Anywhere but Paradise

by Anne Bustard

  “Mama. Daddy,” I say, wrapping the afghan around my shoulders. They are in Hilo now. At a hotel next to the bay. “Howdy.” The quarantine station is beside the water.

  We’re all in danger.

  I want my family.

  Together and safe.

  Gone

  LIKE MAMA WITH her closet of supplies, Malina’s family is prepared for the alert. The Halanis act like they are in control of the situation. But my heart hasn’t gotten the message. It is in a race. It wants to leave. Now.

  “I’m going on duty,” says Mr. Halani. “I’ll check in later.”

  He hugs and kisses us all. “Don’t you worry, Peggy Sue, it’s usually a false alarm. But we have to go through the motions. Make sure everyone is safe. The hotel will take good care of your parents. I can guarantee one thing—it’s going to be a long night.”

  I do not find that a comfort.

  I picture Howdy crouched under the bench. And Daddy holding Mama’s hand. Be safe. Please be safe.

  The siren blares a second time and Mrs. Halani walks out the door to get Tutu. She’ll be back for us soon. David is at Teresa’s, and since her family lives well above sea level, they’ll stay put.

  Malina and I fill up a grocery bag with potato chips, cookies, cheese, and apples, and grab pillows and blankets. By the time the third siren ends, we call our job done.

  “I should get a few things from my house. You know, in case—”

  Whoosh! The back door flies open. I scream.

  Kiki rushes in.

  “He’s gone!” she yells.

  “Who?” asks Malina.

  “Kahuna.” Kiki’s voice cracks. “Help me find him. Hurry.”

  My heart pounds even harder with her command.

  “Slow down,” says Malina. “Tell us what happened.”

  “Maybe he’ll come home,” I say.

  Grandpa told me that when he was a boy, he had a dog that went missing once. His family looked and looked for that dog for days. “Just wasn’t ready to be found,” he said. Two weeks later, the dog turned up, wagging his tail and asking for supper.

  Kiki glares at me. “You don’t know nothing, haole. Kahuna hates sirens. When they go off, he hides. I called and called and he didn’t come.” Her voice catches again. She swallows. “We’re wasting time. Let’s go.”

  Kahuna

  “KAHUUUUUUUUUNA,” we yell as we run single file on the grassy shoulder of Hanu Road. “Kahuuuuuuuuuna.” But another blast of the siren drowns our calls.

  My foot catches on a rock at the base of a tree and down I go.

  “Peggy Sue?” calls a passenger stopped in traffic.

  I pop up and brush myself off. “Mrs. Silva. Hi.” It’s the family Malina and I babysat for. The dad’s driving, and Kevin and his brothers are playing rock-paper-scissors in the backseat.

  “Kahuna is missing.”

  “The trick dog?” she asks.

  “Yes.”

  “We’ll keep our eyes open,” she says, and the car moves ahead.

  I start running again.

  “We should have left a note for Mom,” says Malina when I catch up with her and Kiki at a cross street.

  “Too late now,” says Kiki.

  Malina looks at her watch. “She’ll be back with Tutu in about fifteen more minutes. Let’s divide up and search until then and meet back at the house.”

  We scatter in three different directions—Kiki will take off toward her house in case he returns. Malina will check the neighborhood on the mountain side of the street. I will look on the beach side.

  “Go!” Kiki yells.

  “Kahuuuuuuna. Kahuuuuuuna.” Our voices echo and then fade as we run in opposite directions.

  I scurry across Hanu Road and down a dead-end street toward the beach. The siren wails yet again, but it’s fainter here.

  I’ve only seen the dog once. What if I don’t recognize him? What if I find him and he won’t come? What if he growls at me? Or tries to bite?

  I wish we hadn’t split up.

  I glance at my watch. Thirteen minutes. I can look for thirteen minutes.

  I take a few more steps and stop. As afraid as I am of dogs, this is my chance to change everything with Kiki.

  I want to find her dog. I have to find her dog.

