“I’ll go and check on him,” I said, shuffling back so that I could get up.
She touched my arm and smiled gratefully. “Being a leader is about more than your voice, son. You care about people. That’s much more important.”
I walked to the door and peered out, slightly annoyed with her. She didn’t know what it was like having to be around all of those loud, big, men who teased me. She didn’t have to see that look in my father’s eyes when I’d disappointed him, again. Akamu was lying down at the end of the hallway, his ear pressed to the floorboards as he listened to something only he could hear.
“He’s okay, mom,” I said, turning back to the bed.
She met my eyes with a grin. “Get your brother and go out the back door. If your father comes in, I’ll tell him you’re both picking up fruit in the north orchard. Be back for dinner.”
So I did, I pulled Aka up off the floor and dragged him through the house, ignoring his cries of protest as I forced a pair of flip flops onto his feet and a cap on his head. I held his hand and made him run with me, through the kitchen garden and along the dirt track that would lead us to the border of the orchard, away from where my father and his men were harvesting fruit. He was an awkward runner, balancing on his toes rather than using his whole foot, and I had to slow down so that he wouldn’t stumble. We didn’t stop until we reached the macadamia nut trees, a small cluster that had sprung up in an otherwise clear piece of land. The grass was soft and green and the sound of the ocean rumbled below. The trees weren’t meant to be there, no one in the family remembered planting them. That just made them all the more special to me. I liked that those trees had defied my father’s otherwise orderly orchard by placing themselves there and that the question of their existence was one he couldn’t answer. We stayed until dusk, playing hide and seek behind the tree trunks and picking the hard, green macadamia nuts and throwing them off the cliff. By the time we were at the kitchen door, it was dinner time, and I had forgotten all about my father.
The door was never locked, and it opened easily, swinging effortlessly on the hinges I had oiled the day before. I smiled in satisfaction at how smooth the motion was, enjoying the knowledge that I had fixed it without being asked. There was a smell. It was sharp, unfamiliar, and metallic, but warm. It filled my nose as we walked further into the house. The sound came next. Normally there would be laughter, music playing, the melodic rise and fall of our native Hawaiian spoken around the kitchen table by at least four family members, all at once. But there was nothing. The house was silent as if it had turned its back on us, refusing to acknowledge that we were home. I put the television on for Akamu and walked down the hallway to the bedrooms, peering in each one until I came to my parents’ room. I knew that I wasn’t allowed to go in there without knocking, but the image of my mother lying on the bed was still fresh in my mind as if no time had passed at all. I pushed the door and it opened, and my eyes flew to the bed with its soft pink quilt expecting to see her there, maybe dozing. But she was gone. In her place was a large circle of dark red, the size of it bigger than the wheel on my bicycle and the edges of it dry and stiff. The middle was still wet and dark. I knew that if I dipped my finger into it, it would be sticky and cake around my fingernail when it dried.
I shut the door and made Akamu a sandwich, and then we ignored the room, sitting motionless on the sofa until we saw the flash of headlights light up the kitchen wall. It was Pa, his eyes red and his hair stuck to his head with sweat. There wasn’t going to be a baby anymore, he said. And then he marched down the hallway to his bedroom and slammed the door.
Mom wasn’t the same after that. She came home from the hospital a week later, her face pinched and birdlike and her stomach as soft as risen dough beneath her shirt. She went straight to her room, where my father had put in a new bed the day before, the first brand new piece of furniture we had ever owned. She didn’t invite me in for our talks anymore. The few times I went searching for her, she listened to me in silence before impatiently waving me away. And when she was out of bed, she was obsessed with Akamu. She followed him everywhere, insisting on doing things for him that he had learned to do for himself long ago. I often found her in his bed in the morning, curled around his tiny body like a snail shell.
