things we'd seen, the places we'd been. We talked about the places we would visit again--both of us had Machu Picchu at the top of our list--and how much we were both looking forward to seeing our families again.

In time, Micah glanced at me.

"So how's Ryan doing these days?"

"He's doing well. On his last report card, he got two Bs and the rest As."

"And he's in third grade?"

"Yeah."

"Does he have more friends now?"

"He's in a great class," I said, "and he's been with the same group since kindergarten. The kids in his class are used to him. And they like him. It's nice. And it's funny, too--if you ask the kids how Ryan's doing, they all say that he's the smartest kid in the classroom."

"Does he play like other kids yet?"

"He's getting better. Socially, he's still a little behind, and he still has a little trouble with regular conversations. He's fine if you talk to him about his interests, but he's not too good at banter or small talk yet. I think part of it, though, is that he's shy. I don't know whether it's because of his problem, or whether he would have been shy anyway. It's one of those unanswered questions."

"You guys have come a long way with him. It's amazing how much better he is. Every time I see him, I notice how he's improving all the time."

"Thanks," I said. "I know he's come a long way, but to be honest, it's sometimes hard to remember how bad he once was. We keep focusing on the future--you know, working on his conversations, his reading comprehension, things like that. It's frustrating. You always have to figure out new ways to get through to him--it's not like you can simply give him instructions."

"He's come a long way, Nick. What you and Cathy have done is amazing. I mean it."

"Thanks," I said again.

"Did you ever find out what was wrong with him?"

I shook my head. "No. We have some ideas, but we'll never be certain. Cat thinks he just had CAPD--where he couldn't understand sound--but I'm not so sure. I mean, I've read everything about that disorder, and if Ryan did have it, it was the worst case that I ever came across. I think it might have been part of the problem, but I think there was more to it. I think he was also autistic. But, like I said, I don't think we'll ever know for sure." I took a long breath. "But we'll keep working and he'll keep getting better. In the end, I think he'll be able to lead a normal life. I think he'll go to college and get married and make mistakes like all of us. He's close now. He's not there yet, but he's close. And we're not going to give up on him. But sometimes . . ."

I hesitated. Micah looked at me.

"What?"

"Sometimes I wonder why we had a child like Ryan. There was so much going on already with mom, dad, and Dana. It was too much, you know. It was too hard. It's like I didn't have enough challenges, so God gave me one more." I paused. "Do you know what I always tell Miles and Ryan?"

He raised his eyebrows.

"I tell Ryan that God gave him a brother like Miles so that Ryan could learn that anything is possible and that he can be good at anything. And I tell Miles that God gave him Ryan so that Miles could learn patience and persistence and how to overcome challenges."

Micah smiled. "That's nice."

I shrugged. It was a good lesson, but part of me always wished I wouldn't have had to say it at all.

Micah put his hand on my shoulder. "I know why God gave Ryan to you and Cat."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Why? Because he wanted to test my faith?"

"No," he said quietly. "Because not all parents could have done what you two did. He gave you Ryan because he knew that you two were smart and strong enough to help him. Ryan might have been lost with someone else."

For a long moment, we sat in silence. The snow flurries danced hypnotically, and began to coat the window ledges. I thought about Ryan, and his struggles, everything he'd been through. Yes, he was better because of the work Cat and I had done. And yes, I was confident about his future. But all at once, despite those thoughts, I felt a lump in my throat, and to be honest, I wasn't sure where it came from.

Our evening at the lodge ended relatively early, and Micah and I talked a few others on the tour into visiting one of the pubs in Tromso. There are a lot of pubs in Tromso, by the way. When it's dark eighteen hours a day in a relatively small town, there isn't much else to do if a person wants to spend time with friends. And Norwegians, we quickly discovered, are just about the friendliest people in the world. As soon as we found a table, locals gathered around to talk to us and listened as we described the trip we'd just been on. They asked our names and our histories, and asked how we liked their town. They offered to buy us drinks, and excitedly informed us that there would be karaoke that night. Some of the Norwegians took karaoke very seriously, and gradually the bar began to fill with people who'd come in just to sing. And here I thought karaoke stopped being popular years ago. Shows me how much I know.

Now, I've never sung karaoke. I've never wanted to sing karaoke, mainly because I'm a terrible singer. Micah can't sing either. And neither, I eventually learned, could anyone else on our tour.

But sing we did, and gradually we warmed to the idea of performing for these Norwegians. We passed the microphone back and forth, laughing when it was someone else's turn to belt out the next set of lyrics. We did this for hours, and it was one of the best evenings (along with Ayers Rock) that we had on the tour. The bar had a large selection of music, including Kenny Rogers's "Coward of the County," which made both of us laugh. It had to be an omen, and we belted out that tune at the top of our lungs. We also sang "Greased Lightning" from the movie Grease, doing our best to hide our off-key singing by dancing as exuberantly as we could. We moved like John Travolta, like professionals on Broadway, like we'd been dancing our entire lives, and at the end, the crowd clapped, whistled, and cheered. Later, when we asked one of the members of our tour what they really thought about our performance, there was a short pause before she answered.

"You know those howler monkeys in Guatemala? You looked like them."

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