  On the Beach

  THERE’S NOT A CAR in any driveway. Or a person anywhere. But every house on the dead-end has porch lights blazing to welcome their owners’ return. That helps. If Kahuna is here, I’ll find him.

  A few houses don’t have fences, so I peek in their backyards.

  No dog.

  I reach the beach access, a narrow path between houses that leads to the water.

  I know what Howdy would do. He’d hunker down under my bed, or if he were outside, he’d scoot under the house or up a tree. But a dog? Maybe with all the commotion, he’s headed to the beach for some peace and quiet.

  A big orange-and-white cat darts across the sandy path. I jump. “You scared me.” The cat keeps going, climbs the fence, and disappears. “Be safe,” I call. “Kaaaahuuuuuna. Come here, boy.” I clap my hands.

  I make my way onto the beach. Alone. A sliver of a moon hangs over the smooth water. It is hard to believe that a big wave is coming. But like Mr. Halani said, maybe it won’t.

  My eyes adjust to the darkness. The sand is hardest next to the water. I take off, calling, calling Kahuna’s name.

  But I can’t keep it up. I stop to catch my breath and let the warm water swirl and splash around my ankles. I sink a little lower into the soft sand.

  The beach is empty.

  I start up again, running, calling. A stabbing pain on my side stops me short. I’ve had a side stitch before. It’ll go away. Eventually. But it will slow me down.

  I don’t know exactly where I am. It’s not like I’m lost. All I need is a beach path. It will lead me to Hanu Road. I can figure it out from there.

  I check my watch. My time is up. I should already be back at the Halanis’.

  I clutch my side and walk as fast as I can, calling, calling for the dog.

  I spot a beach access and take a shortcut, through waist-high plants at the edge of someone’s property. I cut across their wet lawn, which I’m guessing has just been watered, and head for the path.

  My legs are bags of sand.

  I reach the paved lanai next to the house, with its table and chairs, and take a seat. Palms swoosh overhead. The house is dark. The little bit of moon has disappeared behind the clouds.

  I push back, stand, and take two steps.

  My left foot slams into something hard. Another chair? My right foot tangles in something coiled. I twist and turn, but the cold, wet something won’t let go. A snake?

  I throw out my arms to steady myself, but I tip to the right and fall. My hip-shoulder-head slam against the concrete.

  A flash of light.

  Everything goes black.

  Stranger

  I WAKE TO JANGLING.

  Someone with hot, bad breath rubs wet sand across my cheeks.

  “Kahuna?”

  No. The dog is white.

  I hold statue still.

  It licks again.

  Please don’t bite me. Please don’t bite. Please don’t.

  The dog is not growling. Good. This is good. He does not look like he’s going to attack. Even better. But you never know.

  A red something catches my eye. A muumuu. Someone else is here.

  Clap. Clap.

  The dog turns and sits beside the dress.

  I look up. An old lady with white hair flowing past her waist holds a garden hose. I move my legs. Freely. The hose. I tangled with the hose. Not a big fat snake. Right. This isn’t Texas.

  “A tidal wave is coming,” I say, sitting up real slow. Sudden movements may provoke the dog. Not to mention make my pounding head worse. “You and your dog need to get to higher ground.”

  She nods.

  “I’m looking for a dog. A dog named Kahuna.” />
  The old woman raises her hand and points toward the water.

  A dog sits at the edge of the rise, looking out.

  It’s him. I know it’s him.

  “Kahuna,” I say. “Come here, Kahuna.” I turn to ask the old woman, “How did you—?”

  But she and her dog are gone.

  Good Dog

  I CALL AND CALL AND CALL. The dog turns and looks at me. I call again. I’d go after him, but I can’t get up just yet.

  Finally, finally, Kahuna comes.

  “Good dog,” I say.

  He sniffs my hand.

  “Kiki sent me.” My voice shakes.

  Kahuna wags his tail.

  “Wagging is good, right?”

  Kahuna barks.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  Steadying myself with the dog and the table, I rise.

  Slowly, Kahuna and I make our way up the sandy path toward the street. I place my hand on fences and walls that line the way to keep upright.

  My head is full of drums beating louder and longer with each step.