And everything that was hard and indifferent about my father sharpened. The last drops of sympathy he had for the son who flushed red and sprung tears when any attention was sent his way disappeared with the baby. He was irritable and impatient with me, forcing me to reprimand a forty-year-old casual worker who had lied on his time sheet, or stumble over an oli chant for my grandmother with twenty family members looking on. I wanted my father to be happy with me, but I didn’t know how to give him what he wanted. And then, when I couldn’t have believed things could get any worse, the rains came. The sky was a blanket of pewter for weeks and weeks, pouring down so much water that it flooded the main street through town and washed away some of our trees. The old people shook their heads and talked of a curse, and once Akamu and I were in bed for the night, my mother raged. She screamed at my father and threw things around the kitchen, tipping over chairs and pulling the cushions from the sofa. He left it so that we would find the evidence of her anger in the morning. I put it all away. When he caught me, he’d meet my eye with a look that said, see what I have to put up with? See how she is? He wanted me to be on his side, and he never forgave me for refusing to do it.
But I knew something no one else knew. I had been watching her all of that long, wet summer, and I knew that she was making plans. My mother and I had always been tuned to the same frequency. I felt her restlessness in my own body, making my legs jiggle when I sat at the table, and butterflies swirl in my stomach when I lay in bed at night. I saw her hiding money in one of her shoes and I found a list she’d made in the margins of a book. I knew she was going to leave. And I was ready. I had my bag packed, hidden under my bed.
The night it happened, I tossed and turned, dreaming I was swimming under towering white-tipped waves, my body slowly transforming from boy to fish with every wave I dove beneath. I watched in wonder as my skin turned to scales and my arms disappeared and were replaced by fins. And then there was a sound from somewhere, deep, deep underwater, warbled and wet. I woke in an instant and swung my legs out of bed, thinking that Akamu was having a nightmare and that I should get to him quickly, before he woke my parents. I opened my bedroom door and the hallway was flooded with light from the kitchen, strange and wrong for that time of night. Like an artificial dawn. A cold, dark feeling leaped up in my chest as I remembered that my father had stayed in town. If something bad was happening, I was in charge. I knew that if I had to shout my voice would betray me, and the thought of that made vomit rise to the back of my throat. I walked toward the sound slowly, my hand dragging along the wall, and when I saw around the corner, I found the source of the noise. Akamu stood inside the kitchen doorway, his hands braced on the frame, his head thrown back and his teeth bared. Rain blew in, covering his chest and face with droplets and sending a spray of raindrops across the kitchen table. A hand, small and pale was around one of his wrists and it was pulling him outside. I walked behind, expecting to see a ghost or an alien or a murderer from one of Dad's mystery novels. But it was only my mother, her blonde hair hanging down her face and her clothes stuck to her skin.
"We are leaving!" she was screaming at him. "This place is no good for you, Akamu!"
When she saw me, she stared into my eyes and for an instant there was a softening, a yielding, but then she shook her head and gave Akamu's arm one final tug. He fell forward into her arms and she gathered him to her, steering him to her car. The doors were open and the seats were getting wet. I saw that there were bags inside.
"Mom?" I called to her. “Wait! I’ll g-get my b-b-bag!”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she pushed Aka into the car and shut the door behind him. When she did spin around, the raindrops bounced off her shoulders and the light from the kitchen hi
t the side of her face. "Go to bed, Kai," she shouted over the rain. "I'm taking Akamu on a holiday."
And so I stood there, thick red mud slowly swallowing my feet and my bare chest slick with rain, and I watched the car reverse, then turn and slowly roll down the driveway. I knew she was leaving and I knew she would never go anywhere without my brother. But I always thought that she would take me with them.
Chapter Nineteen
"Oh, Kai," Tess said. "What happened then?"
"She went to the airport and they got the first flight out in the morning. Dad tracked them to LA then London, but then he lost them and we didn't know where they were for six months."
"Your dad must have gone crazy."
I kissed her hair. "Actually, he was eerily calm. But he was furious with me."
"What do you mean?" she said, sitting up. "Why would he be mad at you?"
"Because I let them go."
