Everybody's Son

by Thrity Umrigar

  David groaned as if he’d read his thoughts, and Anton felt knocked down to his knees. Dear God, was his father in pain? He looked around the room for a nurse, but David had fallen back into his shallow breathing, and there was nothing to do but watch, transfixed, as the machines did their work.

  Anton loosened his collar, feeling hot and faint, even with the air conditioner on. Why weren’t there any windows in this room? He leaned on the mattress with his fingertips to steady himself. He felt trapped, unwilling to stay in the oppressive room for another second, but dreading the crowded waiting room, too. A wave of nausea hit him—the martinis and wine, the heavy food, the sudden plane ride—and he felt a sense of déjà vu. And then it came upon him, an image that he couldn’t have called up in his conscious mind even if he’d tried: the helpless, trapped feeling of trying to open the sealed window in that small, hot apartment and being unable to do so. The sheer animal desperation that had made him swing that chair.

  “Anton,” somebody whispered behind him. It was Uncle Connor. The older man’s face looked lined, and his eyes were tired. “Let’s go sit someplace quiet, you and I. I just received a call from Johnny. We need to talk.”

  Anton knew immediately what Connor meant. Of course. It was a sign of how he was not thinking correctly, that the issue of succession had not occurred to him. Johnny was John Newman, the lieutenant governor. If Dad had to undergo a procedure, Newman would take over as governor. Anton swallowed. “So Newman becomes acting governor until Dad recovers.”

  The two men stared at each other. Connor’s eyes grew teary. “When we pushed the general assembly to clarify the succession laws last year, did I ever think we’d be using it to replace David? Not in a million years.” Connor’s voice was hoarse, his expression bewildered. “I just don’t get it. He’s in such great shape. The guy can do a five-mile run without breaking a sweat. He beats men half his age at tennis.” Connor pointed with his thumb. “So how the heck did he end up here?”

  Anton pulled the older man toward him. Uncle Connor had given up his own legal career to become Dad’s right-hand man from the time he decided to run for governor. David had said a thousand times that it was Connor who’d gotten him elected and Connor who had made him a successful governor. “It’s just temporary,” Anton said. “You know how tough Dad is. He’ll be out of here in no time.”

  Connor nodded. “I just wish we had changed the laws so that it was the attorney general who could succeed an ailing governor.”

  Anton raised his eyebrow. “Yeah, right. As if the charges of nepotism that dogged me throughout my campaign weren’t enough.”

  They lingered beside David’s bedside for another second, and then Connor put his arm around the younger man and together they walked out of the room. “There’s a small chapel in the hospital,” Connor said softly. “I’m going to phone Johnny and ask him to meet us here within the hour. You can administer the oath of office to him in there.”

  Anton gave a short, sharp laugh. “Uncle Connor. Do you ever stop thinking about politics?”

  Connor shrugged. “The optics will be wonderful. Voters will love the fact that it’s the governor’s son administering the oath. Besides, there are probably a dozen reporters and photographers out there. Why let such an opportunity go to waste?”

  Anton shook his head. “No wonder Dad calls you his secret weapon.”

  Connor’s lips trembled. “You know there’s nothing I would not do for your father. Nothing.” He fell silent and then said, “I used to say that the day he was elected governor was the happiest day of my life. Not anymore. Now it will be the day he resumes his office. In the meantime, Johnny can keep his seat warm.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  People asked Anton how he did it, and he said he didn’t know. But for over two weeks now he had worked all day, then come to the hospital to spend the night with his dad. Delores left soon after he arrived, and when she returned the next morning he would rush home for a quick shower and then go to work. Connor had lectured him on the phone this afternoon, forbidding him to visit, urging him to go home and catch up on sleep instead, but here he was again, watching his father take a short walk down the hallway, a hefty attendant holding him up from the thick safety belt they had attached to David’s waist. Watching his timid, unsteady gait, Anton felt a pang of fear at the enormity of what lay ahead for them. “Come on, my man,” the attendant said in a thick accent, “just a few more steps. You can do it,” he added in the tone of a parent encouraging a toddler. Here, in this hospital, nobody cared that his father was governor, a man with the power to withhold or double their state funding. Here he was simply a patient who had to be constantly reminded to press the heart-shaped red pillow to his chest when he rose from a chair and coaxed to take a few more bites of the reduced-sodium diet. In some ways, Anton was glad that his father was so out of it; he would’ve found unbearable the realization of how far he had fallen.

