Douglas Kennedy - The Pursuit of Happiness

'This is a lovely surprise', she said.

'I'm not staying. I simply wanted to give you this'.

I handed over the box.

'You've read it already?' she asked.

'Yes. I've read it'.

We stood there, not knowing what to say next.

'Please come in', she finally said.

I shook my head.

'Please', she said. 'Just for a moment'.

I went inside. I didn't take off my coat. I sat down in one of her armchairs. I didn't accept her offer of coffee or tea. I didn't say anything for a while. And she shrewdly didn't attempt to draw me into a conversation. She just sat opposite me, waiting for me to speak.

'I wish I hadn't read your book', I finally said.

'I understand'.

'No, you don't', I said quietly. 'You can't begin to understand'.

Another silence. Then I said, 'The Jack Malone in your book... that's not the dad my mom told me about. I mean, he was Mr Morality, Mr Good Irish-Catholic. I always felt... I don't know... as if, compared to him, my mom was the lesser person. Some lowly school librarian who lived this tedious life with two kids in a cramped apartment, and who was so damn constrained that no other man would ever dream of marrying her'.

'Meg told me she did go out with the occasional fellow...'

'Yeah - when I was growing up, she dated one or two guys. But from the mid-seventies onwards, I don't think there was anyone. Maybe she'd been betrayed enough by dear old Dad'.

'You might be right'.

'You screwed up her life'.

She shrugged. And said, 'That's an interpretation. But it was her choice to stay with him. And that choice shaped the way her life ensued. Was it the right choice? I wouldn't have put up with such an arrangement. I would have thrown him out. But that's me - not your mother. So who's to say if it was the right choice or the wrong choice. It was just a choice'.

'Just like it was your choice to be my guardian angel. "Someone to watch over me." Didn't you have anything better to do with your life, Miss Smythe? Or were you so completely incapable of getting over the wonderful Jack Malone that you had to turn your attention to his daughter? Or, let me guess, I was your way of doing penance'.

She looked at me with a steady gaze. Her voice remained calm.

'Meg did warn me you took no prisoners...'

'I think I am a bit upset', I said. 'I'm sorry'.

'You have a right to be. It's a lot to take in. But just for the record: after your father died, I left journalism...'

'You? The writer who always needed an audience? I don't believe it'.

'I got sick of the sound of my own typewriter... and my own frothy shallowness. So I moved into publishing. I was an editor at Random House for thirty-five years'.

'You never married again?'

'No - but I was never short of male company. When I wanted it'.

'So you never got over my father?'

'No one ever matched Jack. But I came to terms with it... because I had to. Of course, I think about your father every day. Just as I think about Eric every day. But Jack's been dead for... what is it?.. God, so many years. Eric even longer. It's the past'.

'No, it's your past'.

'Exactly. My past. My choices. And do you want to know something rather amusing? When I die, all that past will vanish with me. It's the most astonishing thing about getting old: discovering that all the pain, all the drama, is so completely transitory. You carry it with you. Then, one day, you're gone - and nobody knows about the narrative that was your life'.

'Unless you've told it to somebody. Or written it down'.

She smiled a small smile. 'I suppose that's true'.

'Was that the object of getting me to read this literary exercise the day after I buried my mom?' I said, pointing towards the manuscript box. 'To finally let me in on a few sordid family secrets - and, in the process, share your pain?

Oh God, listen to me. She dismissed my sarcasm with a light shrug.

'Meg and I both felt that you should read this'.

'Why did you write it?'

'I wrote it for myself. And maybe for you too... though I didn't know if I'd live long enough for you to read this, and for us finally to meet'.

'You have some way of engineering a meeting, Miss Smythe. Couldn't you have waited a bit? I mean, I only buried my mother two days ago'.

Another patrician shrug.

'I'm sorry if...'

'And why did you have to stalk me?'

'That wasn't stalking. I came to the funeral because I felt I should be there, and pay my respects...'

'And I suppose that was you who called me at my mother's place after the funeral...'

'Yes, that was me. But Meg told me you'd decided to sleep there, and I just wanted to hear your voice and make certain you were all right'.

'You expect me to believe that?'

'It's the truth'.

'Just like you expect me to believe that, while we were growing up, you really never once saw me or my brother - even though, to all intents and purposes, you were funding our education?'

'I said, I didn't come near you. That doesn't mean that I didn't attend your graduation from Smith or Brearley'.

'Or didn't see me play Sister Sarah in my school production of Guys and Dolls?'

'Yes', she said with a slight smile. 'I was there'.

'And were you sneaking glimpses at Charlie throughout his childhood as well?'

She shook her head.

'Naturally, I was pleased that the trust helped pay for his education. But I really didn't follow his progress as closely'.

'Because he was the child who kept you from my dad?'

'Perhaps. Or maybe because you were the child I was supposed to have with your father'.

Silence. My head was swimming. I suddenly craved sleep.

'I've got to go. I'm very tired...'

'Of course you are', she said.

I stood up. She followed.

'I'm glad we finally met, Kate', she said.

'I'm sure you are. But I want you to know something: this is the last time we will ever do so. You're to stay away from Ethan and myself. Is that clear?'

She remained impassive. How the hell did she manage that?

'Whatever you want, Kate', she said.

I headed towards the door. She walked ahead of me and opened it. She touched my arm and held it.

'You're just like him, you know'.

'You know nothing about me...'

'I think I do. Because I also know that, unlike your brother, you were always there for Dorothy. Just as you are still there for Meg - who utterly adores you. She just wishes you were happier'.

I gently disengaged my arm from her grip.

'I wish that too', I said. Then I left.

Two

AS SOON AS I was outside her building, I walked halfway up the street. Then I suddenly sat down on the steps of a brownstone until I had composed myself. A thousand and one chaotic thoughts went swirling around my brain - all of them skewed, troubled. And I couldn't help but wonder: were these the same steps upon which my father sat down and wept when Sara told him it was over?

Another thought preoccupied me: the urgent need for sleep. I forced myself up. I found a taxi. I went home. I called Matt at his office. We had a civilized, neutral conversation. He told me that he'd taken Ethan to a Knicks game last night, and that our son was longing to see me this afternoon. I thanked Matt for looking after Ethan during the past few days. He asked me how I was doing.

I said, 'It's been a curious time'. He said, 'You sound tired'. I said, 'I am tired', and mentioned that I appreciated his thoughtfulness over the past week. Matt started to say something along the lines of how he hoped we could be friends again. I said nothing, except: 'No doubt we'll be in touch about Ethan stuff Then I hung up the phone and climbed into bed. As I closed my eyes and waited for sleep, I thought about that wartime photo of my dad, taken by my mom when they were both stationed in England. He was young, he was smiling, he was probably thinking: in a couple of weeks, I'll never again see the woman taking this picture. No doubt, similar thoughts were shared by that woman as she peered through the viewfinder. Here's one for the scrapbook: my wartime fling. That's what now so haunted me about that photo: the fact that an entire story was about to engulf the man in the picture and the woman behind the camera. But how could they have known? How can any of us recognize that inexplicable moment which seals our fate?