Douglas Kennedy - The Pursuit of Happiness

'Ethan, darling...'

'And then we can all go to DisneyWorld at Easter'.

'You and I are going to DisneyWorld, Ethan', I said.

'And Daddy will come too'.

I took a deep, steadying breath. I reached for Ethan's hand.

'Ethan, you know that Daddy now lives with Blair...'

'But he'll live with you again'.

'No, Ethan, he won't be living with me again'.

'Don't say that'.

'Daddy and I have both told you this before'.

'But it's not fair...'

'You're right. It's not fair But it's what's happened. We can't live together'.

'You can...'

'No, Ethan, we can't. We never will again. I know it's sad, but it doesn't mean...'

I didn't get to finish that sentence, as Ethan went running into the bathroom, slamming the door after him. Then I heard him sobbing. I opened the door. He was sitting on the top of the toilet seat, his face in his hands.

'Go away', he said.

'Ethan, let me try to explain...'

'Go away!'

I decided not to push the issue, so I returned to the bedroom, turned on the television, and aimlessly channel-surfed. My stomach was in chaos. I didn't know what to do or say to make the situation better. After two minutes I tiptoed back to the bathroom door and listened. His crying had subsided. I heard him lift up the toilet seat and pee. I heard him flush the john, then run some water. I heard him walking towards the door, so I dashed back to the armchair by the television. Ethan came out of the bathroom, his head bowed. He walked over to his bed and climbed in under the covers. I turned around to him and asked, 'Would you like to watch some cartoons?'

He nodded, so I flipped around stations until I found Cartoon Network. Only, of course, it was dubbed into French.

'Want me to change it?'

'No', he said quietly. 'It's funny'.

So we sat watching Tom and Jerry a la francaise. Ethan remained lying on his side, huddled under the covers. After around five minutes he said, 'I want a cuddle'.

Instantly I went over and lay beside him on top of the covers. I put my arms around his shoulders and drew him close to me.

'I'm sorry, Ethan. I'm sorry'.

But Ethan didn't reply. He just stared straight ahead at the cat-and-mouse fight on the screen. His silence said it all. Though we'd never given him false hopes about a possible reconciliation, an ongoing fear of mine was now confirmed. The fear that, ever since he had been aware of his parents' separation, he had been convincing himself it was merely a temporary situation; that, one fine morning, Daddy would move back in with Mommy, and Ethan's once-secure world would be restored to him. But now, the reality had finally hit. As I held him tighter in my arms, I couldn't help but think that, thanks to the combined efforts of both his parents, Ethan had just been given a premature introduction to one of life's fundamental truisms: when it comes to giving you a sense of security, people always fail you.

Ethan didn't bring the subject up again for the rest of the trip. We spent the next day exploring Vieux Quebec's back streets. We took a cab to the rural outskirts of town and went on a horse-driven sleigh ride through snowbound woodlands. Early that evening, we attended a children's puppet show in a tiny theater. It was Peter and the Wolf, in French (naturellement), but Ethan knew the story by heart (he had the CD at home), and delighted in being able to follow it in a foreign language. We ate dinner in a restaurant that featured a wandering accordionist, playing what I gathered were old Quebec favorites. The music was deeply resistible, but Ethan seemed to enjoy the novelty of it - especially when the accordionist approached our table, asked Ethan what French songs he knew, and then serenaded him with Frere Jacques.

All in all, it was a good day. Ethan never appeared glum or preoccupied (and, believe me, I was monitoring his moods carefully). He fell into bed that night tired, but reasonably happy. He kissed me goodnight and told me he wished we could stay another day in Quebec.

'So do I', I said, 'but Allan-Stevenson might object if I keep you out another day'.

'You could tell them I got sick'.

I laughed. 'My boss might also get a little grumpy with me if I didn't show up on Tuesday. But hey, Easter's not far off. And Easter means

'DisneyWorld!'

'You've got it. Now get some sleep'.

As soon as Ethan had conked out, I picked up the phone and called Meg.

'Where the hell are you?' she asked.

I told her.

'Quebec in the middle of January? You must be a masochist'.

'Hey, why should old habits die hard'.

She laughed. 'You sound a little better'.

'We had a good day. And since "good days" have been in short supply recently...'

'I hear you...'

'I also managed to see Mom's lawyer yesterday'.

'And?'

'Well, the trust didn't turn out to be depleted'.

'Really?'

'In fact...'

And then I told her the exact sum involved.

'You're kidding me', she said.

'I'm not'.

'Jesus Christ. You're certainly buying lunch the next time'.

'It's quite something, isn't it?'

'Quite something? It's unbelievable'.

'Yes. I guess it is'.

'I tell you, sweetheart - your mother was some operator'.

'Yes', I said quietly. 'I suppose she was'.

'Don't tell me you're unhappy about this windfall?'

'I'm just... I don't know... just bewildered. By everything'.

'I know. But don't be bewildered by this. It's good news'.

'Yes, I suppose it is... though I do feel kind of strange about Charlie...'

'Fuck him. You were the one who was there for your mom'.

'But he was the one who lost his father'.

'You did too'.

'But, unlike Charlie, I never knew my dad. And unlike Charlie, Mom never made me feel as if I had stood in the way of...'

'Hang on', Meg said. 'She really did love Charlie'.

'I'm sure. But did she ever like him?'

'I don't know'.

'Face fact: if Charlie hadn't come along, she would never have married Jack Malone. And her life may have been happier'.

'Don't count on that. Your mother did have a talent for martyrdom'.

'Tell me about it. All that money sitting there, and she still had to nickel-and-dime herself'.

'She never got over it, Kate. Never. It was the great tragedy of her life'.

Unlike Sara Smythe. It may have been her great tragedy too... but at least she came to terms with it. Or, at least, she learned how to live with it. My mom also 'lived with it', but it haunted her every move. I saw that now. Just as I also saw that I never really understood her. When did I ever see her courage in raising two children alone? When did I ever glimpse the mettle with which she coped with life? Never. She cut corners and wore twenty-year-old dresses and refused to recover her threadbare sofa and lived in a cramped apartment - all so, one day, I wouldn't have to repeat her story... so the second half of my life would be comfortable, secure, well-upholstered. But I was too wrapped up in my own griefs; my own sense of having been betrayed by men, by circumstances, by life. Unlike my mother - who stayed silent for four decades about the betrayal that fractured her life and sent it on a difficult trajectory. No doubt, she also wanted to scream: me, me, me, me, me. But she never would have dreamed of articulating such a self-centered complaint. She remained silently stoical. Not realizing that, in her own undemonstrative way, she was heroic.

'You okay, Kate?' Meg asked, registering my silence.

'I'm trying to be'.

'You'll be fine. I know it. And if you're not, at least you can now be a rich, miserable pain-in-the-ass'.

I laughed. And said, 'I'm going to bed'.

'Lunch next week?'

'Of course. And this time, I really am picking up the tab'.

Ethan and I both slept well. I was relieved to see that the threat of a snowstorm failed to materialize in the morning. We were on the road by nine a.m. Three hours later - just after we had crossed the border back into New York - Ethan turned to me and said, 'I want to spend tonight with my daddy'.