“That’s not going to help!” I cried shrilly, when Laney stirred and vomited on my dress. I stared. The boils, the tumors—where had they gone? Her skin was unblemished, if a bit pale.
“Ohhhh.” Laney moaned and rolled over. Jinho knelt and helped her sit up.
“Jinho?” Her eyelashes fluttered.
“Stay with us, Laney.” He held a water bottle to her lips.
Her fingers gripped his arm with sudden strength. “I thought he was an angel, like you. I’d never let him drink from me, but you…”
Her eyes glassed over and she rolled back against him. Jinho and I sat mute, holding her between us. Sirens blared, and Rafael hurried off to meet the paramedics.
“It is good you find her, Tica,” Jinho said in a low, lurching voice.
“Drop the accent,” I hissed. “You have some explaining to do! You sensed one of these things watching us!”
His face was unreadable beneath his jet-black hair. “What things?”
“Whatever did this.” I slowly pulled off my shawl. Something had punctured a hole in my left stump. It was an ugly hole that did not bleed—but I could feel the weight of it. I shuddered as I thought of those enormous incisors, large and vicious, like a boar’s.
His hand slapped over the hole so fast, I jumped. I looked up to see his gray-blue eyes inches from mine. “Do not—tell—anyone.”
“Why not?” I challenged.
“Because then they will murder you and your family—and no one will know what killed you.” He spoke English effortlessly, shooting a dark glare at the surrounding foliage. “This pair of Dark Spirits does not want the world to know them yet.” He added, softer, “They do not want the world to remember.”
Later, I stood between my brother and mother with red-and-blue lights playing across our faces, watching Laney being loaded into an ambulance to be treated for alcohol poisoning. My mother had shown up despite my protests that she get some rest. Even with her lack of sleep, she looked stronger than I felt. I leaned into her shoulder and felt her hug me back, fiercely.
Rafael fell back from us, unable to meet my mother’s unflinching stare. They wouldn’t talk for a while now, I knew. I grabbed Rafael’s hand before he slouched back to the car, tying him to us a moment longer. Jinho prowled the edges of the crowd, as if no longer welcome, as if he had never been a part of us in the first place.
The wind blew, carrying with it the scent of manure and rotting fungi. My reddened eyes shot around the palm trees, and then I saw them—two pale figures, eerie green eyes glowing in the darkness. Familiar pain cracked in the spot between my shoulder plate and arm socket. I frantically turned back to the scene of living, flesh-and-blood people. I refused to look at them, even as they laughed. Oh, how they laughed.
Chapter 6: The Job Interview
~Tica~
It’s fair to say I was a tad preoccupied during my job interview at the Punahele, a crown hotel of Kalani Resorts in Waikiki—mainly with peering over my shoulder to make sure scary Boogeymen weren’t grinning at me from between bikini-clad tourists. Aolani kept up a steady stream of conversation with our guide, the stern-faced Secretary Reynolds. The secretary looked bored enough to quit babysitting the charity-case high school interns and hire Aolani on the spot.
I was busy checking my phone for messages from Jinho. He knew what those freaky “Dark Spirits” were. He’d promised me an explanation. Finally:
I will come by your house at 7.
I smiled, but it turned into a grimace as my left shoulder throbbed with mild but oh-so-familiar pain. Suddenly time felt suspended. All I was aware of was the quickening of my heartbeat and the frightened child in my head:
Oh, no, no, no, no—
“Mr. Summers just got in?” Secretary Reynolds wheeled about on her apple-red heels, her equally red lips dropping into a surprised “O” at the response from her cellphone. “He wants to see the girls? Well, of course I can arrange it. We’ll head down to Ho’onani Pavilion straightaway. Girls!” She clapped her hands. “What an unexpected pleasure! Our CEO Crispin Summers just arrived from the mainland, and he’d like to meet you both!”
I was fairly certain my eyes were still red from bonfire smoke, and my collared shirt wasn’t ironed. Aolani looked as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as a deer. She squealed with equal excitement.
“Mr. Summers likes to handpick staff whenever possible,” Ms. Reynolds continued to lecture us as we traversed ivy-curtained trellises down to the second floor. Sunlight peeked in through the diamond-shaped leaves, casting laughing shadows on the marble floor. “Every staff member is a vital part of Kalani Resorts.” She gave us a once-over with more interest than she’d shown all day. “Although I’ve never seen him express interest in meeting staff who are so…fresh.”
