The Descendants (38 page)

“Joanie! Joanie. Leper,” she says to a man who rolls by in a wheelchair.

The man looks at Alice, who keeps walking as though she hasn’t said anything.

“Hi, Alice,” I say.

She keeps walking past me until Scott puts his arm around her and shuttles her into the room. “Barry should be here soon,” he says. He looks at the bed, then goes to the window, lifts the curtain, and lets it fall again. He looks around and stands near the back of the room. It’s as though he’s shopping with a woman for lingerie. He doesn’t know what to do.

“Scottie. Let Grandpa sit.”

“Hey, Bingo,” Scott says. “I didn’t see you there.” He looks over at Alex and Sid. “There you are again,” he says to Sid.

Scott sits down and brings Scottie onto his lap.

Alice is standing next to the bed. She leans down and talks softly. I hear: “What do you get when you cross an alligator with a child?” but I don’t hear the answer. I keep wondering:
What
do
you get?
I suppose an alligator. Goodbye, child. For some reason her riddle breaks my heart.

BARRY COMES INTO
the room holding flowers and what looks to be a photo album. He is crying. He makes the rounds to each of us, shaking his head, then collapsing into our arms. When I hug him I press my open palm onto his back instead of making it into a fist.

“Hi, son,” Scott says.

I take the flowers from Barry. He goes to Joanie’s bedside and stands next to Alice.

“What did you decide?” Scott says.

“What’s that, Scott?”

“What did you decide?”

“I think we’re just going to see what happens. When we feel the time is right.”

“I mean what did you decide about the buyer? Who’s your buyer?”

“Hoarder,” Alice says to the pikake leis.

My daughters seem curious, too. I can’t bear to see their curiosity. They want to know how much. How much we will get.

“Is this really the right time to be talking about this?”

“How much are you getting?” Scott asks.

I look at Barry for a little help in shutting his father up, but all he says is: “Dad, you can read all about it in the paper, I’m sure.”

“I don’t need to read about it,” he says. “I can hear about it right here.”

“I’m not talking about this right now, Scott. It’s hardly appropriate.”

“It’s all the same to you, I guess. No big deal. A million here, a million there.”

“Is there a problem?”

Scottie looks petrified on his lap. He makes to get up and she gets off his lap, but then he settles back into his chair. He doesn’t make eye contact. There’s a cruel, teasing grin on his face. “It’s funny that Joanie happens to come into this misfortune at the same time you’re coming into fortune.”

“It’s not funny at all,” I say. “There’s nothing remotely funny about any of this.”

Yesterday the cousins gathered around Hugh as he broke the news, and I appreciated his delivery. It was flat and impartial, commanding. His tone was unwelcoming; no one balked or sighed dramatically. I know Joanie must have had something to do with it. They would have protested if she were healthy. Now they’ll wait until some time has passed. Hugh made me sound bewildered though determined. He made me sound optimistic and brave. Ralph patted me on the back. Six said, “Doesn’t matter to me. I’ll be dead soon.”

“You were selfish with her,” Scott says. “She gave you everything. A good happy home.”

“Scott,” I say. “What’s the point?”

I look at Barry again, busying himself with Joanie, and I know he must agree with his father or else he’d be helping me out.

“We lived well,” I say. “Better than well. You think she was unhappy because I didn’t give her enough? Are you actually angry about this?”

“She wanted her own boat.”

“I couldn’t afford it! I don’t have that kind of money at my disposal. Things are tied up. We live off of my salary. I will use trust money to pay for college, and I use it for Punahou, which is twenty-eight thousand for the two of them. Plus voice and dance, summer camp. The list goes on.”

The girls look startled and offended. That’s the thing with privileged kids—they forget their teachers get paid. They forget that everything costs something: being in a play, making a bong in glassblowing. I’m sure poor kids are aware of what everything costs. Every little thing. I look at the wall over Scott’s head and want to punch it. Why am I talking about tuition? Why am I defending myself?

“She should have had her own boat, something she really knew. Then she wouldn’t be…” He gestures to his daughter.

“She wasn’t driving in the first place, and you can’t blame this on me. I didn’t orchestrate this!”

“She deserved more from you,” he says, looking me square in the eyes. I can’t believe he’s saying this, especially in front of the girls, and I almost do it. The truth almost takes a swan dive off my tongue. I could tell Scott she was cheating on me, that I deserved more as well. I could tell him she broke all of our hearts.

“I know,” I say. “She deserved more.” And I realize this is true, not just a statement to placate him. I take a deep breath, remembering he is her father. I couldn’t imagine one of my daughters on that bed. “You’re right,” I say. “I’m sorry.”

“For Christ’s sake, take it easy on the man,” Sid says.

“Yeah, Grandpa,” Scottie says.

“Dad did the best he could,” Alex says.

