“Alex doesn’t know all that,” he says. “She just thinks my mom kicked me out because she’s upset.”
“Why haven’t you told her?”
“She’s busy,” he says. “Like you said.”
“Why are you telling me?”
“Because you asked,” he says. “And so you’ll stop looking at me like I’m about to open fire.”
“Did your mother believe you?” I ask. “When you told her?”
“Of course not.”
He goes through the channels once again. I see a giraffe, an animated sponge, someone welding, a bailiff giving a judge the thumbs-up.
“Why did you tell her? Why would you do it after he was dead?”
He settles on a station: a news anchorman reporting a deadly earthquake in Ethiopia, the ticker below reading, Five days until the Oscars! Five days until the Oscars!
“Because I respect her,” he says. “He was never good to her. He made our house tense all the time.”
“But you’ve ruined her life.” I think of Julie. I imagine the news literally breaking or damaging her in some way.
“I haven’t ruined her life,” he says. “She’ll just know like I know. I still love my dad. We still have our life before the bad part. It doesn’t make everything about him bad, right?” He looks at me for the first time. “I’m not supposed to hate everything, am I?”
I try to fix my gaze on his, but I see his eyes watering. I’m not supposed to see him this way. Nobody is. I look at the anchorman.
“You’re supposed to feel however you feel,” I say. “You can miss him. You can love him.”
Out of the corner of my eye I see Sid look up at the ceiling. I stand up.
“Thanks,” I say. “I appreciate you telling me all that.”
“No sweat,” he says and clears his throat.
I tell him to keep the light off because of the termites and say good night. I walk back toward my room, an uneasy feeling making me rack my brain for something more to say, something that will make everything okay. Don’t cry. I’m here.
At the doorway I turn around. “Are you warm enough in that room? There are extra blankets, you know. If you need them.”
“I’m fine,” Sid says. “I’m good.”
“Anything you’ve noticed on TV lately?” I ask. “Any keen observations, reflections?”
He rolls his eyes and holds down a smile.
“Go on, then,” I say.
“The cartoon diseases,” he says. “The commercials make herpes, foot fungus, you know, all those things, they make them into cartoon characters and have them yell and threaten and pillage the body. It’s weird. Have you ever noticed those commercials?”
“I’ve noticed,” I say.
He locks eyes with me. “They should just come out and say what they have to cure you. Those cartoons are disgusting. Just tell us how to get rid of what we have.”
He focuses on the TV again, and I leave him in the dark room.
39
DR. JOHNSTON WALKS into Joanie’s room, and there’s another man at his heels who is smiling at my children in a way that frightens me. Before I left the hospital yesterday, I asked Dr. Johnston for help. How do I tell my youngest child that there is no hope?
“You mean she doesn’t know?” he asked.
“She knows,” I said quickly. I thought about Scottie kissing her mother and how it looked like she was trying to bring her to life. “It’s just that she still thinks there’s a chance. Even after I explained it all. Joanie’s hand moved, see. I guess I just don’t know what to do now.”
He sat behind his desk and I could tell he was forcing himself not to look at me, as though I had done something wrong. His disappointment in me was clear. I even swallowed my pride and told him about the sea urchin and the man-of-wars, though not about the masturbation movies or her posing in front of the mirror. He said he would talk to both of the girls and introduce us to a children’s therapist whom some found to be helpful.
The therapist’s eyelids are heavy, his mouth gently curled up. It’s as though he has taken a bong hit. His face is tan and freckled, sun-beaten, and his features are soft, so there’s not a lot you can really hold on to.
Sid sits on a chair under the window, flipping through a magazine. I can see a girl on the cover in a short red dress crawling across the hood of a Mustang.
“This is Dr. Gerard,” Dr. Johnston says.
“Hello, hello, everyone,” Dr. Gerard says, locking eyes with each of us in turn. “You must be Scottie.” His voice is barely audible. He extends his hand, and Scottie gives him hers, but he doesn’t shake it. He squeezes it and brings his other hand over it. Scottie pulls away a little, but he holds her there.
“And you must be Alex,” he says, letting go of Scottie and sidestepping over to Alex.
“Hey.” Alex reaches out her hand and shakes his vigorously.
He bows slightly to me. I notice he has a pen in his pocket; affixed to the pen is a rubber octopus. He notices that I’m staring at it and takes the octopus and makes a big show out of preparing to throw it to me and then tosses it my way. I let it land at my feet, and upon impact with the floor, the octopus lights up.
“It lights you,” he says.
Scottie retrieves it. The rubber toy flashes in her hand.
“My silly toy,” he says.
