The Descendants (27 page)

“What would you do?” I ask. “If you were me. How would you handle my daughters? How would you handle the man we’ve come to get?”

“Notice how in movies, actors always overdo the whole smoking process?” he says. “It’s always so exaggerated. And they always pick something off their tongue. And try to talk while holding in the smoke. It’s so lame.”

He imitates the actors and I see it. I see what he’s talking about.

“First off, I’d kick the guy’s ass. Boom.” He pantomimes a right hook and then slamming a body over his knee. “With the daughters, I don’t know. I’d take them on a trip. Or, no, I’d buy ’em shit. With your money, you can buy them all kinds of things. Alex told me about all the loot you’re going to get.”

I look at him and wonder if this is why he’s with Alex. “Do you want some of it? Some money?”

“Sure,” he says.

“If I gave you a lot of money right now—tonight—would you leave?”

“No,” he says. “Why would I leave?”

“No, Sid. I’m asking you a favor. If I give you money, will you leave?”

“Oh,” he says. “I get it. Is that what you want? You want me to go?”

The hair on the sides of his head sticks straight out.

“No,” I say. “I guess not.”

“I wouldn’t know what to do with daughters,” he says. “Exchange them for sons?”

“But then I could wind up with something like you.”

“I’m not so bad,” he says. “I’m smart.”

“You’re about a hundred miles away from the town of Smart, my friend.”

“You’re mistaken, counselor,” he says. “I’m smart, I can take care of myself. I’m an awesome tennis player, a keen observer of life around me. I’m a good cook. I always have weed.”

“I’m sure your parents are proud.”

“It’s possible.” He looks at his knees and I wonder if I’ve offended him.

“Do they know where you are?”

“My parents?”

“Yeah, Sid. Your parents.”

“My mom’s sort of busy right now, so she kind of wants me out of the way.”

“What does she do?”

“She’s a receptionist at Pets in the City.”

“Our cat goes there. So, it’s a busy time for pets?”

“No,” he says. “She’s busy getting the house together. Getting my dad’s things organized. He died a few months ago.”

At first I think he’s joking, that this is a prank like his retarded brother, but I can see that he’s serious. He’s doing the same thing I do when people talk about Joanie, trying to smile and look like he’s okay with the whole thing. He wants me to feel at ease and is searching for a way to the next topic. And so I do for Sid what I wish people would do for me.

“Good night, Sid,” I say. “Get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He leans back on his pillow. “Good chat, boss,” he says. “See you tomorrow.”

29

THE NEXT MORNING
I go for a run on the beach, and he runs right toward me and then past me. He is looking at the ocean when he jogs by, and I am higher, near the houses, where the sand is dry and more difficult to run though. I turn around and follow him, heading down to the packed sand. I’m thrilled and nervous and somewhat mortified that we’re doing the exact same thing at the exact same time. I run and watch the back of him, his calves, his neck. His T-shirt says
STANFORD LACROSSE
, which is just vile, and his shorts are the kind that serious runners wear, short and thin, with large slits on the sides. I imagine he’s the kind of man who clips his phone to his belt. He’s a fast little fucker, so I pick up my pace. There are only a few other people on the beach: some surfers checking out the swell, a fisherman planting his pole into the sand, a black dog sniffing in the bushes. The day is preparing itself for something promising, something grand—the gauzy light is beginning to sharpen, making the hammock of white sand flicker; the mists are lifting, dramatically and coyly revealing the bright sea and the blue-green cliffs.

I slow down, not wanting to get too close to him. I feel an incredible rush of energy and know it’s fueled by rage and try to focus and remind myself why I’m here. I love Joanie and she loves this man in front of me and I am going to bring him to her. He has the right to say goodbye. He has given her something I couldn’t. I’m like a cat dragging a rat to the doorstep.

A wave crashes onto the shore and he sprints away from it. I stay on course, letting the cold water splash up my legs. A little before the pier, he slows his pace, looks at his watch, and begins to walk up the incline. I stop jogging and watch where he goes. He walks on the beach for a while and catches his breath, then continues on toward the pier. I wonder if he’s heading to his car in the lot. I begin to walk, not knowing what I’ll do if he gets into a car. Am I ready? Can I do this now? Then I see him turn around and come back toward me, and I quickly face the water. I stretch, doing a twist that allows me to keep him in my sights. I twist to the other side and see him heading toward one of the small blue cottages that my cousin Hugh owns. I didn’t think Hugh rented them out anymore, and I wonder if Brian knows Hugh. Brian walks up the porch steps and opens the screen door. He must know one of us, which isn’t that much of a coincidence, since we’re so prevalent here. Like cockroaches. I could ask Hugh if and how he knows Brian. I could get some information on this guy before I make my move. Or I could walk into this blind. Why do I need information? Here he is. I found him. Now I have to get him.

