My Father's Wives (17 page)

Anne sighed. “I can tell you a lot about Percy,” she said, “but that doesn’t mean I can explain him. He was one of a kind.”

We walked a bit in quiet. I was very comfortable in her presence. There was something soothing about Anne, quite different from either of my father’s two previous wives. She reminded me more of my mother.

“How about if I ask
you
a question?” Anne said. “Is it just me you’ve come to see? Or did you find the others as well?”

“I’m trying to meet all of my father’s wives.”

Anne nodded. “I never met your mother,” she said. “Or Christine, or Elizabeth. I didn’t know any of Percy’s other wives. If you don’t mind my asking, what have you found so far?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I’ve heard a lot of things but I don’t have any idea what to make of them.”

“Are we all alike?” she asked.

I stopped to think about that. They were so different in all the obvious ways, but there was one similarity. “You all seem sad,” I said.

Anne reached out her small hand and gently touched it to my cheek. “You’re a sweet young man,” she said. “And you look more like your father than I first realized.”

We were nearing the resort. Children were throwing a Frisbee, white-nosed tourists sat on lounge chairs, scuba instructors in wetsuits were taking a group into the sea. Beyond them all a solitary figure at the top of the hill looked out of place, a white-haired man in a linen shirt and jeans. As we approached he began to wave. I thought he was waving to me, but then I saw Anne’s face light up. “Come,” she said, and took my hand, “I’d like you to meet Val.”

“Who is Val?”

“Val is the man I’ve been married to for the last fifteen years.”

I waited for the laughter. This
had
to be another joke. “What are you talking about?” I finally asked.

“Jonathan, I’m a married woman. I assumed you knew that.”

“I did not.” I never envisioned anyone moving on after Percy. None of his previous wives had. In some ways, I hadn’t either. “If you’re remarried, why is your last name still Sweetwater?” I asked.

For the second time, Anne looked as though she felt sorry for me. “I’m going to tell you, because he’s your father and you should know, but you must promise to keep the secret. Part of the agreement is that it remain a secret. Just wait here a moment.”

Anne walked up the beach, quick and determined, straight toward the man in the linen shirt. I looked up at the sky. Clouds were on the horizon, forming menacingly over the volcano in the distance. The sea washed over me, almost to my knees. Up by the resort, Anne was talking with her husband, too far away to hear. After a moment she kissed him on the lips and started back toward me, more slowly now. The waves crashed over me again as she arrived.

“Let’s walk some more,” she said. “We still have a little while before the rain comes in from the mountain.”

Anne held my hand gently as we walked. Around us resort staff was
busy clearing the beach of cups and towels, while the captains of small boats covered their vessels in case the weather turned uglier than expected.

“Jonathan, your father was an unusual person. I don’t know what you’ve heard of him from his other wives, but it was during the time I was with him that his health began to deteriorate. His heart, mostly. And, as I learned, when your heart is not functioning properly, nothing else does either. Your father became frantic as he grew older, obsessed with his legacy. That was why he couldn’t rest. I didn’t want to mention it earlier, but I see now that you came all this way because you want answers, not a sugarcoated vision of a legend.”

The breeze picked up, blew the collar of my shirt onto my neck. “That’s right,” I said.

“When he left he gave me more money than I could ever imagine. We never went to court; he didn’t even use a lawyer. Businesspeople handled the entire transaction. He had only one demand. I assumed it would be that I never speak ill of him publicly, but he wasn’t at all concerned about that. His only stipulation was that I maintained his name for the rest of my life.”

I felt a raindrop on my cheek, brushed it away. “I don’t understand,” I said.

“I don’t know that I do either. He didn’t explain it, and I didn’t ask him to. He offered me five million dollars and all I had to do was sign an agreement that I would never legally change my name. I signed it, he kissed me on the forehead, and I never saw him again.”

It was raining now, a light but consistent sprinkle. I was thinking of a discussion Claire and I had the morning after we became engaged. She asked if it would upset me if she did not legally take my name. I pretended it would not even though it did. I asked her why it was important to her. She told me it was because her parents had no other children. I asked why that was so important. She said: “I don’t know, it just is.” She never did legally take the name Sweetwater.

