4 Kaua'i Me a River (7 page)

Next to her was the young blond who’d
dabbed at her eyes during the reading of the will. She looked to be my age,
maybe even a little younger. When she spoke, her voice was low and breathy. She
said her name was Susanne Wilkerson, but she liked to be called Sunny. She said
she was not only Phil’s sixth wife but also his widow. She was with him when he
died and she’d still be with him if he’d been able to beat the cancer. Her
voice faltered and she cleared her throat. In the momentary silence I studied
her appearance. Her skin was smooth and clear, her short blond bob perfectly
coifed. I wouldn’t venture to guess the ages of most of the women in the room,
but I’d bet money Sunny was at least ten to twelve years younger than the others.
 

“I know you all have different
memories and experiences of Phil,” Sunny said. “But he was my entire world.
Every morning when I wake up I thank God we had the time together that we had.
I just wish it could’ve been longer.”

At that, the first wife—Peggy—piped
up. “Be careful what you wish for, honey. As you can see, Phil wasn’t so good
when it came to the long haul. The good news is, at least he never got off
cheap.”

The women around the table
nodded.

“Amen,” said one.

“You got that right, honey,” said
another.

Valentine broke in. “Ladies, let’s
try to keep this to introductions only. We still have a lot of ground to
cover.”

The next woman spoke with a
slight lisp. She said her name was Rita O’Reilly, formerly Rita Wilkerson, and
she’d been Phil’s second wife. She said that her marriage to Phil had been a
short one but they’d managed to stay together long enough to have one child. She
finished by saying she had no idea why she, and not her college-age daughter,
had been summoned to the reading of Philip’s will.

The woman sitting to my right was
the blousy blond who’d asked about other heirs before Valentine had had a
chance to lay down the ground rules. She introduced herself in a booming voice as
Joanie Bush, Phil’s third wife. She said she and Phil had been blessed with twins.
She said even though they were grown now, she knew the twins missed their
father every day.

She said she’d never taken
Phil’s name when they married because she wanted to keep her professional name.
Her cutesy name, stupendous boob job and spikey mass of white-blond hair made
me wonder exactly what profession she’d been in.

Finally, it was my turn. I
looked around at the assemblage of nuptial train wrecks that had graced my
father’s bed and said, “My name is Pali Moon. I guess I’m Mr. Wilkerson’s
daughter. I didn’t even know who my father was until just a few minutes ago.” I
looked across the table at Peggy. “And, I think I’m actually his oldest child.
He was only twenty when I was born.”

The room began buzzing with side
conversations. Joanie Bush, the blond to my right, practically spat at
Valentine. “What the hell’s going on here? You said Phil specified wives only;
no kids.”

Valentine put up her palms in an
apparent effort to deflect Joanie’s anger. “Yes, I know. But that brings us to
your earlier question, Miss Bush—”

“It’s
Mrs
. Bush,” Joanie
interrupted. “I remarried, although God knows after Phil it was a miracle I found
it in my heart to ever trust a man again.”

 “Yes, well,
Mrs
. Bush,”
said Valentine. “As I was saying, we’re now ready to address your question
regarding the distribution of assets. The information will be provided by means
of a video that Mr. Wilkerson made at the time he drafted his will. Of course there’s
a formal written bequest as well, but he asked me to play the video before
making copies of the bequest available.”

Valentine went to the corner of
the room and fiddled with a DVD player on the TV cart. Then she asked Tim
Abbott, the guy standing by the door, if he’d lower the window shades. Tim’s upper
lip was moist and when he reached up to pull the shade release I saw an
underarm sweat patch. Valentine also seemed a little shaky, but I attributed it
to calorie-deprivation and working under the scrutiny of a gaggle of greedy
women.

When the TV sparked to life I
blinked at the brightness in the darkened room. The first image was a vivid blue
background with the words “Last Will and Testament of Phillip J. Wilkerson III”
on it. Hawaiian slack key guitar music played in the background as the words
faded and were replaced by the date ‘August 2011’ and then the words ‘Peace of
Paradise, Hawaii’ were added.

The blue title slide was
replaced by a sweeping view of lawn, cityscape, ocean, and sky. Judging from
the city skyline I determined the shot must’ve been taken from a hill
overlooking Honolulu.

