The Descendants (14 page)

“Why?”

“Now, Scottie.”

She gives me the finger, the proper way I taught her, and runs back inside.

“Real good job you’re doing,” Alex says.

“I think the bigger deal isn’t Scottie wearing your underwear, or my parenting skills, but finding you inebriated at boarding school, where you’re supposed to be getting your act together.”

“I was just drinking, Dad! I have gotten my act together. I’ve been doing really well, but you guys never even noticed that part. No one has said balls about how I’m doing better and how I was in that stupid play you guys didn’t bother to see. So what if I got drunk on the night you happened to drop in. So what!”

“Calm down,” I say. “Just get ahold of yourself and calm down.”

“Get a clue, Dad,” she says.

“About what?”

“You have no idea about anything. I want to go back to school.”

She lifts her head to the sky to submerge her long brown hair in the water. When she brings her chin back down, her hair is slick and shiny. She sits on the step in the pool and picks termites out of the water and lines them up on the edge. “What’s with the cream all over Scottie?” she asks.

I tell her the story: the urchin, the man-of-wars, Lani Moo.

“That’s insane,” she says.

“You need to help me with her.” I rest my arms on the warm brick patio and let my legs kick out behind me.

She moves off the step and ducks under the water, surfacing with a small diamond-shaped leaf stuck to the side of her hair. I pick it off and place it on the water.

“Maybe I’ll talk to her,” Alex says. She tilts her head to the sun and closes her eyes. “I guess. Whatever. Someone has to.”

“I’d like that. You can’t yell at her anymore, you know. You’re her idol, and you have no reason to yell, even if she’s in your underwear. And what are you doing with that kind of underwear, anyway?”

“Mom gave it to me,” she says. “I don’t even wear it.”

“That’s good,” I say. “Anyway. Be good to her.”

“Maybe I will. Maybe I won’t. No one was good to me, and I’ve turned out fine. Strong as an ox.” She lifts her arm out of the water and flexes her biceps.

This gesture warms me, then saddens me, because we can’t joke around. Life isn’t funny right now. It may never be. I need to tell her.

Alex turns around and props herself on the edge of the pool, floating her lower body. I think of her postcards. Why did Joanie ever let her model for those?

“Your mother isn’t well, Alex.”

“Obviously,” she says.

“Watch what you say. I don’t want you to say things you might regret, like last night. She isn’t going to wake up. The doctors are going to stop caring for her. Do you understand what I’m saying? We’re giving up.”

She stands still.

“Did you hear what I said? Come here.”

“What? What do you want?”

“Nothing. I was just comforting you.”

“Oh yeah. Yeah, right.”

“Why are you yelling?”

“I need to get out of here!” She brings her hands down onto the water and flinches as it splashes into her face. “Stop it!” she yells. Her face is red and wet.

“Stop what?” I say. “I haven’t even said anything.”

She covers her face with her hands.

“Alex.” I try to bring her toward me, but she pushes me away.

“I don’t get what’s happening,” she says.

“We’re saying goodbye. That’s what’s happening.”

“I can’t.” She takes two quick and loud inhalations, and then her shoulders shake.

“I know,” I say. “We’re going to help each other through this somehow. I don’t know what else to do.”

“What if she comes through?”

“I’m going to ask Dr. Johnston to talk to you. You’ll understand. Mom wanted it this way. She has a will, see, that says we have to do this.”

“This is so weird.” Tears stream down her face, and her breath is choppy. “Why’d you have to tell me in the goddamn pool?”

“I know. I know. It just happened, okay?”

“I can’t even deal right now,” she yells.

“I know. We’ll go see her. How about right now? We can go see her now.”

“No,” Alex says. “I need a little time.”

“That’s fine,” I say. “I was thinking of our friends last night. People who should know what’s going on. And I thought I should tell our friends, but I thought I should do it in person. You know, out of respect for them. For your mother. Maybe you can come with me?”

We’ve moved out to the center of the pool for some reason and are keeping ourselves afloat, kicking our legs and pushing the water away with our arms. I can tell she’s getting tired.

“We can talk about your mother with our friends. Console one another and honor her.”

Alex laughs.

“I know, it sounds hokey. We’d just do it for her close friends, and Barry and your grandparents. Even if we just say what’s happening. We don’t have to stay, but I’d like to tell them in person.”

“That’s not what I was laughing at,” she says.

“So will you come with me? We can go to Racer’s first and then to your grandparents’.” I’ve put a lot of thought into this—who should be told—and I’ve narrowed it down to our family and the people who love and know her the best.

Last night I went over the list of names and looked at the other side of the bed, Joanie’s two pillows stacked on each other just the way she likes them. I’m not used to sleeping alone, and even though I have much more room, I keep to my side and never veer to hers. This is where we’d watch TV and talk about our day, and it was also the time of night when we’d realize how well we knew each other, how it seemed that no one could join us and understand us. “What if someone were recording this conversation?” She’d laugh. “They’d think we’re nuts.”

But I also remembered all the nights she was out late with the girls. She’d eventually sway into bed smelling like tequila or wine. She would come home so late, and sometimes she wouldn’t be drunk. She’d sneak into bed quietly and gracefully, her gardenia perfume on her skin. I wonder if part of me was satisfied that she was keeping busy, allowing me to focus on my work, so caught up with creating my own legacy instead of borrowing the legacies of those who came before me. Yes. Part of me must have enjoyed being left alone.