Anne and I turned back toward the resort, but we weren’t walking
any faster. The rain wasn’t a good enough reason to hurry. “Val doesn’t mind?” I asked.

Anne smiled sweetly at the mention of his name. “Blissfully, he does not.”

“Does he treat you well?” I asked. “Does he make you happier than my father did?”

Anne stopped, wrapped her fingers even more tightly around mine. “Val treats me wonderfully and I love him with all my heart. But, Jonathan, no one will ever make me happier than your father did, and that’s just the truth.”

I opened my mouth but no sound came out.

“How about you, Jonathan? Are you married?” she asked.

“I am.”

“Does your wife make you happier than anyone else possibly could?”

The weight of the question made my voice small. “She really does.”

“Then make sure she knows it,” Anne said. “Never let her go.”

There wasn’t anything further to be said and we both knew it, so neither of us tried. In a moment we would make our way back to the resort and say good-bye. But for now, we were fine where we were. Total strangers, bound only by a man neither of us really knew, standing on a beach, holding hands in the rain.

I LANDED AT KENNEDY
airport just before noon and took a taxi to my mother’s apartment. I stopped at the same café on the corner and picked up two ham-and-cheese croissants, two sides of vinaigrette potato salad, and two cups of black coffee. I rang the buzzer with my elbow.

Her voice crackled through the intercom. “Jonathan?”

“You guessed it.”

“Please tell me you didn’t bring food.”

“I brought food.”

There was a pause. “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she said, and buzzed me in.

A moment later the locks were crackling and sliding and then the door opened before me. Instantly, my heart rose. Mother was dressed, her hair done, her makeup in place; she looked ten years younger than the last time I’d seen her.

“Why are you staring at me?” she asked. “Is something wrong with my appearance?”

“No,” I said. “Everything is about where it’s supposed to be.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

I shook my head. “Just something Claire says all the time.”

Mother grabbed the paper bag from my hand. “How are we making me fat today?” she asked.

“Low-calorie sandwiches,” I said. “Mom, you look terrific.”

“That’s because this is a human time of day to ring a woman’s doorbell,” she said. “Go knock on Gisele’s door at seven in the morning and tell me how gorgeous
she
looks.”

I sat at the kitchen table, the sunlight streaming through the skylights, and Mother brought two plates, two forks, skim milk for the coffee, and a stack of napkins. “So,” she said as she sat across from me. “Now what?”

I poured milk into my coffee, watched the color change. “I’ve had quite a week.”

“It’s only Tuesday.”

I took a sip. “Still,” I said, “you wouldn’t believe the places I’ve been.”

Mother took a small, careful bite of her sandwich. She is perfectly comfortable in silence. Claire is the same way. They can both pause in the middle of a conversation and wait, interminably if need be.

“I’ve met three of Percy’s wives,” I said.

If Mother was surprised her face did not show it. She just kept chewing slowly. “Does that or does it not include me?”

My heart skipped. It hadn’t occurred to me that Mother might think of my journey as a betrayal. “I hope this doesn’t upset you,” I said.

She cackled. “Oh, Jonathan, sometimes the only way to handle a moment of discomfort is with humor. I learned that a long time ago from a pretty smart fellow you may have heard of.”

“Do you want to know about them?” I asked.

Mother took another sip of coffee. “Not really,” she said. “But if you learned anything from the experience, I would very much like to hear about that.”

“I learned a great deal,” I said. “I just have no idea what it means.”

Mother waited again. Took a bite, chewed, never averted her eyes.

“I was hoping to find some thread of commonality among all of them,” I said, “but I didn’t. The only thing that unites them is Percy.”

“What more did you expect?”

“I don’t know.”

Mother sighed. “Sweetheart, I applaud you for making the effort, and I understand why you felt you had to do it. If my math is correct you still have two more to go, and I wouldn’t discourage you from trying. But please understand that all you may do is discover more about your father.”