The camera panned to reveal a man
sitting in a wheelchair on a ground level lanai. Behind him was a wall of glass
and to his right a pool of water, probably a fish pond or a reflecting pool.

As the camera zoomed in, I got a
good look at my father’s face. He had a high forehead with thinning brown hair.
His features were pretty average except for a thin, sharp nose. His steely eyes
stared back at the camera as if challenging it to judge him. On a small table at
his side was a cut-crystal highball glass with a wedge of lime perched on the rim.

He wore what appeared to be an
expensive aloha shirt, maybe Tommy Bahama, and light tan slacks. The video seemed
to be professionally shot. Smooth panning, good lighting, skillful focusing. I’ve
had to sit through enough poorly-produced wedding videos that I can spot good work
when I see it. Wilkerson didn’t display even the slightest evidence of
uneasiness at being in front of a camera. No anxious twitches or self-conscious
smiles. Although he appeared wan and somewhat emaciated, his jowly neckline
hinted that at one time he’d probably been overweight.  

I shifted in my chair as I took
in his face. I’d studied my own facial profile both in photos and in the mirror
so I was well-aware my own beak tended more toward hawk than sparrow. And I’d
always considered my forehead to be a bit high. I cover it with a fringe of
bangs that I cut myself when they extend below my eyebrows. Phil Wilkerson’s light
brown hair—what was left of it—was the same color as mine if you didn’t factor
in the peroxide-aided highlights Farrah had talked me into in a few weeks back.

The camera went in for a
close-up and Phil, aka Coyote Moon, began to speak.

“
Aloha
. My name is Phil
Wilkerson. I’m the President and CEO of Island Paradise Cable, the largest
provider of cable and Internet services in the Hawaiian Islands. I was born in Portland,
Oregon on June seventh, nineteen-fifty-eight. My parents, now deceased, were
Gladys and Phillip Wilkerson Junior, of Portland, Oregon. My father owned Oregon
Ferrous and Foundry, a steel mill on the Willamette River. Before moving to
Hawaii I enjoyed a comfortable childhood with two loving parents. I had one
brother, Robert. He was wounded in the Vietnam War in 1973 and took his own
life eight years later.” At this Phil bit his lower lip, as if the memory still
stung.

I glanced around the dim room.
It appeared Phil’s family saga was old news to everyone else. But it was certainly
new news to me.

He went on. “I attended the
University of Oregon in Eugene, the alma mater of Phil Knight, the founder of a
little company called Nike. Before college, I took some time off to see the
world and I came to Hawaii. I stayed longer than I’d planned. For almost two
years, nineteen-seventy-five and seventy-six, I lived a totally carefree life.
I spent some time on the north shore of Kaua'i in an area known as Taylor Camp.
I’ve always considered my Taylor Camp days precious. Although I’ve done well
for myself in business, I’ve never forgotten the many dear friends I made
there. ”

Many dear friends? My mother was
no more to this guy than a
dear friend
? What did that make me—an
acquaintance
?
I felt my face flush. The rushing sound in my ears returned and it was so loud
and distracting I found it difficult to hear the video. After a few moments of taking
in Wilkerson’s almost wolfish smile and watching his lips move, I calmed down
enough to once again make out what he was saying.

“Since you are viewing this
video it means my life has ended. I enjoyed life immensely, but even the
sweetest moments must come to a close, and that is why I’ve called you all together.”

At that point he clasped his
hands and bowed his head. Then he closed his eyes. We all sat there, waiting. I
got the distinct impression this self-indulgent pause in the action was a
glimpse into the true character of Phillip James Wilkerson, the Third.

He opened his eyes. At that
point, Valentine cleared her throat and got up and went to stand next to Tim
Abbott by the door. As I took in Valentine’s impassive face and erect posture, I
couldn’t help but feel she was positioning herself for a quick getaway.

***

Phil Wilkerson stared straight
into the camera lens with a thin smile. Then he leaned in and began to speak
again.