I’m shocked, almost uncomfortable, worried that Scott might think I paid the girls to say this. Our united front feels strange, like we’re some other family. One of those happy families I see occasionally. And then I think:
Are we?
Despite everything, are we on to something here? Yet wherever we are, whatever we are, it would exist only with Joanie’s absence. This has all been made possible by her silence. I think of Sid telling his mother that his father’s death was the best thing to happen to them, and I realize he didn’t say it to be malicious or insolent. He said it because it was partly true, painful but true. How brave he must have been to say it.

I could tell Scott that money isn’t going to make my life better; his daughter’s death is going to make my life better. Deep within me, I know this. I don’t want to be in this situation, I don’t wish this upon her, but now that it has happened, now that I know what’s going to happen, I am confident my girls will make it out and will become strong, interesting people and I will be a good father and we will have a better life than the one we thought we were destined to have. The three of us are going to do well, Joanie. I’m sorry about that.

“I didn’t make a choice,” I say to Scott. “I didn’t sell.”

The girls search my face. Alex smiles. I’m not sure why, or what my decision means to her, but I’m so glad to have her approval.

“I’m keeping it in the family even though it’s going to be a pain in the ass. I’ll have a lot of work to do.”

“It’s none of my business,” Scott says.

I want to shout that I’m holding on to it, that I’m holding on to everything, that life has taken me by surprise and I’m surprising it right back in my small way.

Scott stands and walks over to Joanie. He appraises the flowers as though looking at books on a shelf, and then he laughs. “You must have pissed a lot of people off.” He seems almost proud.

“I did. And I probably haven’t heard the end of it.” Even though what I have done is perfectly valid and protected by law, I’m not ruling out a jackass prosecutor finding some tiny rip in the seam that he can worm himself into.

Alice looks at Sid’s magazine. Her eyes are huge, like an owl’s. “Are we ready to go?” she asks.

“No, Mom,” Barry says.

“Why not?” she asks.

“Because, Mom—”

“Yes, Alice,” Scott says. “We’re ready to go.” He holds his hands together and looks down upon his daughter. The girls look at me, panicked.

“Girls,” I say. “Sid.” I gesture toward the door and they follow me into the hall.

“He’s doing it now?” Alex asks.

“I guess so,” I say.

Out in the hall, we take a few steps in one direction, then turn around and walk in the other direction. Scottie is the only one who stands still and watches. After a while we follow her lead, yet glance down the hallway, perhaps trying to hide our interest in seeing how it’s done. Scott is closing his eyes and touching her shoulder, but he isn’t speaking. Barry is watching him, too, with both fear and reverence.

“Is he praying?” Sid asks.

“No,” I say.

Alice walks away from the bed and Scott glances up at her, then down at his daughter, and puts his hand over his mouth and squeezes his eyes shut. Then he opens his eyes and places a hand on Joanie’s forehead, smooths her hair back, and lets his hand rest on top of her head. Then he goes to Alice, takes her hand, and walks toward the door. We all step back. He glances at me briefly before walking down the hall. It’s a look I recognize—one that another attorney gives me when he loses to me. It’s a look of annoyance that I seem to have gotten away with something. It’s a look that’s stupidly certain I am a lucky man.

41

JOANIE SEEMS DIFFERENT
now that her father has said goodbye. It’s as though his farewell pushed her a step closer to nonexistence, and it’s hard to look at her, knowing that her parents won’t ever see her again. Everything seems different. We stay out in the hall, letting Barry be alone with her.

“Does Grandpa even like us anymore?” Scottie asks, something I myself was thinking about. I wonder if he’ll keep in touch with us, though I suppose that’s up to me. I’ll need to make sure he sees his grandchildren. I’ll need to make sure he’s taken care of. He’s mine now, too, I guess. The tops of the girls’ heads are identical. I notice this for the first time, a white flash of skin in the middle, the hair twisting to the right.

“Of course he likes us. He’s just sad. We say things when we’re sad.”

Sid keeps looking down the hall, toward the elevators, and it distracts me.

“I’m leaving, everyone,” Barry says, walking out of the room.

“Okay,” I say, catching myself from saying,
You’re done? You’re sure?
This is happening too fast.

“I might be back,” he says. “I’m going to go and let it sit. If I feel there’s more, I’ll come back. But right now I’m going to go.”

“Okay, Barry,” I say.

He gives me a hug and then goes to hug the girls. “We can do anything,” he says to them. “We can act any way we want to, but we must not be angry. We can’t be ugly.”

I recognize those words. I was cooking a roast and Esther was making empanadas and watching
Oprah,
and on the show a woman whose son was killed said the same thing to her family directly after his death. I remember actually stopping to watch this woman because she sounded so strong and smart and I really believed her, believed that she said this to her family, and I believed that saying this worked, but the words don’t sound powerful coming from Barry. I’m not convinced they’ll work for him. He’s read so many self-help books, but they were about love, not death. I think grief and anger are going to come to him suddenly. They’ll be undiluted and words won’t work. We’re all going to get hit and won’t know how to hit back. I wish I knew the answers, how to help myself and the people who will hurt all around me.