  Maybe this is how Mama feels sometimes.

  Mama. Daddy. Howdy. Be safe. Please be safe.

  I stop every once in a while, lean against a fence, and start again.

  Kahuna never leaves me.

  Bufo

  WHEN WE FINALLY reach the street, I sit on a big piece of lava rock in someone’s front yard. Palms rustle overhead, a gecko chirps. The soft pa-boom of the waves in the near distance fills my ears.

  “Go ahead, I’ll be okay,” I say.

  Kahuna licks my hand and settles down beside me.

  “Just so you know,” I say, petting his head, “if I ever had a dog, I’d want one just like you.”

  Headlights from a car beam down the street. The blue light on top of its roof means it’s the police. “We’re safe now, Kahuna. Safe.”

  I stand and wave with both arms like I’m on a drowning ship.

  The car picks up speed and stops next to us.

  Mr. Halani steps out.

  “You okay?” he asks.

  My stomach rolls and I hold up one hand and cover my mouth with the other.

  “You’ve got a nasty cut on your shoulder,” Mr. Halani says, and takes my elbow. “I’ll get Charlotte to drive you to the hospital.”

  I sway. Mr. Halani holds me steady.

  “I see you found the dog. Good detective work.”

  Kahuna wags his tail as he roots his nose around the base of the large lava rock I’d sat on.

  “Time to go, Kahuna,” I say.

  But he doesn’t pay any attention.

  Mr. Halani whistles. Kahuna lifts his head and lowers it again. Nuzzles his nose in the grass.

  A bufo hop hop hops away. Kahuna pounces.

  “No,” I shout. If bitten, bufos squirt a poisonous liquid.

  Kahuna turns. Two small legs of a bufo protrude from his mouth. He growls.

  “Kahuna,” I say. “Drop it.”

  The dog backs up, shakes his head from side to side, and growls some more.

  “This isn’t a game, Kahuna,” I say.

  “Kahuna, speak,” says Mr. Halani.

  Kahuna opens his mouth and the toad flops to the ground. Out comes a garbled bark.

  “Good dog,” I say, and step toward him.

  Kahuna’s eyes are extra big and his mouth foams. White globs of bubbles ooze out, extend toward the ground, and plop on the grass.

  “We need to take him to a vet,” I say.

  “My responsibility is to humans first,” says Mr. Halani, stepping between the dog and me. “I can come back later.”

  “No, please,” I say, grabbing his arm. “We have to save him.”

  Mr. Halani looks me straight in the eyes. “It may be too late.”

  “Don’t say that,” I cry. “It’s not too late. It can’t be.”

  “We’ve got one vet in Hanu, Peggy Sue, and I happen to know where he lives. He’s evacuating like the rest of us.”

  I crouch down and open my arms. “Kahuna, come. Please. Please. Come.”

  The growls grow deeper.

  He turns and runs.

  Hospital

  THOUGH THE TIDAL WAVE didn’t hit Hanu, it did strike my mind.

  Washed some stuff away. Rearranged others.

  But I cannot forget:

  Kiki’s screams.

  Bright lights in the emergency room.

  Me telling the Halanis about the lady and her dog.

  Mrs. Halani saying, “You hit your head pretty hard, Peggy Sue.”

  Tutu saying, “It could have been her.”

  “Who?” I ask. “Who?”

  “Pele,” says Malina.

  Questions, lots of questions: How many fingers am I holding up? Who is the president of the United States? Do you know where you are?

  My questions: about Mama and Daddy. About Hilo. About Howdy. About Kahuna.

  But no one answers.

  Six stitches.

  I didn’t feel a thing.

  The Radio

  I JERK AWAKE.

  Mama? Daddy? Howdy? Kahuna?

  Where are Y’all?

  Malina’s curtains are closed, but it’s daytime. Her bed is made, but all of the stuffed dogs on her bed—gone.

  The clock reads ten minutes after eight.

  A note from Mrs. Halani is taped to the nightstand:

  8 a.m. Good morning, Peggy Sue. Mr. Santos called to say Howdy is purring louder than ever. I’m in the studio if you need me.

