The Descendants (31 page)

The pier is ahead, and kids are running to the edge of the water, then running back up the slope. Scottie joins them. I wonder what the age is when you can no longer just join the other kids. As we get closer, I see that two of the kids are Brian’s boys. I look higher on the beach to see if their parents are sitting on beach chairs, soaking in the night, but they aren’t.

The moon is behind black clouds, and the bright glow behind the wisps of black make the moon and clouds look like an X-ray. I hear the water rush up onto the sand, sounding like someone shaking a container of broken glass. The kids playing on the sand run toward me, trying to catch a ball. The younger boy pounds the sand with his fist.

“Are your parents up there?” I ask him. He’s surprisingly clean for a kid playing out here. There’s black grime under Scottie’s nails that I keep forgetting to remove.

“Yeah,” he says.

“Are they watching pornos?” Sid asks, coming up behind us.

The boy nods solemnly, the kind of nod that says he has no idea what he’s affirming.

“Scottie, do you want to stay down here?” I call.

“Yeah,” she yells.

“Yes,” I correct.

Four boys rush toward her, gazing behind them at the ball in the sky. I almost yell to her to watch out, but she runs into the group of boys and jumps to catch the ball, which falls somewhere that I can’t see.

“Sid? Will you keep an eye on her?”

Sid looks up at the house. The flower is tucked behind his ear. “Sure,” he says. “I’ll hang here.”

Scottie walks up the beach where the slightly older kids are hanging out. The older brother is explaining the rules to some kind of game. “Wait,” he says to Scottie, thrusting his arm out to stop her. “How old are you?”

“Ten and a half,” I hear her say.

“Okay, you can come in, but no one else!” he warns the others.

Sid walks past them and lights a cigarette. All of the kids look at him, fascinated. I should tell him to put it out, but I don’t care.

The older boy continues his speech. It’s as though he’s sending them out to fight a war.

“Hold fast,” I hear him say. “I’m not responsible for you.”

Jesus. “Hey there, son,” I say to the boy as Alex and I pass. “You okay? You almost drowned today.”

His eyes dart around at his followers. “I’m fine,” he says, and before I can say anything more, he lowers his voice and says, “Let’s begin.”

Alex and I cut through the hedge and walk up to the house.

33

WE WALK SLOWLY.
The small cottage looms ahead.

“What should I say?” I ask, immediately regretting it. I need to be the one in control. I need her to think that I know what to say.

“You should tell him that Mom is going to die soon,” she says flatly. “Find a way to get him alone. I’m sure that won’t be hard—he’ll want to get you away from her once he finds out who you are.”

“I’m sorry for involving you, for letting you know this about your mother. It’s selfish of me.”

“I already knew everything about her,” she says. “It’s okay.”

She doesn’t know everything. She doesn’t know about her mother’s campaign for Brian, for their life together. She doesn’t know about Joanie’s fear, or Joanie’s strong love for her. She doesn’t know everything, and neither do I.

Two heads appear in the kitchen window, and then Mrs. Speer backs into the screen door, carrying a platter of hamburger patties outside.

Alex nudges me. I’m afraid to scare her. It’s bizarre that we’re here. “Hi there,” I call. Alex waves.

The screen door slams loudly and Mrs. Speer looks out at the lawn. I can’t tell if she’s happy to see us.

“Hello!” she says. “How are you? I was hoping I’d see you guys again. We rushed away and…Well, here you are.”

We stand at the foot of the porch steps.

“I’m such an idiot,” I say. “I do know your husband. I just put it together. We were walking back to the hotel from Tiki’s, and I saw your boys down on the beach. I thought we’d drop in and say howdy to you. And to Brian.”

Alex looks at me and mouths, “Howdy?”

“Come on up,” Mrs. Speer says. “Actually, I was just telling my husband about meeting you but realized we didn’t exchange names. After all that. I’m Julie.”

“Matt King,” I say. “This is Alex.”

We walk up the steps. Julie seems too cute of a name for her. I say it silently to myself a few times.

“I thought you were mistaken when you said you didn’t know Brian. I figured you must have crossed paths. He’s been so involved.”

“Yes,” I say. “Really involved. I don’t know what I was thinking. My mind was elsewhere.”

“For a while there, it seemed we never saw him. But I guess it’s almost over. Would you like a hamburger?” she asks.

“We just came from dinner,” I say, “but thank you.”

“That’s right. You said that.”

I lean against the porch rail, and Alex stands on the edge of the steps, letting her heels drop. Then she stands on her tiptoes and lets them drop again.

“Are you exercising?” I ask.

“No,” she says. “Sorry.” She walks across the porch and sits on a reclining chair. Julie holds a spatula in her hand, then balances it on the porch railing. I can hear the ocean and the children yelling.

“So, tomorrow, right?” she says. “You’ll know tomorrow.” She looks down. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. There’s a conflict of interest. That was stupid of me.”

“It’s okay,” I say.

