The Descendants (30 page)

Scottie shuffles her food around. “I ordered mahimahi, but I think this is just fried bread,” she says. “They forgot the fish part.”

“That happens sometimes,” I say.

“Mine was so good,” Sid says. “I love anything fried. Cheese, vegetables, fruit.”

Alex’s plate is empty. She is relaxed in her chair, gazing at the musicians with a look of love. I bet she’s not thinking about anything right now, and I’m glad for her.

The musicians strike the last chord with great fanfare, letting their strumming hands follow through to the sky. A few jump out of their chairs and hunch forward as though completing a race. The girls and Sid clap and cheer. Scottie stomps her feet on the floor. I look down and shovel food into my mouth, trying to pat down the emotion that’s threatening to spill over. I look at the tourist couple. I focus on them. My view of the man’s hand is blocked by the raffia on the table, but I can tell it’s resting on her thigh. She has taken off her lei. It hangs on the back of an empty chair. There are beer bottles on their table and glasses of ice with paper umbrellas. The woman has put one of these cocktail umbrellas into her hair. He tries to feed her a bite of his dessert—fried banana and ice cream—but she takes the fork and feeds herself, then cuts off another bite.

When our table’s cheers wane, Alex gives me what seems to be a guilty look. I interpret it to mean that she knows her happiness is out of character, or that her happiness is out of place—we aren’t supposed to be happy right now. I think we all know we should go home soon but don’t want to. The musicians pack up their instruments.

“It’s still so early,” Alex says. “It feels like ten o’clock.”

“That’s because we were in the sun all day,” Scottie says. She looks over at me and I nod.

I think of Brian’s son. I brought him in from the ocean. I taught him something his father should have taught him: to swim sideways to shore if you’re caught in a current, and never straight ahead. He had to place his hands around my neck while I tugged him to shore. I asked him, “Do you take after your dad?”

“I don’t know,” he said, his breath tickling my ear.

“Later tonight, maybe when you go to bed, tell your mother I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t go through with it. I saw her on the shore, the water rushing over her feet as she waited for me to bring in her boy. When we reached the shore, he slid off my back and I told him how to swim in the current. He couldn’t look me in the eye. His mother ran to him, and when she reached to hug him, her face pained, he evaded her arms and sat down. I think of her thanking me, then rushing the boys back up to the cottage. I sat down to rest and saw Scottie drawing a heart in the sand with a stick.
I LOVE
…a wave rushed onto the shore and washed away her declaration.

“Who do you love?” I ask her now. “On the beach—you were drawing in the sand.”

“No one,” she says.

Alex makes a hissing sound, meant to sound like someone peeing. “Giraffe boy,” she says.

“Shut up!”

We all laugh and Scottie looks triumphant, perhaps proud of her trick to get close to the boy, or just proud to feel love. Because feeling love does make you feel superior. Until you find out you aren’t loved back.

“That’s not who it is, anyway,” Scottie says. She runs her finger on the table, spelling out somebody’s name, perhaps. The true love.

“I love…you,” I say, throwing it out there. My girls look at me, unsure who’s supposed to receive it. I don’t think they want to know—both of them have never heard me say that before in a serious way. Most of the musicians have left the restaurant, but a few have stayed and are starting to play. We all look relieved. My abrupt love can diffuse.

“Here’s to your father loving you,” Sid says, raising his glass of water.

Alex looks at me and then at Sid. I wonder if she knows that I know Sid’s father is dead. She touches Sid’s other hand, the one that’s not around his raised glass. I raise my glass to Sid’s and give it a solid tap. We lower our glasses. The tourist couple gets up, and the woman takes her purse and the orchid lei. The man counts bills and looks around, holding the check and the bills, then puts everything down on the table. The woman looks back at us and I wave goodbye and she waves and walks toward the door. The man looks down at the table and takes a few bills off the stack, then puts them in his pocket before following his wife.

I look at the musicians. Two men are playing guitars instead of ukuleles. The man with the ukulele sings Gabby Pahinui’s
“Hi’ilawe,”
matching his guttural voice. The other two play slack key guitar and the sounds fill me like the alcohol—boldness and sadness, grit all sliding into me. Slack key.
Ki ho’alu.
This means “Loosen the key.” It’s what I’d like to do. Sit back and relax, loosen the key. If only we could stay here and never go home. But we can’t. I have work to do.

I told the older son to tell his mother I was sorry. Now, if he asked, “For what?” I’d say, “For what I’m about to do.”

32

WE WALK ON
the road by the bay. Even though Alex made me remember that it’s still early, I’m surprised by the soft light. The blood-orange sun is plunging into the ocean. Scottie is ahead of us, retrieving flowers from people’s yards. Everyone thinks we’re going back to the hotel. Everyone thinks we have failed.

“Make sure she doesn’t pick from people’s trees,” I say to Sid. “And tell her to head to the next beach access.”

He looks at me and then Alex, as if we’re about to plot against him. “Sure.” He jogs to catch Scottie and ruffles her hair when he gets to her. She punches his shoulder, then throws her bouquet into the air. Sid tries to catch as many flowers as he can.

