Douglas Kennedy - The Pursuit of Happiness

I bit my lip and said nothing, except: 'Whatever you want, big guy. Let's call him right now'.

I reached for my cellphone and rang Matt's office. His secretary put me through. We had a reasonably civilized conversation. Then I turned the phone over to Ethan.

'Daddy, can I come and stay with you tonight?'

They chatted for a few minutes, Ethan sounding really enthusiastic as they bantered away. Of course, I felt envy. Of course, I knew this was wrong - but when a child is shared between two parents, there is always this ongoing worry that your ex is showing him the better time, or relating to him more positively than you. No matter how you try to dodge it, a competitive climate develops between you and your ex. You've taken him to the circus? I'm bringing him to The Lion King on Broadway. You've bought him Nikes? I'm getting him his first pair of Timberlands. It's grim, this aggressive game of who's the better divorced parent? And totally unavoidable.

Ethan finished talking to Matt, and handed the phone back to me.

'You sure you don't mind letting him stay with us tonight?' Matt asked.

Yes, I minded. But I knew that, somehow, I had to stop minding. Otherwise I would be flagellating myself forever.

'It's fine', I said. 'Honestly'.

'Great', he said, sounding surprised. 'Thank you'.

We sped south. With a stop for an early dinner, we arrived in northern Manhattan just before eight. I called Matt again and told him to expect us in around twenty minutes. As I'd had Ethan's school clothes cleaned at the Chateau Frontenac (and his bookbag was also in the trunk of the car), there was no need to stop by our apartment. Matt was waiting outside his building on West 20th Street. As soon as I'd stopped the car, Ethan was out the door and in his father's arms. I went around to the trunk. I opened the duffel bag containing Ethan's clothes. I transferred some toilet supplies and a clean set of underwear into his school bag. Then I lifted out the cleaned uniform (still wrapped in the hotel's dry-cleaning cellophane) and handed it to Matt. Ethan took his school bag.

'He's got a change of socks and jockeys in his bag, along with his toothbrush. And here's his school uniform'.

'You know, he does have a spare set of all that stuff here', Matt said.

'I hadn't thought of that...'

'Doesn't matter', he said, then nudged Ethan forward. 'Thank your mom for a great weekend'.

I bent down. Ethan planted a kiss on my right cheek. 'Thanks, Mom', he said simply.

I stood back up.

'Well...' Matt said.

'Well...' I said, thinking how awkward we now were with each other. You meet. You couple. You get to know each other very, very intimately. You make a baby together. Then it all goes wrong. So wrong that it gets reduced to terse exchanges, terse handshakes, a child with divided loyalties.

Matt proffered his hand. I took it.

'That was a dumb argument the other day', I said.

'Very dumb'.

'It's always been something of a specialty of ours, dumb arguments'.

'Yes', he said with a light laugh. 'We definitely have a talent for fighting. But... it happens, I guess'.

'Yes', I said quietly. 'It happens'.

A slight smile between us, then the handshake ended. I bent down and kissed Ethan, saying, 'See you tomorrow after school, darling. I'll be home from the office around seven'.

Ethan nodded, then turned with his dad and entered the building. I got the car back to Avis. Then I went home. The silence of the empty apartment was huge. But I reminded myself that it was just for tonight.

The next morning, I returned to the office. I had such a backlog of work that I had lunch sent in. But I did set aside a few minutes to call Peter Tougas.

'You feeling better, Kate?' he asked.

'A bit'.

'Like I said last week, it's going to take a lot of time'.

'Doesn't everything?'

'You might have a point there. So... are we ready to proceed with the probate?'

'Absolutely. But I first need to ask a question: as the sole beneficiary of the trust, I am free to do whatever I like with the money?'

'Yes', he said, sounding wary. 'As I mentioned the other day, there were no stipulations in the will about the use of the funds'.

'Good. Because I've decided that my brother should be cut back in'.

'What?' Mr Tougas said, sounding genuinely shocked.

'I want Charlie to have half the trust'.

'Hang on a minute, Kate...'

'It's what... ? Nearly seven hundred and fifty thousand? Give him three seventy-five'.

'You don't have to do this'.

'I am aware of that'.

'At least take a couple of days to reflect...'

'I have taken a couple of days to reflect on it'.

'Take a couple more...'

'No. I've made my mind up. I want him to get half the trust'.

'Kate... you know how he treated your mother'.

'You're right. I do. But he still gets half the trust'.

'On what grounds?'

I didn't say. Even though I now knew the grounds, the reasons. My mother - the silent master strategist - had checkmated me. She'd set it all up: first getting Sara to tell me her story, then letting her lawyer floor me with the news about the trust. Nothing said, everything implied. Even though the implication was now clear as hell: when it comes to forgiveness, language may be important... but gesture is everything. Because gesture begets another gesture. Just as forgiving another allows you to forgive yourself. Sara and my mother didn't speak for decades, but the gestures were made, the forgiveness rendered. Now, in death, my mother was doing what she always did. She was asking me a question: can you do the same with your brother? Even though you know he's so wrong?

'Please, just give me one reason...' Mr Tougas said.

'Because it's what she would have wanted'.

Long silence.

'All right, Kate', Mr Tougas said. 'I'll prepare the necessary paperwork. And would you like me to phone Charlie and break the news?'

'Please'.

'What should I tell him?' he asked me.

'Tell him to call me'.

I hung up the phone. I went back to work. I left the office around six thirty. En route home, I made a fast stop at F.A.O. Schwarz, picking up a motorized Lego robot. Yes, I knew it was a useless piece of plastic junk. But Ethan had seen it advertised on television, and had been dropping hints for weeks that he wanted one. I had it gift-wrapped. Then I caught a cab north, arriving home just after seven fifteen. Clare the nanny was tidying up the kitchen. She gave me a hug (she hadn't seen me since the funeral), and asked how I was doing.

'I'm coping', I said. 'How's our guy?'

'In his room, waging intergalactic war on his computer'.

I poked my head into his room. He turned around from his computer screen. He caught sight of the F.A.O. Schwarz bag, and his face lit up.

'Can I see? Can I see?' he asked.

'Don't I get a "hello"?'

He ran over and gave me a fast kiss on the cheek. 'Hello. Can I see?'

I handed him the bag. 'Wow!' he said when he saw that it was the Lego he so craved. 'You knew'.

Yeah. Maybe for a change, I did.

He sat down on the floor and began to open the box, looking up at me to ask: 'Will you come put it together for me?'

'Of course... after one phone call'.

'Mom...' he said, sounding disappointed.

'Just one call, then I'm yours'.

I walked into the bedroom. I lifted the receiver. I took a deep breath. This was a call I had been postponing for days; a call I knew I had to make. I phoned Information. I got the number for a Smythe, S. on West 77th Street. I dialed it. She answered. I said, 'Hi. It's me. Kate'.

'Oh, hello', she said, sounding surprised. 'How very nice to hear from you'.

Especially as, just a few days ago, I told you we'd never speak again.

'Yes, well, uh...' I was really being articulate.