I look at the hotel on the cliff, wishing my daughters were here. I realize I’m afraid. The sun is getting warmer on my back, and I wish the air could stay the way it was moments before: the air of promise, the elements brewing but not quite cooked. Enough stalling. I walk toward the cottage, trudging through the deep soft sand, but as I get near, I see something that startles me. I see Brian disappear inside, but then he comes out and sits down on a recliner with a glass of water. Following him are two children—one around thirteen, the other, I don’t know, eight—and then from the screen door comes a beautiful woman in a white bathing suit and a large white sun hat. She’s elegant. Radiant. Stunning. She’s Brian Speer’s wife.

30

I WALK BACK
toward the shore and sit on the beach. I wait to see if Brian and his family come down. I’m sure they will. It’s what you do. He has put an obstacle in my plan. After seeing his wife and children, I can’t bring myself to follow through. Not only would it be difficult logistically, but I don’t feel right about it anymore. I begin to doubt the entire affair, even though I know that it happened.

I see my daughters and Sid walking on the rocks, making their way to the beach from the hotel. There’s no path from the hotel beach to this one, just rocks and ocean, discouraging nonguests from entering or guests from ever leaving.

When they reach the bay, they look around until they spot me. Scottie runs to me and spreads out her towel.

“Alex ordered room service,” she says in a tattletale voice.

“Good,” I say.

Scottie never knows what will fly and what won’t, and I think this is a good tactic. Her stings look better now. They’re white and dry, like old scars.
What’s happening to you?
I want to ask.
What can I do for you?
I think of her posing in front of the mirror last night, her hands pushing her breasts together. I never noticed that Scottie has little breasts, but she does.

She lies on her stomach and turns her head toward me.

“Do you get cable in your room at home?” I ask.

“Yes,” she says.

“What shows do you like?”

“
The Sopranos,
” she says. “
Dog the Bounty Hunter.
Wait, just on cable, or all shows?”

“I don’t think you should watch any shows,” I say.

“I’d rather die,” she says.

Alex saunters toward us, Sid trailing behind her, smoking. I watch the men watch her until they see that I’m her destination, and then they look away.

“Any luck?” she asks.

“Oh yeah,” Scottie says. “Did you find Mom’s friend?”

I consider my answer. If they know I’ve found him, they’ll expect me to act.

“No,” I say. “No luck.”

Sid nods at me and I nod back. He has become a completely different person to me—a mystery, a rock. He must be strong. Or heavily drugged.

“Did you have a good breakfast?” I ask.

“Yup,” Sid says.

“Brought you a bagel,” Alex says, tossing me one with raisins in it.

“Wow,” I say. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

The sun has gotten even stronger, and it feels nice on my back. I have taken my tennis shoes off and press my toes into the cool sand. Sid and Alex are settling onto their stomachs, and Scottie turns onto her back. More people are on the beach and in the glassy ocean. People on either side of us have umbrellas and beach chairs, coolers, towels, sunscreen, hats.

“Do you guys have sunscreen?” I ask.

“No,” Scottie says. “Do we have water?”

“Did you bring any?” Alex asks.

“No,” I say.

Alex pops her head up. “Did you bring snacks for us?”

“We can walk to town.”

How do mothers manage to bring everything a child could need?

Alex props herself up on her elbows. She looks behind me. I follow her gaze and see the woman in white. She looks at us with a friendly expression, then down at the sand as she continues to walk. The two boys I saw at the cottage run toward the ocean, and she calls out to them, “Stay in the zone, please.” They both crash through a small wave then settle like birds. They bob and drift. She walks a little closer to the shore and it’s perfect because she’s below us and I can stare openly. She takes the bags off her shoulder and pulls a towel out of one. She flicks her wrists, and the towel sails into the air, then floats to the sand. She has a green translucent wrap covering her bathing suit; she leaves this on, sits down on the towel, and takes a book from her bag. It’s a thick hardcover.