Scottie pulls one of its legs and then lets it go so that it snaps back.
“Such a funny creature,” Dr. Gerard says. “With so many defense mechanisms. The ink sac, of course. I’m sure you know about the ink sac. She uses the ink as a distraction, a cloak of sorts, to escape from predators.”
Dr. Johnston is staring at the floor. Sid looks over the rim of his magazine, then ducks back behind it.
“They can also camouflage themselves to hide from predators. Some can emit poison, and some can mimic more dangerous creatures, like the eel. I guess I keep him to remind me of all our defense mechanisms—our ink, our poison, our camouflage to evade what hurts us.” He shrugs as though the thought has just occurred to him.
“What is this?” Sid says. “Octopi 101?”
I try to hold down a smile; I’m grateful that Sid’s back. He has an expression of disguised pride on his face and I know it’s because of my smile, my endorsement of him.
“You’re right,” Dr. Gerard says. “Here I am, babbling on.” He brings his hands together into a steeple near the middle of his chest. “The reason I’m here is to meet you girls. I’ve heard so much about you, and I’d love to talk with you if you’d like to talk with me.”
“What have you heard?” Scottie asks.
He places his chin on his knuckles and continues speaking, his voice quiet and casual. “Well, I’ve heard you love the ocean and music and that you’re a very wonderful and talented girl.”
Scottie considers this.
“I’ve heard that your mom’s not doing too well, that she’s going to die.” The girls look at me and I look at Dr. Johnston. It’s such a simple and true statement, but I’m alarmed to hear it. Has anyone said this so clearly?
“You’re having an understandably difficult time,” he says. “And I came to meet you and let you know that if you want to talk, then I’d love to face the present with you, without all our silly defense mechanisms. I’d like to help you own this time in your lives, and then I want to help you move forward. Not move on, but move forward.”
“Okay,” Dr. Johnston says. “Thank you, Dr. Gerard.”
Scottie hands Dr. Gerard the octopus. He gives her hand another squeeze and mouths, “Thank you.”
He walks toward the door and waves at Alex, who glares at him, reducing him to an octopus, a thing with no internal skeleton, a hideous freak. “What was that?” she says when he has left.
Dr. Johnston looks apologetic, but he can’t admit he’s sorry. This is something he’s supposed to support. “Yes, well, Dr. Gerard is available to talk.”
“Yeah. He’s got a degree in Squid,” Sid says.
“That guy’s been tripping since Woodstock, man.”
“Yes, well.” Dr. Johnston looks behind him to a chair. He hesitates, so I nod toward the chair and he sits down. “How is everyone doing?” he says.
Alex sits on the end of the bed. Joanie’s face is discolored and her lips are dry and pale. Her chest moves sporadically, as though she’s having a nightmare. She looks like an old woman. I pull Scottie toward me, hoping she has fully forgiven me for my force-fed affection to her mother. She slides into my embrace.
“I’m sure he’s different when he’s one-on-one,” Dr. Johnston says. “That’s his introductory speech. Try to look past it.”
“I liked him,” Scottie says.
“Good.” I rub her shoulders. “We’ll set up a time and talk to him, okay?”
I look at both Sid and Alex, making sure they don’t say anything.
“Good,” Dr. Johnston says. “And I want to make myself available, too. If you have any questions about what’s going to happen, about why we’re doing this. Anything.”
I feel Scottie’s chest rising and falling. “Mom will die for sure?” she asks.
To my surprise, Dr. Johnston says, “Yes. We’re doing exactly what your mother wants us to do. We’re deciding to stop resisting what her body wants.” He looks at Joanie and seems deep in thought. “We’ve been working hard, but we’ve found that major parts of her have broken down. They’re dying or already dead.”
He looks at me for approval. I’m not sure if I should give it to him or not.
“Another doctor and I have determined that she’s in an irreversible coma. Now, as soon as we determined this, your mother’s living will applied. She has asked that we withhold and withdraw any treatment that might be considered life-prolonging or that artificially extends the dying process.”
“It’s for the best, Scottie,” Alex says. “She’s not happy this way.”
“I know,” Scottie says. “I know all this.” She tenses under my arms. “She has no brain.”
“I want you to understand, Scottie,” Dr. Johnston says, “and Alex, that we’re not saying your mother is not of value; it’s that medical therapy is no longer of value. My purpose is to heal, and I can’t do that.”
“Do you understand?” I ask.
“Yes,” Alex says.
“Yes,” Scottie says.
“She didn’t want to be kept alive in her state. Even if she were to come out of the coma, which is not at all likely—”
“She’d be a vegetable,” Scottie says.