Weird, Aolani mouthed at me. We followed Ms. Reynolds around a sharp bend. Suddenly, the ivy creeping down the trellises, the sunrise-colored Bird of Paradise flowers shooting over our heads—all of the stunning foliage vanished. In its place was a lonely hall garlanded with ugly black roses. At the far end was a marble mausoleum.
Aolani ducked behind me instinctively. I felt her squeeze my wrist, so I plucked up my courage: “Um, Ms. Reynolds, if you don’t mind me asking…what is that?”
Ms. Reynolds turned her hostile gaze on me. “That, Miss Dominguez, is Mr. Summers’s daytime office.”
“Uh…it kind of looks like…”
“Like a tomb,” Aolani put in helpfully.
Ms. Reynolds turned a darker shade of red. “If you must know, Mr. Summers suffers from very specific health problems, one of which is an allergy to sunlight.”
She continued to berate our shocked faces: “You will not ask such impertinent questions while in his presence, nor will you remark upon his appearance. Is that clear, girls? I’d expect more discretion, especially from you, Tica Dominguez.”
Burning anger unfurled in my gut. Why, because my cancer defines me?
“Mr. Summers does know it’s sunny on O’ahu three hundred and sixty days of the year?” Aolani muttered, but she hushed up when Ms. Reynolds glared at her.
At first I couldn’t see anything inside of the tomb office. The only light came from hundreds of tiny red candles twinkling over silver bowls of fruit and meats, a feast with no guests. Water dripped on my head, and I realized that an ancient air conditioner was embedded in the wall, dutifully circulating stale, decrepit air. My left shoulder began to itch profusely. Then, something large moaned behind the curtain in the far back. Aolani and I jumped.
Ms. Reynolds was unfazed. “The girls from Momilani High School are here, Mr. Summers.”
A giant, fleshy hand seized the curtain and jerked it back. Slowly, propelling itself up from the darkness, one massive, pale calf crawling with varicose veins swung off the bed. A second foot joined it with a splat! on the concrete.
The thing could get no further. It chose to roll over on its side, pound after pound of flesh undulating from its belly to drip down to the floor. Its head was sunk deep into its neck of fat rolls. Crispin Summers, CEO of Kalani Resorts, dedicated to bringing the sunshine of paradise to countries far and wide, fixed his beady eyes on us and gave an enormous smile that swiftly collapsed beneath his mounds of cheek fat.
“Mr. Summers,” Ms. Reynolds continued as if this were all quite normal, “May I present Aolani Kahananui and—”
“Tica Dominguez!” He licked his lips, casting a resemblance to a corpulent toad that wanted to eat me. I shrank back; Aolani bristled as Mr. Summers gestured for me alone to step closer. I was terrified, but then I realized he just wanted to shake my hand.
“Such a fighter,” his purple salami lips whispered before engulfing my hand whole in a gallant kiss. My skin crawled, and every hair stood up on my body to scream: Danger! Even as I scolded myself—the CEO of Kalani Resorts does not want to eat you, Tica; he obviously gets enough food as it is—I couldn’t stop Jinho’s voice from rising unbidden in the back of my mind:
Repulsi
ve.
“To have survived through such a terrible ordeal at a young age…your struggle against cancer will be an inspiration to many.” CEO Summers leered at me again, and I stood there dumbly, aware of the saliva webbing my fingers and the sudden lash of pain flaring in my left shoulder.
It’s going to be okay. I shut my eyes tight. It’s my puncture wound flaring up from the attack on the beach last night. The pain will go away. This isn’t…that other thing.
I opened my eyes and managed to say, “Thank you.”
“Modern medicine is such a wonderful thing, isn’t it?” Mr. Summers tried to scoop some of his belly back up onto the cot unsuccessfully. “It’s the only reason I am allowed to exist in this world, certainly.”
Aolani fidgeted, unable to stand being ignored any longer. “We heard you had a—skin condition.”