Alex is pale and out of breath. She looks at me with such pain in her eyes, as though pleading with me for something.
I can’t help you,
I want to say.
I don’t know how to help you.

“Hold on,” I say.

She hesitates, then holds on to my shoulders like she used to do. I swim toward the shallow end, tugging her back with me. We go to the edge, and I place my hand on her back. The sun appears, then quickly hides again. The pool water is dark, like deep-sea water.

“Let’s all go to Racer’s, since it’s right here, then your grandparents’, and then the hospital? That’s a good route.”

“I don’t see the point,” Alex says. “Just call them or something. I don’t want to talk about Mom with everyone. It’s stupid.”

“Alex, whatever you fought about at Christmas, you need to drop it. It’s nothing. You love your mother. Your mother loves you. Move on.”

“I can’t drop it,” she says.

“Why not? What could possibly be so bad?”

“You,” she says. “You’re the reason I fought with her.”

The sun appears again. It feels good on my shoulders. “You were fighting about me?”

“No,” Alex says. “I was just angry at her for something she was doing to you. And you’re still so devoted to her.” She looks at me then down at the water. “She was cheating on you, Dad.”

I watch her face. It remains still and blank except for her nose. It flares a little in anger. Then I hear a noise, like someone at a typewriter rapidly punching the same key, and I look up and see a helicopter rising over Olomana. It hovers over the incline before the peak.

It seems that I should feel something right now, like a deep chill, or a red heat, or a sensation like ice water surging through my veins, but the only thing I feel is that I’ve been told something I already know. It’s as though a panic has settled within me. I think of the blue note and let out a loud breath.

“Did she tell you?” I ask. “Did you catch them?”

“No. Well, sort of. I sort of caught them.”

“Tell me,” I say. “Just tell me. This is fantastic.”

I pull myself out of the water and sit on the edge of the pool. She does the same, and we let our legs dangle in the water.

“I was home for Christmas, obviously,” she says, “and I was driving to Brandy’s, and I saw her with him.”

“Driving where? Where were you driving?”

“Kahala Avenue. To Brandy’s.”

“And what, you just saw her walking with another man and assumed something was going on?”

“No, I was going into Black Point, and I saw them in the driveway of a house. His house.”

“He lives on Black Point?”

“I guess,” she says.

“So then what?”

“He had his hand on her back and led her into his house. Or into a gate where the yard is.”

“Then what?”

“Then nothing. She went into the house. His hand was on her back.”

“What did you do?”

“I kept driving to Brandy’s and told her what happened, and we basically talked about it all day.”

“Did you say anything to your mom? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know. I just wanted to get away. It made me sick to see her near you. I was so pissed at her and so sorry for you. I actually went back to school thinking that this was it. I was done with her. She knew I knew. That’s why she sent me away again. She didn’t want me back.” Alex draws her knees to her chest. “Then I was going to call and tell you everything, but the accident happened and I didn’t want to tell you anymore. I was going to wait until she came back, I guess.”

“I’m sorry, Alex. You shouldn’t be dealing with these kinds of problems.”

“No shit,” she says.

“I can’t…we can’t be angry with her right now.”

Alex doesn’t say anything. We watch the helicopter circle around the same spot.

“What did he look like?” I ask.

Alex shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“How did she know you knew?”

“I told her I couldn’t stand seeing her and I knew what she was doing. I never came out and said it, though. We got into a fight. And then I left. And everyone cheered that I was gone again.”

“Alex,” I say. “We need to get along.”

She looks away, which usually means she’s agreeing to something.

“I need to know who he is,” I say.

Alex slips back into the water. I follow her, letting myself sink to the bottom. We both push the surface away from us, our legs and arms making tiny circles. Her hair moves slowly over her head. The pool water glints along her body. My toe brushes the bottom of the pool. We look at each other until a line of bubbles shoots out from her mouth. She pushes off, and I follow her to the surface to breathe.

“I’m going to the Mitchells’,” I say. “Do you want to come with me?”

“To do what?” she asks.

“To tell them about Mom and ask them who he is.”

“I need to wait for Sid,” she says.

We get out of the pool, and I must look bad, because my daughter keeps asking if I’m okay. We walk back into the kitchen and I stand at the counter, water dripping off my shorts onto the floor. Scottie is spooning ice cream onto a bagel, and I look at the tip of her little tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth as she digs into the carton. I want to weep. Alex touches my wrist, and I flinch, then look at her and smile, but my lips tremble.

“I’m going to the Mitchells’,” I say again.

Esther walks in with a stack of dish towels. She looks at the girls, then looks at me. I must be pale. I must look utterly lost, because she shakes her head and clucks her tongue. She puts the towels in a drawer. She whispers something into Alex’s ear and then walks pointedly toward me. I take a step back, but she grabs my head and pulls me to her breast. I stare at her chest, horrified, but then I give in, and for the first time, I actually cry, as though I’ve just now realized what’s happening to my wife and to me and to this family. My wife’s not coming back, my wife didn’t love me, and I’m in charge now.

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