  “Okay, let’s take a few seconds to catch our breath,” the attendant said. The man helped David sit on the hallway couch next to Anton, who patted his father’s knee. “You’re doing great, Dad,” he said with insincere enthusiasm, feeling like a hypocrite. But apparently, David was more aware of his surroundings than Anton had realized, because he shot him a wan look. “Don’t you bullshit me,” the look said, and Anton felt suitably reprimanded.

  “Where’re you from?” he asked the male attendant.

  The man shook his head. “A little place you never heard of. Antigua.”

  “Are you kidding me? I know Antigua. Former British colony in the Caribbean. Beautiful place.”

  The man smiled back broadly. “Most folks never heard of it. You been?”

  “No. But I’ve read about it. In a book by Jamaica Kincaid. Can’t remember its name. Have you read it?”

  “Nah. Never heard of him. But then I’m not much of a reader.”

  “She’s a woman. She’s from there. Originally, I mean.”

  The man laughed. “That’s Antigua for you. Everybody’s from there originally. But now they live someplace else.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m William Tell.”

  Anton looked at him suspiciously, not knowing whether his leg was being pulled.

  “No, really. That’s my name.”

  Anton whistled. “Well. Somebody in your family likes books, even if it’s not you.”

  “That’s a good one, Mr. Coleman.”

  While they were chatting, David was sitting back on the couch, his head resting against the wall, his eyes shut. William touched him gently on the wrist. “Sir. Let’s get in one more round and then I’ll take you back to your room. Now, remember, grab that ole cushion and press it to your chest as you get up.”

  David gave Anton a look that he couldn’t quite comprehend, though his distress was palpable. Anton leaped to his feet. “I’ll walk with you guys,” he said, and down the hallway the three of them went.

  After they got back to his room, David had to use the bathroom. William accompanied him in and then shut the door lightly. “Remember, pull the cord if you need me,” he called out.

  “You gotta watch for the depression,” William said to Anton as they waited. “Very common side effect after open-heart surgery.”

  “He’ll be okay. Once we get him home, he’ll be fine.”

  William gave him a long look. “Don’t kid yourself. It’s a tough recovery. I just want you to be prepared.”

  “Speaking of prepared, we’re looking to hire someone to help him at home after his discharge. Do you know of any home health aides you could recommend?

  “When are they discharging him?”

  “I think they said day after tomorrow?”

  William thought for a moment. “I don’t know if this will work, but I’m on vacation for two weeks starting Monday. If you like, I can help you out.”

  “Don’t you have plans for your vacation?”

  William shrugged. “Not really.” He pulled a piece of paper from the pocket of his
scrubs and wrote on it. “Here’s my number. Call me if you can’t find anyone else.”

  “No, no, no. I’d be thrilled if you’d help us. I just didn’t want you to work on your vacation, man.”

  “Don’t you worry about that. I love to stay busy.”

  Anton offered his hand. “Well, that’s a huge load off my mind. How much do you charge?”

  They heard David flush, and William hurried toward the bathroom. “Going rate’s fifteen an hour. But you can pay me what you like,” he said over his shoulder.

  “How does seventeen an hour sound?”

  “Sounds beautiful, baby.”

  Anton grinned. He listened as William helped his dad in the bathroom, heard the sound of running water in the sink. The relief he felt at the thought of entrusting David’s care to someone as obviously competent as William was enormous. And as his father recovered, he would hit it off with William, Anton was sure. It would be good for Mom, too, to have a strong, capable man help with the bathing and other stuff.