"But you were only eleven. What could you have done?"
"I don't know," I said, pulling her back against me with my arm. "I should have called him to tell him what happened straight away. But I was too shocked. I just went back to bed and hoped that it would all go away by the morning."
"So how did you get him back?"
"After six months she ran out of money and she called Dad. I think she'd had enough of Akamu by then, too. His whole life is here. He has routines that he needs to stick to, and those were even more important to him when he was little. He would have been difficult to travel with. She asked for more money, and Dad said no."
"So she came home?"
"No. He flew to Madrid and gave her two million dollars in exchange for signing over custody of us and never stepping foot in Hawaii again."
"Oh," she whispered. "Kai, I'm so sorry."
"She took the money, of course, and we haven't heard from her again. But it's poisoned everything anyway."
She moved my arm from her waist and sat up, placing her hands on either side of my neck. Her eyes met mine for one long second of complete understanding, and then she leaned in and kissed me.
"What happened afterward?"
"We had to close the business. Dad mortgaged the property to get the money and he couldn't make the payments. This is the first time the land has ever been owned by the bank and he's ashamed of it. He worked odd jobs, cutting people's lawns, and then, well, he started the landscaping business. He runs it from the house."
"That must have been hard for him," she said, resting her head on my shoulder.
"It was. He was the big man on the island. He owned the most land and was the eldest son of one of the oldest families. His mother warned him not to marry my mom, but he went against her wishes. He feels like he brought this on our family and future generations will suffer because of him."
"And he doesn't talk about it?"
A spot of goose bumps erupted where her breath tickled my neck, racing out across my skin. "Never. When he discovered they were gone, he shouted at me and told me it was my fault. Then he never spoke of it again. I didn't even know Akamu was coming home until Dad left one day to go to Spain and an Aunty came to replace him. They arrived at the door two weeks later without any warning."
"You must have missed him."
"I spent those six months in agony thinking that if I’d just told my dad that she was going to leave, then none of it would have happened. And I couldn’t understand it. My mom and I were always close. Why didn’t she take me?"
“Sometimes,” she said, so quietly that I barely heard her, “there are no good answers.”
"I bought this place because I wanted to relieve him of it. I thought he would be himself again if he didn't have to worry about this place anymore. As soon as I made enough money from the studio I made him an offer and took over the mortgage."
"It didn’t help him, though," she whispered.
"No. It didn't."
She looked out across the grass to the trees that marked the beginning of the orchard. "I wish we could stay here talking all day. Everything is so quiet."
"One day we will." I stood up and pulled her up by the hand. "No one comes out here but me."
I started to walk but she tugged on my hand, stopping me. “Kai. I don’t know much, about anything, really. But I do know one thing. Ordinary people can do crazy things when they’re in pain. Life is complicated. The line between broken and whole is a lot finer than you think.”
We walked through the orchard slowly, the trees luminous in the morning sun and dew sprinkling down whenever we disturbed the leaves. Akamu was waiting by my truck when we came through the gate. He checked his watch and gave us the double thumbs up, the morning's stress forgotten. We were right on time.
"Have a safe trip," she said as she opened the door.
I leaned over and lightly ran my fingertips up her arm. "I'm back on the 28th. Can I take you to dinner?"
"Sure," she said, glancing down at my hand then up to meet my eyes. She blinked, slowly, lazily, and I leaned in.
"I want you," I whispered, hoping Akamu wouldn't hear me. He poked his head between the two front seats and held up his hand. "No, because Kai, the 28th is Monday, and Monday is dinner at Onakea."
"Ignore him." My thumb touched her bottom lip and she closed her eyes.
"Monday is dinner with Dad, Kai. It's always dinner at Onakea on Monday."
I moved my hand away, turning to Akamu with a patient smile. "Well, how about this one time I take Dipper out for dinner instead?"
There was silence for a few seconds while he unclicked his seatbelt and slowly searched through his bag. When he finally met my eyes, I already knew his answer. "The 28th is Monday. Monday is dinner at Onakea."