He regarded her with amusement. “That is an understatement. Of course, most things are when it comes to me!” He gave a great, pealing laugh that broke off into wheezes. Ms. Reynolds hurried to bring him some sort of odd red drink in a gallon container. It looked like mutilated strands of beef. Mr. Summers sucked it down greedily.
“Ah.” He patted his belly and gave a contented burp. His slanted green eyes drifted to us. “It’s okay; you can laugh, you know.”
Aolani and I managed to summon up a few nervous chuckles.
Satisfied, Mr. Summers tapped his gallon cup for Ms. Reynolds to refill it. “I have a very rare condition called Tetraodontidae Syndrome.”
I stared at him. “Tetraodontidae? As in the family name for puffers and blowfish?”
Mr. Summers took his time sucking red gunk off of his fingers. “Very good, Tica. I read on your resume that you have a love for the ocean and its creatures. Well, my little marine biologist, I have a unique genetic kink that causes my body to swell and deflate. Right now you are witnessing the deflated version.” He picked up the limp rolls of his stomach and dropped them; they oozed back into their crevices. “It makes it very difficult to be mobile during the day. You must come back for the unveiling of our newest wing off of Makani Pavilion on Monday evening. I will be much more…active, then.”
“I read about the wing opening, with the view of the mauka side, toward the mountains,” Aolani broke in. “Do you know what you’re calling it yet? Since you have a wind theme on the Makani floor, then it might be cool to call this wing Kūkalahale, a famous wind of Honolulu.”
Mr. Summers blinked, as if remembering she was still there. “You speak Hawaiian, Aolani?”
She nodded eagerly. “I attended a Hawaiian immersion school until the age of nine. My grandmother and aunt are fluent.”
Thoughtful, the CEO reclined back on his mountain of pillows. “You must come to the unveiling as well. We will speak more there. Now, pardon me, girls. I must nap. It was a long trip over from the mainland.”
We bowed our heads and murmured thanks before Ms. Reynolds shooed us from the mausoleum. I shot a quick glance over my shoulder and watched the slumbering giant roll over on his side. The light from the midday sun glared into the tomb, and for a second, it happened again: enveloping his shoulders were emerald green feathers, which I’d mistaken for a blanket. The green reminded me of the eerie glow of the Dark Spirits’ eyes, and my breath caught. Then the “office” door swung shut.
Ms. Reynolds escorted us to the hotel lobby, outside of which a large fountain sculpted in the shape of a tropical reef shot rainbow-colored water.
“Thank you, ladies,” she said. “It appears both of you will continue working here…for now.” She sniffed in our direction, as if Aolani’s bright smile and my fake one offended her, and then tromped off with a click of her red heels.
“Well, that was bizarre,” I said.
Aolani refused to be deterred from her excitement. “Mr. Summers obviously had to overcome a lot of adversity in his life to become the successful business mogul he is today. We’re going to learn a lot from him, Tica.”
“There is no such thing as Tetraodontidae Syndrome,” I said.
She put her hands on her hips. “How would you know? Are you a med student as well as a ‘young marine biologist’ now?”
“Come on, a man who can deflate and inflate? The media would have been all over that a long time ago.”
“How else do you explain his…condition?”
Magic. But when gazing into the eyes of my childhood friend, I realized I didn’t recognize her. Aolani had become a stranger to me.
Yes, I decided, the only one who could understand why I was seeing things was another stranger: Jinho.
So I gestured to the bulletin board advertising: “Come visit the newest wing in the Punahele ohana! Book your stay with your Kalani Resorts rewards card now and receive our exclusive Polynesian Adventure package, including a free lesson in authentic hula dance!” “Are you sure you’re okay with exporting your culture this way, Aolani?”
She didn’t look at the poster. “If tourists want to give us money for it, then who are we to deny them? Besides, Tica, I don’t have cancer survivor to put on my resume.”
My head shot up, but Aolani was already stalking out the door.
Chapter 7: Bethany Hamilton
~Tica~
My mom placed the plate of blackened ahi in front of me. I dug in, interchangeably dipping the thinly sliced pieces in mango-ginger dressing and wasabi.
“How did the job interview go?” she asked.
I gulped down guava juice. “Ok, I guess. They asked me to come back Monday at seven.”
“At night?”