“She doesn’t want to live that way,” I say.
“I know everything already,” Scottie says.
“Your mom is receiving generous doses of morphine, so she’s not in any pain whatsoever, but otherwise there’s not much that we can do.”
We’re just waiting for her to die, I think.
“Is there anything else I can answer?”
Alex shakes her head.
“What will you do with her body?” Scottie asks.
Dr. Johnston nods, and I take this to mean I’m supposed to answer this one. I give Scottie’s shoulders a squeeze. How can I tell her that we’ll burn her mother’s body, that we’ll reduce her mother to a gray, bony ash? How is it possible that this is what becomes of us?
“We’re going to scatter her ashes in the ocean,” I say.
Scottie’s stomach stops rising and falling and then it starts up again. “When will she die?” she asks.
The doctor looks ready to launch into a speech but seems to stop himself. “This is her third day on her own. Not much longer, I’m afraid. You still have time with her, though.”
We all look at Joanie on the bed.
“Some people say their goodbyes right away and then leave the hospital,” Dr. Johnston says. “Though some stay to the very end.”
“What will we do?” Scottie asks.
“Whatever you want,” I say. “It’s your choice.”
Dr. Johnston stands. “Please let me know if you have any more questions. Anything at all.”
I see a stain on his white coat, not blood but a tan smear that resembles peanut butter. I imagine him in the cafeteria eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and this image comforts me somehow. Joanie liked to eat peanut butter on steamed tortillas; that was her comfort food. I wish she could eat something. I wish she could eat a grand last meal, like a prisoner gets to before the execution. Malasadas, shaved ice, plate lunch, grilled ahi from Buzz’s, kiawe pork chops from Hoku’s, a teri burger, and a Dreamsicle shake. These were her favorite foods.
“Thanks, Sam,” I say.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and he looks truly sorry, not just for us but for himself. I forget that death for a doctor is failure. He has been unsuccessful. He has failed Joanie and he has failed us.
“It’s okay,” I say to him, which sounds strange.
“I’ll let you have your time,” he says.
The room is quiet after he leaves. Alex sits next to me on the bed. Even though I think that Joanie’s face is sunken, that she’s getting smaller, I realize she really hasn’t changed that much. Those are my expectations—that she’ll age, she’ll deteriorate, before she goes. But it’s not true. She has been frozen in time. I can’t help but think she’s still in charge of us, silently managing us with an immense and unmatched force. Scottie’s gaze is fixed in a way that tells me she’s not looking at anything. She seems to be in a trance.
“Now what?” Alex asks.
“We’re waiting for Uncle Barry and your grandparents,” I say. “They’re saying goodbye today.”
“What are we going to do?” she asks. “Are we going to wait until the end?”
Sid lowers his magazine.
“What do you want?” I ask. “What do you girls want to do?”
They don’t answer. I wonder if they’re too ashamed to say they don’t want to stay to the end. We’ve been saying goodbye for a long time.
I wonder what the end will look like. Will she just drift off? Or will she fight for life? Will her eyes open, her hand clutch our wrists? “I don’t think you girls should stay to the end,” I say. I don’t want them to see her die. “We’ll pick a moment and we’ll all say goodbye. If that’s okay. If that’s what you want. Or we can stay here or keep coming back until you feel it’s time to go. You just let me know when.”
“Make sure you’re ready,” Sid says. Alex gets off the bed and walks over to him, but he lifts his magazine, covering his face. I see the girl crawling across the hood. I want to ask her: Why are you there? Get off the damn hood and go home.
“I guess that’s a good plan,” Alex says. “We should each pick a moment for ourselves.”
“Do eyeballs burn?” Scottie asks.
I have no idea what will happen to her eyes and would never dare to ask. I think they burn. I just don’t know.
“What?” Scottie says. “Why are you all looking at me like that?”
“You’ll have to ask the doctor, Scottie.”
“You shouldn’t think about that sort of thing,” Sid says.
I wonder what they did with his father, if they buried him or cremated him. I wonder if Sid wondered the same thing about his father’s eyes.
40
MY HEART RACES as though I’m on a stage. I can hear Joanie’s mother.
“Joanie,” she calls. “Joanie.”
I walk out to the hall. Scott has his hands in his pockets and is looking down at the floor, shuffling his feet like a kid. Alice is dressed nicely, or her nurse or Scott dressed her nicely, in a black sweater and a long red-and-white skirt. She has on her gold bracelets, and her hair looks like it’s been done. I wonder if she knows where she is.
“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.
The Descendants Page 23