  Love, Mrs. H.

  What about my parents? What about Kahuna?

  I swing my legs over the side of the bed and my stomach lurches. I have a whopper of a headache. But I force myself to stand.

  I have to find my parents. Have to find the dog.

  I wobble down to the kitchen, still wearing my clothes from the day before.

  Ukulele music comes from the studio. I bet Mrs. Halani is practicing her dance for the recital.

  I reach the kitchen and lean against the refrigerator. The radio murmurs. The newsman says “Hilo” and I listen in:

  … buildings torn off their foundations, a boat sitting on a railroad track, mangled cars, piles of wood and rubble …

  “Mama? Daddy?”

  My whole body shakes.

  I cross my arms and hold myself tight. I turn, stumble out the back door and down to the beach.

  Next to the water, the shiny blue-green water, I stand. Shivering. My head throbs as I squint in the bright light. The water slips in and out, in and out.

  I picture it.

  The wave.

  The gigantic wave.

  What if Mama and Daddy are gone? Gone forever? I remember my wish. I remember what I said—that I hoped they’d never come back. I remember that I didn’t say good-bye.

  I cover my face. I am so sorry. I didn’t mean what I said. I’m sorry that I am prickly. I’m sorry I am a terrible daughter. I messed up with Kahuna, too. Lost the dog. Lost my chance to get on Kiki’s good side.

  I squeeze my eyes and imagine the wave. An enormous rushing wall of water, hurling toward me. Roaring. Like hundreds of trains. Foaming. Blocking the horizon. And before I can run, or even scream, it hits me, swallows me whole and sweeps me away. It is cold and dark here. The wave pushes me forward. Turns me sideways, upside down. Holds me under. Forever. And then, and then … spits me up. I cough, call for help, but no one is around to hear me. The water slaps my face and I swallow the salty sea. My eyes burn. I grab for the top of a coconut tree as I rush by. And miss. The waves don’t stop coming. Won’t stop. They are big. Bigger. Strong. I am pulled under again. I can’t, can’t breathe.

  And then I do. Air. I gulp it in, sink to my knees. “Please be alive. All of you. Please.”

  When I look up, the ocean in front of me is glassy. Calm. Two surfers, straddling their boards, wait for waves that will rise only in their imaginations.

  I scan the beach. It’s empty. No people. No dogs.


  I stand, half-wet, and walk away.

  Beauty

  I STARE at the mountain range as I plod back from the beach to the Halanis’. Like an accordion, its deep green folds divide the island.

  Light green fills in the crevices.

  Up close you can see vines hanging from the trees.

  After a heavy rain, waterfalls stream down its faces.

  A rainbow arcs across the sky. Sometimes even a double.

  This side, the windward side, is greener, wetter, lush.

  It looks like paradise.

  I wish it were.

  Kapakahi

  I PICK UP THE PHONE in our kitchen. Drops of ocean pool beneath me on the floor as I dial the operator. “The Naniloa Hotel in Hilo, please,” I say. “On the water.”

  “I’m sorry, all of the circuits for the Big Island are busy. I could contact you when one becomes available.”

  I give her the Halanis’ number. “Could you call Texas?”

  “That might be easier,” she says. “Let me try.”

  She patches the call together through another operator.

  “Let’s not panic, Peggy Sue,” says Grams. At least that’s what I think she’s saying. There is static on the line at my end this time.

  “But, Grams, everything is kapakahi.”

  “Is what?”

  “All mixed up. All because of me.”

  “Sweetie, what on earth are you talking about?”

  “I’ve done something bad. Really bad. It’s all my fault. It’s my fault they’re missing.”

  “What kind of talk is this?”

  “It’s what I wished,” I say. “I wished Mama and Daddy would never come back. And now it’s happened.”

  “Oh, sweet pea.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. Not forever.”

  “Of course you didn’t. Now listen to me, Peggy Sue. This may come as a surprise, but you don’t have that much power.”

  I grab a tissue and blow my nose. I twist the phone cord around my finger.