by Anne Bustard
“You are strong, Peggy Sue. Strong enough to weather this. You’ve got to remember, after the rain comes the rainbow.”
I take a deep breath.
“We have faith your parents are going to come through.”
“Grams, I’m scared.”
“I know, sweet pea, I know.”
Back at the Halanis’, I leave a note on the kitchen table about the operator who’s going to call. Then I change into my pajamas, crawl into bed, and bury myself under the covers.
Mama and Daddy and me belong together.
We do. Please come back. Please.
Distractions
I HEAR MRS. HALANI tiptoe in. She taps me gently on my shoulder.
“Peggy Sue, it’s time to sit up for a while.”
I smell toast and peek from under the blanket. A tray rests on Malina’s bed. “Where are my parents?”
“Mr. Halani has a buddy on the police force in Hilo who is doing everything he can to track them down,” she says. “I’ve been calling the hotel, but I haven’t gotten through. I saw your note. You must have, too.”
I nod.
“We’ll have good news soon.”
She sounds confident. Sure.
I toss back the covers and sit up. “Has Mr. Halani found Kahuna? He told me that he’d look for him.” Mrs. Halani shakes her head.
“I found Kahuna, or rather he found me. If it happened once, it can happen again. I want to look for him. I want to do something.”
“The best thing you can do right now is get better. Believe me, there are lots of people searching for that dog.” She hands me the plate of toast. “Eat.”
Afterward, we troop downstairs for a game of hearts. Mrs. Halani shuffles and deals. “You go first,” she says.
While we play, Mrs. Halani tells me stories of growing up here—sliding down a muddy slope on a big leaf, hiking in the mountains, bopping her sister over the head with shampoo ginger flowers to release its sudsy goo, and learning hula from her grandmother who danced for the queen. She talks so I don’t have to.
I ask her about the queen.
“She was a woman of great strength and aloha,” she says.
After two games, we’re tied.
“I know what you’re doing,” I say. “Distracting me.”
“Is it working?” Mrs. Halani asks, and smooths back my hair.
“A little,” I say.
“Good.”
“Will you call Hilo again?”
“Of course.”
She does. But all the lines are still tied up.
Be Okay
“HEY, SLEEPYHEAD,” says Malina, nudging me gently in the arm later that afternoon.
I wave with one finger.
“Do you want to hear about school? Only four more days.”
After all this, I’ve lost count.
I signal thumbs-up and Malina springs over to her bed and sits. She hands me a get-well card signed by everyone in homeroom. And my porcelain Howdy from Cindy, which she must have brought from next door.
“Tell everyone I said thanks,” I say. I turn on my side and hold the cat loosely in my hand. “How’s Kimo?”
“Of course I still like him, but I need to be realistic. He didn’t talk to me this morning. So I sat with Sam at lunch.” I gaze at her hand. The heart, though empty, is there. She must still have hope.
“Everyone’s jazzed because it’s the last week,” she says. “And most kids didn’t get a lot of sleep last night. You’re not going to believe this—we don’t have any homework. Not even in Mr. Nakamoto’s class and …”
Listening takes a lot of energy and I fade in and out. My head hurts something fierce.
I think about Mama and Daddy. Be okay. Please. You’ve got to be okay.
Kahuna, too.
The cat slips out of my hand, shattering into I don’t know how many pieces on the floor.
The tears come. And I can’t stop them. Salty waves wash down my face.
“Peggy Sue, I’m sorry all this has happened,” says Malina.
“I want my parents. I want Kahuna to be okay.”
Malina’s eyes grow wide. “Let me get my mom.”
They are keeping something from me. Otherwise, Malina would have told me good news by now. Or she would have said, “No worry, beef curry.”
Mrs. Halani rushes in from her class.
“Where are they?”
“We still don’t know yet,” Mrs. Halani says.
Maybe, maybe they are alive. Maybe they’re floating in the ocean, waiting to be rescued. Maybe they’re in the hospital getting well.
“Kahuna?”
“No news.” Mrs. Halani puts her hands on either side of my face. “Would you like to talk to the school counselor? She called when you were sleeping and asked about you.”
“I want to see Howdy.”
“I promise,” she says, and kisses me on the top of my head. “As soon as you get your strength back, we’ll go. You need to get up again. The doctor doesn’t want you sleeping all day.” Mrs. Halani reaches into her pocket. “I meant to hand this to you earlier. Before they left, your parents asked me to give this to you while they were gone.”
On the front of the postcard is a photo of a fiery volcano. On the back, these words:
ALOHA, PEGGY SUE!
WE MISS YOU.
DON’T WORRY, IF WE VISIT PELE’S HOME,
WE WON’T GET BURNED.
MAMA AND DADDY
Daddy’s handwriting, but Mama signed her name.
I sink into the bed and trace their words again and again.