I put down my chopsticks, stomach churning. “Sorry, I forgot I have work! I’m sure I can reschedule—”
Ana Dominguez pointed her chopsticks at me. From what Ryoko had told me, that was plain rude, but my mom didn’t care much for tradition. She was more in favor of whatever method accentuated her point. “You’re going to that internship. Your brother can cover your shift. He only works at that boat company on the weekends.”
Rafael hated the Stop n’ Shop. I was going to get a lot of shit for this later. Sighing, I stirred more wasabi into my shoyu sauce. That was when the ticks started.
I barely noticed the first prickle, but by the time the third wave struck, my left shoulder was twitching violently. The chopsticks rolled from my hand, and I grabbed my stump, feebly begging the pain to stop.
“Tica!”
I hunched over, gritting my teeth. Through my hair, I saw my mother drop to her knees in front of me. She grabbed my knee with one hand and reached for the phone with the other.
“I’m calling the doctor.”
“No!” The pain subsided to a dull throb and the pounding in my head abated. “It’s all right. I’m fine.”
“You’re not.” My mother pulled back, blinking furiously. I knew she didn’t like it when I saw her cry. I stared dully at the floor while she pulled herself together.
“They warned this might happen, Tica.” Neither of us dared utter the word: relapse.
Hand on her hip, my mother stared at the phone. “I’ll schedule an appointment with Dr. Kaiser. Just to make sure.”
Upon the faded yellow tile of our kitchen floor, I saw all over again the hygienic white halls of the hospital, the tired-eyed nurses, the clocks that passed time so quickly and slowly that days became meaningless; I felt the crackle of sheet paper beneath my thin hospital gown, the perfect plastic-ness of cups, smiles, the tips of needles; I heard the beeping of monitoring machines; I smelled death.
“FUCK!”
The word exploded from my lungs and left my throat raw and my chest heaving. I stormed from the kitchen, hating my missing arm. I’d gotten rid of it and still, it wasn’t enough. Giving up surfing and swimming and my friendship with Aolani who’d liked me better before wasn’t enough. Relearning how to write with my right hand and drive with one hand and dress myself—all of it, in exchange to fumble through the world like a child all over again, except my mind was old and weary.
The front
door opened, catching me in mid-stride to my room. Rafael and Jinho came in, their dark hair dripping with water and surfboards tucked under their arms.
“Hiya, Tica. Whoa—what’s wrong?”
My brother reached for my shoulder, but I shoved past him and into my room. I’d barely slammed the door shut before my mom began laying into him about bringing surfboards inside the apartment.
I breathed in the stillness, my thudding heart the loudest thing in the room. This was the only place where I could admit what scared me most:
I don’t want to die.
“Tica?” A low, melodious voice flowed in from the hallway, hesitant.
I jerked open the door and there was Jinho. He cast a tall, rangy shadow as he ducked into my room. He was dressed in black boardshorts still damp from the ocean and a long-sleeved white rash guard that tightly hugged his chest.
His keen gray-blue eyes darted around my curtain-drawn room, taking in posters and dolphin stuffed animals. “I’m sorry. I’m getting your floor wet.”
“It’ll live.” I tossed him a towel.
“Thanks.” He gave his jet-black hair a quick tousle, causing it to spike out in all directions like a porcupine. I hid a smile and curled up on my bed.
“So. Who is this surfer you have all over your walls?” he asked, stepping closer to my 4x4 of a 5’11 blonde bombshell surfing a tunnel at Jaws.
“Bethany Hamilton.” I flashed my stump. “She lost her arm in a shark attack many years ago.”
“And she returned to surfing?”
“She was back in the water again in a month.” I flopped back against my pillows. “They figured out a custom board for her. Bethany went on to win all sorts of surfing competitions.”
“So she is your inspiration to surf again.”
“She is my inspiration to get in the ocean again.” I laughed softly. Next to Ryoko and Aolani, I was thicker and huskier, with about as many curves as a beanbag chair. I used to play water polo, and my teammates would always jokingly refer to me as “The Tank” because of the way I could barrel through the water: an unstoppable force. That way of swimming didn't work for me anymore. All of my muscles couldn’t protect me from cancer, and now they couldn't protect me from something else: fear.
Year of the Boar- Tica Page 4