  After William had finished tucking David into bed, Anton bent down to kiss his forehead. The older man whispered something he couldn’t catch, and he leaned in, putting his ear to David’s mouth. “What’d you say, Dad?”

  “A Small Place,” David whispered faintly.

  Anton’s eyes shone. So Dad had been listening to his earlier conversation with William. “That’s right,” he exclaimed. “How on earth did you remember that?”

  A look of pride flashed across David’s exhausted face. He smiled, a slight stretch of the lips that perhaps only Anton could recognize as a smile. “That silly girl,” he rasped. “She argued with Pappy.”

  Carine. He hadn’t thought about her in so long. She’d obviously made an impression on Dad, negative as it may have been. “I remember.” He laughed. “Boy, the look on Pappy’s face when she argued with him. She was a silly girl.”

  Without warning, David’s face turned teary. “She was right about the war, though,” he said, gasping. “It was a dreadful mistake. I was so wrong. And we were all so angry with her for—”

  “Dad. Dad. Calm down. That was a long time ago. If you were wrong, so was half the country. In any case, it’s all water under the bridge.”

  David nodded, but his eyes were wet as he turned his face away to stare out the large window. Anton kissed his cheek. “Get some rest, Dad,” he said. “You’re going home soon. Focus on that.”

  Turning off the lights, Anton motioned William to leave the room with him. “What was all that?” William asked the minute they were in the hallway.

  “It’s a long story,” he said. He stood rocking on his heels for a moment and then felt compelled to ask, “Do you . . . you do know that my dad’s the governor, right?”

  William looked incredulous. “No, man, I didn’t know, because I live in a cave in Timbuktu. The fact that I have to pass by a gaggle of reporters to come into work every day, must’ve slipped my mind.” He laughed a loud, crackling laugh, scrunching up his shoulders.

  Embarrassed, Anton said, “Hey, look, you never know. There are people in this state who don’t know who the president is, okay?”

  William put his large hand on Anton’s shoulder. “Listen, Mr. Attorney General, when I said I don’t read, I meant I don’t read novels and stuff. But we Antiguans—we are literate folks. Chalk one up for the Brits, to give the devil his due. I read the dailies every single day, thank you. And I vote.” He looked at Anton in mock insult. “So yes, indeed, I know who my governor is.”

  Anton laughed. “Okay. You made your point. I’m sorry I asked.”

  But William was on a roll. “You think I’d bring in my sorry black ass to work an extra job if I wasn’t going to be spending it in the executive mansion?”

  “William. Don’t you have any other patients to go razz?”

  “Tell you what. I’ll stop picking on you if you promise to go down to the cafeteria and fix yourself a good dinner. I’ll call you if your dad needs anything.”

  “It’s a deal.” Anton waited until William had walked away a few paces and then called, “Hey, William. You married?”

  The man turned around. “Nope.”

  Anton nodded. “I can see why not.”

  William grinned appreciatively. “Bet you’re good at talking trash on the basketball court, Mr. AG.”

  “Soccer’s my game. But you bet.”

  They smiled at each other, and then Anton took the elevator down to the cafeteria, replaying the earlier conversation with his father. The fact that David had recalled the name of the book was the sign of a mind that was functioning well. But it had unnerved him to hear David saying that Carine had been right, and the manner in which he’d said it, as if he were apologizing to her across the years. It made Anton feel as if he had wronged her, too.

  He sighed. It was ancient history, so long ago that it might as well have happened to someone else, for all the difference it now made. He couldn’t worry about the past, not when there was so much to worry about in the present. He made his way to the hospital cafeteria, picked up a prepackaged box of sushi, paid for it, and dialed Katherine’s number on his way back to the room.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Anton frowned. The Rolling Stone interview was not going as well as he had hoped. Uncle Connor had assured him that it would be a laudatory piece and had personally attested for the reporter, John Crow, as someone he liked and trusted. But as he faced the gray-haired man sitting across his desk, Anton questioned Connor’s judgment. The questions so far had been tough. Maybe Crow was miffed because Anton had postponed the interview twice, but good God, surely the man understood that his father recently had a heart attack and that Anton was trying to run a statewide office.