“What else is there?”

“I feel like you’re out there in search of yourself. Or of Claire,” she said. “You won’t find those by meeting Percy’s wives.”

“Then how do I find them?”

“Jonathan,” she said, “the only questions that are really worth asking are the ones we cannot answer.”

I looked down at my hands. For a change, they were perfectly still. “Did Percy say that?”

Mother slammed her fist on the table; the noise caught me off guard. “I assume you realize your father said a great many brilliant things.” There was frustration in her voice. “That doesn’t have to be such a burden. You are a smart, responsible man and I couldn’t be more proud of you, but when it comes to your father it’s time for you to grow up.”

“I don’t know how.”

“How to do what?”

“I don’t know how to be older,” I said. “All I’ve ever been is younger.”

Mother rose and pulled her chair closer to mine. “Here is the most important lesson you need to learn from your father,” she said. “The key to life is learning to put up with the imperfections. If you expect life to be perfect, you will always be disappointed. If you expect
yourself
to be perfect, you will never be satisfied. And if you expect
others
to be perfect, you will always be alone.”

“Did Percy say that?”

She squeezed my shoulder. “No, my dear, I am pleased to tell you he did not. Those were my own observations. About him, and about you.”

“So, I’m just like my father?”

“In this regard, yes you are. Both of you, in your own way, are always chasing perfect. That’s how you wound up where you are right now.”

“And how about Percy?”

Mother smiled. “That’s how he ended up with six wives.”

I COULDN’T BEAR THE
thought of going to the office. Even basketball didn’t appeal to me; I was weary, drained. Nor could I fathom boarding another airplane. There was one more trip remaining, but that would have to wait. What I needed more than anything was a night in my own bed.

First, though, I would go to school. Sonny would drive me straight there, then he would take us all to the ice cream shop; I wasn’t stopping at the house for my car.

Sonny is notable for two reasons: his speed and his odor. On this day, he outdid himself in both areas. He made it from lower Manhattan to Westport in just forty minutes, and we rode the entire distance with my window down; it was with great relief that I stepped from the car into the sunshine of the school parking lot. In ten minutes the bell would ring and release a flood of noisy, joyous children in alligator shirts and plaid skirts, lugging oversized backpacks, laughing loudly about anything and nothing, mostly pleased just to have completed another day of school.

“Find a place to sit,” I shouted into the open car window. “It’ll be a few minutes.”

Sonny nodded amiably and pulled away, vigilant in his carefulness.
On the highway he was a man possessed, but there was a real sweetness in the way he inched through a school parking lot, as though at any moment an unwitting child might spontaneously appear.

I couldn’t think of anything better than a few minutes of total silence, so I headed for my favorite, most secluded place, a wooden bench dedicated to a beloved science teacher beneath a sturdy oak in a garden between the playground and soccer fields. The garden is barely visible from the school or the parking lot, the perfect place to be alone. Which is why I was so disappointed, as well as surprised, when I came around the tree to find Claire seated on the bench.

I stopped dead in my tracks and stared at the back of her head. Every question I wanted to ask flooded my brain. I longed to share with her everything that had happened, about Shelby and Amanda, and all of Percy’s wives. I wanted her to assure me that anything I thought I had seen was a mistake, there was a simple explanation, that everything was exactly as it had always been and would always be. I opened my mouth to speak, but before the words came pouring forth I realized there was something different about Claire. It was something in the way her hair fell, perhaps to the wrong side. And it was just a bit longer than it should have been. Then she lifted her arm and rested it along the top of the bench, still facing away, and the instant I saw her rings I realized why she appeared different. It was because it wasn’t Claire at all. And it was the second time I had made that mistake.

The first was eighteen months ago, beneath an overcast sky. It was Art Night at school, where soft drinks and brownies are served while all the students’ paintings are displayed on the walls. Sonny dropped me off just outside the entrance and I hurried in, rejoicing in the sound of the chaos, relieved I wasn’t too late. In the dim light I saw my wife outside a classroom. I stepped stealthily toward her and patted her gently on the behind.