He opened his door and climbed out, shutting it without a word.
"Great," I said, placing a hand on her leg. "I guess I'll be having dinner at Onakea."
"It's okay. We can see each other another night."
"Are you crazy? No. I'll work it out."
"I'd better go," she said out her open door. Akamu was impatiently waiting for her a few feet away. "Let me know when you're back."
I cupped the side of her face. "I will. Can you do me a favor while I'm away? Can you give me a call if you think Akamu is anxious?"
"Of course. I'll let Garrett know as well."
I kissed her slowly, already hating that I wasn't going to see her for two weeks. When I opened my eyes, I saw Akamu making his way to the car. "I'm getting you into trouble with your boss," I whispered against her mouth.
"Mmm," she said, putting her hand on the back of my neck. "Get me in trouble again."
Chapter Twenty
It was only fourteen days, but they felt like fourteen years. I used to be able to do the work and focus only on the money. Ten long days of work equaled one month of mortgage payments. 31 days where the land was safe. Weekends playing at Pete's meant I could pay a little extra and if I booked out the studio, then that was even better. But on Lana'i, all I thought about was Tess and how much of my life I was wasting digging up tree roots and leveling dirt.
"Kai, are you coming?" one of the guys said on his way to the dining room.
I shook my head and pulled my phone out of my pocket. "We're taking two days off, starting tomorrow. We all need a break."
He grinned and hurried off down the path to tell the others. And I found her number.
"Hello," she said playfully when she picked up. "What's happening? Are you on your way?"
"Do you know what today is?"
"Of course. It's the 28th. Monday. And it's dinner at Onakea."
"Impressive."
She laughed and then I heard footsteps followed by the sound of a closing door. "So, are you coming home?"
"The job here isn't finished. I can't come back tonight."
"Oh," she said, the disappointment evident in her voice. "Well, that's okay. When do you think you'll be back?"
"Tess," I said, my heart pounding in my chest. "It’s been two weeks. I'm done waiting. Are you?"
>
She was silent for a second and then I heard her swallow. "Yes."
"Thank God. Go to the airport, right now, there'll be a ticket for you at the counter. A cab is coming in ten minutes to pick you up."
"Wait," she laughed, "are you serious?"
"Very."
"But what if I'd said no?"
I didn't hesitate. "I would have come to you."
We said goodbye and I ended the call, shoving my phone into my pocket. Then I jumped into the truck the hotel had lent us and drove the long way to the airport.
She was the first one off the small charter plane, jumping down and running past the passengers across the tarmac to the arrivals building. She only had one small bag over her shoulder and her long hair was loose, dancing behind her as she ran.
"Hi," she breathed when she was finally in front of me. "That was an incredible ride. The island is beautiful from the air." She dropped her bag at her feet. I put my hands around her waist and looked at her. Her cheeks were flushed from running and her eyes were bright, blue today, instead of violet. She was wearing a long dress and boots that were too hot for Hawaii and three strings of tiny red beads around her neck.
"Hi," I said, and she grinned.
"Hi again."
"I've missed you."
"Me, too."
I took her hand and she picked up her bag. "You asked me to think about us while I've been here."
"And did you?"
"Tess," I said, squeezing her hand, "I've thought about you every minute for the last two weeks."
"Did you decide what you want?"
"Absolutely," I said, picking up my pace. "I want you."
We walked out the doors and I led her to the small parking area behind the terminal building. It was late afternoon, the sun was low in the sky and a lazy breeze blew dust around our feet as we walked.
"This is us," I said, unlocking the doors and getting in.
She jumped in next to me. "Fancy."
"It's the hotel’s. They're letting us use it to carry supplies."
I watched her as she leaned forward and played with the stereo, her hair falling over her face. "I had to think on my feet," she said, settling on a station she liked. "With Garrett. He wasn't that keen on me taking off without any notice." Her hand cupped my cheek. "It's nice to see that again."
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