I see Alex looking at him. Her bemused expression makes her seem much older. “That woman today,” I say to her. “The woman with the boys. That was his wife.”

“You’re kidding me.” She stops walking and faces me. “The hottie with the hat?”

“Yes,” I say. “Sure. Hottie?”

“Someone who’s good-looking,” she says. “Hot. How do you know she’s his wife?”

“I saw them both come out of the cottage with their children this morning.” I resume walking.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

I don’t answer.

“I can’t believe he has a family. What are you going to do now?”

I hear a car behind us. We both veer off the road, except Alex goes to one side and I go to the other. When the car passes, she walks back to me.

“I’m going to tell him,” I say.

“When?”

“Right now. That’s what we came here to do. Tell him, right?”

“But what about her?”

I think of her delicate hat devastated by the water. I think of her cold legs.

“You’re just going to show up?” Alex asks. “On the doorstep? Just knock on the door?”

“Yes,” I say. “That’s what I’m going to do.”

Alex has her mouth open, a glint of excitement in her eyes.

“Don’t look like that,” I say. “Don’t look excited. It’s nothing like that. This isn’t fun at all.”

“I didn’t say it was fun. Why would you say that?”

“I see it,” I say. “Your look.”

She doesn’t know the latest plot—the fact that this guy will have inherited more than my wife. He stands to inherit our entire past.

“He may come back with us on the last flight,” I say. “To say his goodbyes. Are you ready for that?”

“No,” she says, looking ahead at her sister, bumping into Sid. Scottie hands him a branch of bougainvillea, and when he’s about to take it, she pulls it away.

“Are you ready?” Alex asks.

“Not really,” I say. I’ll never be ready. Yet at the same time, you always want to reach the end. You can’t fly to a destination and linger in the air. I want to reach the end of this thing, and I feel terrible about it. The true end is her death.

“Will you come with me?” I ask.

“Me?”

“Yeah, you, Alex. You.”

“When you talk to him?”

“No. You can talk to her while I talk to him.”

“What about the flower child?” She points at Scottie, who is tucking a flower behind Sid’s ear.

“She can come, too. You can watch her for me. The three of you can distract the others. I’ll talk to him. I’ll just tell him what’s happening. I’ll just…finish it.”

“Right now?”

“Yes,” I say. “You know that.”

Scottie and Sid turn on the beach access and disappear. I notice Alex has slowed her pace. I wonder if this is all going to backfire. I shouldn’t involve Alex so much. I should have other people in my life to depend on.

“What happened to Sid’s dad?” I ask.

Alex takes a quick glance at me. “What do you mean?”

“I know he died,” I say.

“Oh,” she says. “Yeah.”

I wonder if this is why she likes Sid. Because he has a father who died.

“Car accident,” she says. “He was drunk. So was the other driver. They were both drunk. But the other guy didn’t die. A kid.”

I want to ask if Sid’s okay, or if that’s why he’s here now, if they’re sharing tragedy, or maybe she’s trying to learn what it’s like to have a dead parent. I guess I already know the answers to my questions.

“Is this helping Sid?” I ask. “Being here?”

“I don’t know,” Alex says.

“Is it helping you? Is he helping you by being here?”

“Yes,” she says.

I wait for her to continue, but she doesn’t. We walk down the beach access, and at the end of it, she takes her shoes off. The sand is dry and deep. I feel my face. I haven’t shaved in four days or so. I bet Brian will be showered and impeccable, his wife and kids, too, and it doesn’t seem right to go into this with him looking better than me. I see Scottie and Sid ahead and call for them to stop. When we catch up, I tell them we’re going to see the woman with the hat and her kids.

“You mean the retard who almost drowned?” Scottie asks. The white fruit drink has dried in the corners of her mouth, and she looks rabid.

“Yes,” I say. “Him.” I realize the boys could have been my daughters’ brothers, and I almost wish it had happened—it would have been the ultimate revenge, sending Brian my furious girls. He would have been absolutely lost.

Alex walks ahead, brushing Sid as she passes him, and he follows her. I know she’s telling him everything. He looks back at me, then puts his hand on top of Alex’s head, a gesture that seems intimate and cold all at once.

I take Scottie’s hand so she doesn’t try to catch up with them. “Did she invite you?” she asks.

“No. I just thought we’d pop in and say hello. I know her husband. I need to talk to him.”

Alex and Sid stop walking and let us join them.

“Good work,” Sid says.

“Right,” I say.

The tide has gone out and the beach is wide, a crooked line running along the sand, marking where the water reached earlier in the day. People have come down to watch the sunset, which is over, but they still sit in beach chairs and drink wine and beer. They peel their shoulders back as though still soaking in the sun. As we walk closer, I feel I’m walking the plank.

I look at Sid, for support, perhaps, but he’s preoccupied. Whenever he’s quiet, I think he’s thinking about his dad, and it scares me to be around him. Part of me is almost angry. This is my time. I have a lot to deal with, and I can’t be bothered by his problems. I also can’t be bothered by pornos, sea urchins, young love, but here we are.