The Descendants Read Free Page B

her head but doesn’t look at me. She busies herself at the register. I always seem to get into fights with old Chinese women.
    I walk back to 612, to my other crazy daughter. It feels strange carrying copies of Alex in my hand, and strange to think that she has been here all this time and only now have I rescued her.
    Joanie and Alex have issues with each other. That’s how Joanie phrases it whenever I ask. “She’ll grow out of it,” Joanie says, but I always thought it was something Joanie needed to grow out of, too. They used to do everything together, and I imagine that Joanie was a fun mother to have because she was young and cool and fashionable, but around the time Alex stopped modeling, their closeness came to a halt. Alex retreated. Joanie became more involved in racing. Alex started to sneak out. Then she started to do drugs. It was Joanie’s idea to send her to boarding school this past school year, but then last January, Alex was going to come home and go back to her old school. Something happened over Christmas, a fight of some sort with her mother, and all of a sudden she liked boarding school and returned of her own accord. I’ve asked them both what this fight was about, why Alex went back, but they never have a clear answer, and Joanie has always made the decisions about school and everything, really, concerning our daughters, so I let it go. “She needs to get it together,” Joanie said. “She’s going back.”
    “This is it,” Alex said. “Mom is out of her mind. I don’t want to have anything to do with her, and neither should you.”
    So much theatrics and tension between the two of them, and it’s sad because I miss Alex and the relationship we once had. Sometimes I think that if Joanie were to die, Alex and I would make it. We’d flourish. We’d trust and love each other as we had so easily before. She could come home and she wouldn’t be screwed up. But of course I don’t really believe that if my wife died, our lives would be better—what an awful thing to think—and of course I don’t think Joanie is the root of all of Alex’s problems. I’m sure I have something to do with them as well. I haven’t been the most available parent. I’ve been in a state of prolonged unconsciousness, but I’m trying to change. And I think I’m doing a good job.
     

     
    I STAND IN the doorway of my wife’s room and see Scottie playing hopscotch on the linoleum, marking her place with wooden tongue depressors.
    “I’m hungry,” she says. “Can we go? Did you get my soda?”
    “Did you talk?”
    “Yes?” she says, and I know she’s lying because whenever she lies, she answers in the form of a question.
    “Fine,” I say. “Let’s just go home.”
    Scottie walks toward the door, not even glancing at her mother. She grabs her soda from my hands. “Maybe we’ll come back later,” I needlessly assure her. I look at my wife, and there’s a slight smile on her face, as though she knows something I don’t. I think about the blue note. It’s hard not to think about it.
    “Say goodbye to your mom.”
    Scottie pauses, then keeps going.
    “Scottie.”
    “Bye!” she yells.
    I grab her arm. I could yell at her for wanting to leave, but I don’t. She pulls her arm out of my grasp. I look up to see if anyone is watching us, because I don’t think you’re supposed to aggressively hold children these days. Gone are the days of spanking, threats, and sugar. Now there are therapy, antidepressants, and Splenda. I see Dr. Johnston at the end of the hall, walking toward us. He stops talking to the other doctors and gestures for me to wait. He holds up his hand: Stop. His face is eager yet unsmiling. I look in the other direction then back at him. His steps quicken, and I squint, for some reason pretending I don’t recognize him. And I think: What if I’m wrong? What if Joanie doesn’t make it out of this?
    “Scottie,” I say. “This way.”
    I walk in the other direction, away from