  But the questions kept coming, and as the minutes ticked by, Anton found himself wishing, not for the first time, that he could handle reporters with the same ease as David, who was always quick with a quip or a compliment that seemed to disarm even his toughest media critics. Anton was too cerebral, too flinty, and knowing this about himself was not enough to make him change. Bradley had often joked with him that with his lack of tolerance of fools, he had better never aspire to higher political office. “You would’ve done better in the business world, like me,” Bradley teased. “There, you don’t have to kowtow to reporters and pretend they’re the guardians of democracy. Instead, you can see them for what they are: self-serving, self-righteous bastards.”

  But John Crow was neither a fool nor a prick. He was simply dogged in his refusal to allow Anton to change the subject. They had spent the last ten minutes sparring over whether, as AG, Anton should’ve insisted that John Newman take over as acting governor as soon as he found out that David was in the hospital. Instead, over six hours had passed before Johnny was sworn in—a fact that the local media had had a field day reporting for the past couple of weeks.

  Crow pushed his reading glasses up his nose, sat back in his chair, and peered out at Anton. “There’s also a rumor that the delay was because you and Connor Stevens were trying to figure out a way for you to step in as governor,” he said. “Care to comment on that?”

  Anton let his disdain show. “Do I care to comment on that? No. The accusation is so ridiculous that I will not dignify it with a response.”

  “That may come across as an admission of guilt to some.”

  “Listen. As you may recall, I was in Washington when my father collapsed. I rushed back to be by his bedside. We didn’t know if he would survive the night, okay?” Without warning, he felt himself choking up. “Hatching some Machiavellian plot was the last thing on my mind. Or do these anonymous critics also think that my father faked his heart attack?”

  Crow ran his fingers through his thick gray hair. “This is obviously an emotional issue for you,” he murmured.

  “You bet.”

  “Yes. Well. Just one more question and then we’ll move on. I’ve read that the minority leader is asking for an investigation of the private plane that brough
t you home from Washington.”

  Anton sighed. “Jack. I’ll tell you exactly what I told my local newspaper. My office is calculating how much the ride would cost any citizen of the state. And we will reimburse the owner of the plane to the full extent. That has been our intention all along.”

  “With all due respect, why hasn’t that been done already?”

  “Because I’ve been a little tied up.” Anton did not bother hiding his irritation.

  Crow smiled faintly. “Touché. Let’s move on to more pleasant topics. How goes it with the lovely Miss Katherine Banks?”

  Anton bit down the urge to say, “None of your business.” Instead, he smiled back and said, “It goes well.”

  “So is this it? Is the most eligible bachelor in the state spoken for, at long last?”

  He laughed. “We’ll see.”

  Crow nodded. “Do you care to speculate on why you’ve avoided marriage for so long?”

  “Oh geez. Give me a break.” Anton fixed his gaze on the older man. “Are you married, John?”

  “Divorced, actually.”

  “There you go. That’s a vast improvement over never having married, right?”

  Crow gave him an appreciative look. “Fair enough,” he said at last. He peered at his notebook and then looked up. “During the campaign, you made it an issue how your biracial background would help you bridge the racial divide. Yet polls show that many of the minority citizens of your state don’t even see you as one of them. And the charge is you have done precious little to help them.”

  I can’t decide whether you’re the whitest black man or the blackest white man I’ve ever met. Carine’s words, spoken a lifetime ago, came rushing back at him with their full, shameful velocity. The memory made Anton grimace. “Wait a minute. The charge against me? Can I ask who is leading this charge? Or are these just more anonymous accusers?”

  For the first time during the interview, Crow appeared to be on the defensive. “Well, every black woman I have interviewed for this story has commented on the fact that all your girlfriends have been white. That’s just for starters.”