She laughs and leans against the railing and places her hands on her thighs and lifts her fingers to examine her nails. She’s wearing jeans and a white T-shirt, and her hair is wet and piled into a bun on top of her head.

“Tomorrow it will be over,” I say.

“Yes,” she says. “Thank God.”

We seem to be lodged into a dead calm. Waves crash on the shore, followed by a suction sound. I can see the kids and the orange glow of Sid’s cigarette, but then it disappears.

“Would you like a drink?” Julie asks.

“Sure,” Alex and I say at the same time.

She pushes off the railing and the spatula falls. She gazes down at the dark grass. I move to retrieve it, but she waves for me to stay, and walks down the steps. I hear the screen door opening and see the silhouette of Brian behind the screen. Then he walks out and looks at my daughter and me.

“Hi,” he says, extending his hand. “I’m Brian.”

Julie walks up the steps, blades of wet grass on her white tennis shoes.

“Brian.” I pump his hand vigorously, and when we pull away, he gives his wrist a tiny shake. “We’ve met before,” I say, looking over at Julie. “Matt King. My wife is Joanie; we met you at a shareholders’ meeting, I think it was. This is our daughter Alex.”

His grin wilts. He looks briefly at Alex and does a double take, perhaps seeing her resemblance to his mistress.

“Matt’s the one I was telling you about. He saved Christopher.”

Brian stares at me.

“I was just going to get drinks,” Julie says. “And to wash this off.” She holds up the metal spatula. I can see rust on its underside.

“Good, good,” Brian says. He pats Julie on the back. “Good.” He opens the door for her. You can tell that he never does this, because it takes her a moment to understand what he’s doing.

“Do you need help?” Alex asks.

The screen door closes. “No, no,” she calls.

As soon as she’s out of earshot, I say, “She’s dying. I thought I’d give you a chance to say goodbye.”

His body tenses. The package of whole-wheat buns in his hand looks ridiculous.

“I just came here to tell you. That’s all I came to do.”

“My dad doesn’t want to hurt your family,” Alex says. “We’re just doing what we think she would want, and she wanted you, evidently.” She eyes his face, then the buns he still holds in his hand. “God knows why,” she adds and looks at me. “Why would she want him?”

“That’s enough, Alex,” and then I say, “I don’t know.”

“I can’t,” Brian says, looking toward the door. “I’m sorry. I never thought it would come to this.”

“You’re sorry,” Alex says. “That makes it all better. You’re sorry to hear my mom’s going to die, you’re sorry you screwed my mom, or you’re sorry you screwed my dad?”

“No,” he says. He stares at the space in front of him. “Yes. I’m sorry for all of it.”

“There’s a nine-fifteen flight out of here,” I say. “I’m sure you can think of a good excuse to leave.”

“You must be good at that,” Alex says.

“Alex,” I say, though her remarks are lost on him. He’s deep in his own thoughts.

“You can go to the hospital tonight or tomorrow morning,” I say. “I’m sure you want to see her and say whatever you need to say. You’ll be alone with her.”

“What?” he says.

“You can be alone with her.”

“Okay,” he says. “Look.” He turns to the screen door, then faces me and lowers his voice. “I can’t have you here. You understand.”

Julie comes out with a glass of red wine and a soda for Alex. “I hope this is okay,” she says. Her smile fades a little as she notices our expressions.

“Perfect,” I say and take a sip of the wine.

“Brian, no talking about business. I already made that mistake.” She looks at Alex and winks.

“What, Julie?” Brian says. “What are you talking about?”

“Nothing,” she says. “You all looked so serious, I just thought you were talking about…about the sale.”

“No,” Alex says. “We were talking about love.”

“Well,” Julie says. She bumps her shoulder into Brian, who looks down at her, his brow still furrowed, a deep wrinkle running halfway across his forehead. “What about love?” she asks.

No one answers or moves. Brian looks over Julie’s head and frowns at me. I want to tell him that he doesn’t get to frown at me.

“Are you in love?” Julie asks. “With the boy on the raft.”

We’re all standing except Alex. “No,” she says. “He’s my friend. We have things in common, that’s all.”

“Sometimes that’s how it starts,” Julie says. She puts her arm around her husband’s waist and presses her hand into him, something Joanie would do, signaling me to participate in the conversation.

“No,” Alex says. “We have a friendship that we don’t have to work on.”

“But I saw him kiss you,” I say, then realize I’m not supposed to add to this conversation. It’s just a guise that Alex started and one of us needs to end. But I can’t help it. I want to know.

“Oh, please,” she says. “We’re friends, but of course he’s going to try to get laid. Every guy wants to get laid.” She looks at Brian.

“We’re in for it, aren’t we,” Julie says, looking up at her husband.

“What?”

“The boys. Our boys. Speaking of the boys, we should get them. Call them in for dinner.”

“They’re fine,” Brian says. “Just let them play.” He moves away from her. Her arm drops to her side. He places the buns on the table by a bowl that’s filled with sea glass.

I hear a boy yell, “No! Back off! Back off!”

We all look toward the ocean.