Headlines
NOT TOO MUCH LATER, I slip into the bathroom and stare into the mirror. My hair hangs limp at my shoulders. It looks like someone has smudged charcoal under my eyes. They are sad. So sad. I barely recognize myself. I pick up the rubber band that Malina must have left on the basin and pull my hair into a ponytail.
“You in there?” Malina asks after knocking softly.
“Uh-huh.”
“How about ten minutes of Monopoly?”
“Be right out,” I say. I open the door and we begin making our way downstairs.
Thunk.
My grip tightens on the handrail. I place the sound. The paperboy’s aim was on target—the Halanis’ front door.
Malina scampers outside, and I settle in next to the game board. Malina tosses the loosely rolled paper onto her dad’s recliner and joins me around the coffee table.
“I believe it’s my turn,” she says, and picks up the dice from the game we started last night, the night the sirens bellowed.
Malina rolls a four, picks up her token, and travels around the board.
Mr. and Mrs. Halani enter through the back door. Mr. Halani must have just gotten off work, because he’s still in his uniform. They take seats on the couch. Their faces are neutral, like the doctor in the emergency room.
Malina and I exchange a look. Something’s up.
“We wanted to tell you that we have a bit of news from the Hilo police,” says Mr. Halani.
I clutch the side of the coffee table and rise to my knees.
“They’ve found your parents’ rental car.”
My grip tightens. “Where?” I ask before he even has a chance to say.
“On the street, but they weren’t inside.”
“Was there a note or anything?” asks Malina. I can tell she’s trying to be helpful.
Mr. Halani shakes his head.
“Where are they?” I cry.
“Right now, we only know where they’re not. They’re not in the hotel, car, or hospital.”
“Mama’s not a very good swimmer,” I say.
“Peggy Sue,” Mrs. Halani says, and kneels beside me. “They’ll be found.”
But she doesn’t add “safe and sound.”
And Malina doesn’t say “no worry, beef curry.”
“I don’t feel so good,” I say, hobbling up. “Time for ginger ale.”
I pass by Mr. Halani’s c
hair, glance in the seat, then grab hold of the back to steady myself.
Big, bold, black headlines declare Hilo a disaster. Two dozen or more folks are dead. Over twenty are missing.
Malina races over and snatches the paper away. But I rip it out of her hand, hold it overhead, and open the front page.
Photos of deserted streets thick with mud, boulders, and lumber. Telephone poles all catawampus. Where a building once stood, ruins. A car with busted windows askew on top of all the muck. Is it Mama and Daddy’s?
It looks like someone crammed Hilo into a Mason jar topped with filthy water, shook it to death, and smashed it into the ground.
How did anyone survive?
I clutch my stomach, run to the nearest bathroom, and heave.
Mrs. Halani helps me upstairs and I fall back into bed.
Dinner Sounds
SLURPING CHICKEN and rice soup: me.
Screechy knife cutting pork chop: David.
Chewing carrot and raisin salad: Malina.
Clearing throat: Mr. Halani.
Humming a slow song: Mrs. Halani.
Silence: Radio. TV. Phone.
The Call
SOMEONE CALLS MY NAME.
I open my eyes. Malina stands over me. The room is daylight bright, but it’s dark outside. “The phone. Hurry. It’s for you.”
My heart ticks up and I bolt out of bed.
“I can’t believe you didn’t hear it ringing,” says Malina as we tear down the stairs.
“What time is it?”
“After midnight.”
“Here she is,” says Mrs. Halani. Her eyes shimmer as she hands me the phone.
“Hello.”
“Peggy …” The person on the other end is crying.
“Mama? Mama, is that you?”
“Yes, yes, Peggy Sue, it’s me. Your daddy’s right here, too. How’s our girl? And our cat?”
“You’re okay? I miss you.”
“We’re okay. We miss you, too. It’s so good to hear your voice. We finally got through once, earlier today, but no one answered.”
I must have been asleep or at the beach.
“When are you coming home?”
“Tomorrow afternoon. It’s the first flight we could get. We can’t wait to see you. We’ll all visit Howdy.”
“That sounds great, Mama. Really great.”
We talk a little more. A lot actually.
The Naniloa Hotel evacuated all the guests and transported them to another hotel.
I tell them Mr. Santos called to say Howdy is still purring.
I don’t mention my stitches.
When I hang up, realization sinks in—my horrible wish didn’t come true.
About Kahuna
I SCRAMBLE DOWNSTAIRS Tuesday morning as soon as I wake up. It’s just after eight, but I slept so hard again that I didn’t hear Malina leave for school.
Mrs. Halani sits at the dining room table with index cards spread out before her. Hula O Maki reads one. Po La‘i La‘i, another. Dances for the recital.
“I didn’t dream that phone call, did I?”
“It was real,” she says, and reaches out her hand. I take it and squeeze it tight. “Your parents are okay.”