“To the extent possible, I have
done my best to be a good father. I provided a comfortable lifestyle to my children
that knew no bounds. Private schools, blow-out birthday parties and lavish Christmas
gifts; my children enjoyed it all. Each got a new sports car at sixteen, and a
free ride to any college they could get into. And what did I get in return?
Drug abuse, disrespect, and calls from the police in the middle of the night. Of
my eight children, only one hasn’t disappointed me. To my eldest daughter, who
now calls herself ‘Pali’, I want to apologize for my absence in your life. I
had my reasons, but now my reasons don’t matter. I’m sure whatever justice the
good Lord has in store for me will be fair. I felt I had no recourse other than
the one I chose.”

I squirmed in my chair as he
leaned in and nearly touched his nose to the camera lens. “But know this, Pali.
Even though I never contacted you I’ve been watching you. I never lost sight of
where you were and what you were doing. I was there when you graduated from the
University of Hawaii, and I was pleased when I heard you’d been accepted into
the Homeland Security Federal Air Marshal Training program on the mainland. I’m
proud of you. You managed to get a college education with no financial or
emotional support from either side of your family.”

It was getting downright
embarrassing as my father blathered on about my life. I felt the gaze of everyone
in the room shift from watching the screen to watching me.

 “At the time of this video, you’d
opened a small business on a neighbor island. Good for you; I hope your business
is extremely successful. You’re my only child who never asked me for anything. Your
brothers and sisters made innumerable demands. It was usually for more than
they needed, and in most cases, more than they deserved.

“I’m sure the rest of you
watching are wondering when I’ll get around to you. In my mind’s eye I can
imagine you and your offspring toting up the spoils now that the old man’s gone.
Well, here it is.”

There was a collective intake of
breath. Phil went on, “During my life I was forced to live with—and even support—bad
behavior and lousy decision-making. Certainly, some of the blame falls to me, but
not all. Therefore, I’m done with that. With the blessing of my attorney and my
accountant I’ve decided to bequeath my entire estate to two, and only two,
beneficiaries. One-half of my total assets will go to my loving wife, Suzanne, or
Sunny, as she prefers to be called. The other half will go to my eldest
daughter, Pali Moon.

“Throughout my final ordeal
Sunny has stood by me without complaint. She asked for little, but gave so
much. I love you, Sunny. I owe you everything. Not only for what you’ve done for
me but even more for what you’ve promised to do for me.”

Everyone turned to look at Sunny
but she kept her eyes glued to the image on the television. 

Phil Wilkerson droned on. “Valentine
advised me to make this video so everyone could see that the choice of how I
would divide my assets was mine and mine alone. She and Tim Abbott will fill
you in on the details. I wish you all a life as wonderful as mine has been.
Aloha
and God bless.”

 The television screen went dark.
Valentine clomped over to the windows and lifted the shades. The sunlit room
remained silent for about three seconds. Then all hell broke loose.

CHAPTER
8

“These two twits get
everything?” shouted Joanie Bush, the aging Anna Nicole Smith-wannabe. She
pointed at me with a stiletto-sharp fingernail. “This one didn’t even know Phil
was her father until an hour ago. And her…” she pointed at Sunny, “just
magically appeared in time to rake in a fortune.”

“The decedent has the sole vote
in deciding who will inherit the estate,” said Valentine. “And in this case, at
least Mr. Wilkerson made the effort to explain his decision. He appreciated the
care his wife Sunny gave him and he was repentant about not being a loving
father to Pali.”

“Well, excuse me, but he was a
lousy father to my two kids,” said Peggy Chesterton, wife number one. She
turned to me. “Trust me, you didn’t miss much. I’m sure my kids would’ve rather
had the money.”

While the ex-wives engaged in
side conversations, Sunny Wilkerson raised a hand and waited to be called on.

“Yes, Sunny?” said Valentine.

“So, that’s it? Pali and I will split
the estate?”

“That’s it,” said Valentine. “Except
Mr. Wilkerson requested that you be allowed to live in the Kaua'i property for as
long as you wish. The property will not be sold until you want to dispose of it.”

“What’s the matter, Sunny D?”
said Joanie. “Did Phil promise you the whole enchilada? Last I heard Phil was worth
thirty million bucks. Are you afraid you won’t be able to snag a new boy-toy
with a mere fifteen mil?”