“They’re coming back this afternoon,” I say, my eyes filling.
“Before you know it,” she says as she moves a strand of hair behind my ear. “Now, tell me how your head is today.”
“Much better.” Which is true.
“I’m so glad to hear that. The doctor will be, too. Remember, you’ve got an appointment this morning. Why don’t you take a quick bath and then I’ll fix you breakfast?”
“Has Kahuna come home?”
“I’m afraid not,” says Mrs. Halani. “And he probably won’t.”
My eyes fill in an instant. “I wanted to save him.”
“Of course you did,” Mrs. Halani says. “But it wasn’t your fault.”
“If only I’d made Mr. Halani find the vet right then and there.”
Tears overflow and plop on my nightgown.
Mrs. Halani lifts my chin and looks me in the eyes. Hers eyes are tender. “Kahuna was a good dog, Peggy Sue. Mr. Halani did what he thought was right. He’s made sure folks know Kahuna’s last whereabouts. No one has found him. We have to let Kahuna go.”
“I don’t want Kiki to be mad at me.”
Mrs. Halani moves her hand to my shoulder. “Kiki made a mistake.”
I tilt my head.
“She wasn’t supposed to let him out. Everyone is sorry and upset and sad. It was a tragic accident. We can’t change the past. We can only take it from here.”
“I want to see her.”
“Are you sure?” asks Mrs. Halani.
“Positive,” I say. “This morning.”
“Then I’ll make the call.”
After the doctor declares me fit for school but excused for PE, we drive to Kiki’s house. She didn’t go to school today either.
With Mrs. Halani beside me, I knock on the door of the small, white wood-frame house. Right away it opens.
Whoa. It’s the woman from the luau who wore the tapa print muumuu. The one who was sorry my family moved in next door. The one whose husband got passed over by a haole.
“Hello, Pua,” says Mrs. Halani.
Kiki’s mother looks directly at me. Her eyes narrow. “So you’re the haole troublemaker.”
Chills prickle my shoulder blades.
“Enough,” says Mrs. Halani.
“Kiki’s not here,” she says. “She’s looking for her dog.”
“I am very, very sorry about Kahuna,” I say. “I feel awful that he’s still missing. Kahuna was”—my throat starts to close—“Kahuna is a very special dog. I know Kiki misses him very much. I’ve tried to look, too. I hope he’s still out there and will come home soon.”
I’m not ready to give up on him. Miracles happen.
“He’s her best friend, you know,” says Kiki’s mom.
I lower my head. I know how Kiki feels about Kahuna. I do. He is as special as Howdy. I take a deep breath and look up. “Will you please tell Kiki what I said?”
“Okay.”
Maybe Kiki will understand. Maybe she won’t hate me even more.
Mrs. Halani puts her arm around me and leads me back to the car.
Reunion
AT THREE O’CLOCK, Malina and I sit on my front steps and wait. Wait for my parents to return. There’s not a cloud, gray or white, in view.
“Now I’m positive you saw Pele Sunday night,” says Malina.
“How can you be so sure?”
“She was old, had long white hair and a white dog.”
“Yes, but—”
“You said you warned her about the wave.”
“Yes, but—”
“That’s helping, right?”
“I guess.”
“And now your parents are safe, so she helped you back. Right?”
“Yes.” I remember David saying that Madame Pele had a heart.
“Did she look like a beggar, wear old clothes?” Malina asks.
“I’m not sure. I don’t remember.”
“No worry. Last question. What color was her muumuu?”
“Red. I do remember that. It was red.”
“If it was red or white, it was her, then. Definitely her.”
I guess it’s possible.
A horn honks twice and our blue station wagon rolls into the drive. I jump to my feet and hold a WELCOME BACK poster above my head.
Daddy and Mama wave out the windows.
“They’re here,” we shout, so Mrs. Halani will come, too.
Before Daddy turns off the engine, Mama is out of the car with her arms open wide.
I drop the poster and run.
We squeeze each other until we almost pop. Then Daddy, too.
“I’m so glad you’re back,” I say.
“We love you,” says Mama.
“I love you, too,” I say.
“Welcom
e back,” say Mrs. Halani and Malina, holding a bowl of mangoes and papayas for us.
“Thank you,” Mama says. “We’re just here for a minute. We need to drive Peggy Sue to see our cat. Only sixty-six more days.”
Mama has been counting, too.
We pass Howdy from arms to arms to arms and back again. We all agree that he feels like he’s gained weight.
He never stops purring.
On our way out, I ask Mr. Santos where they took the animals when the sirens sounded. He looks to Daddy.
“She needs to hear the truth. Unvarnished.”
“They weren’t evacuated,” Mr. Santos says.
I press my hand to my forehead. I can’t imagine … Actually, I can.
If the wave had hit the quarantine station, I wouldn’t have Howdy.
I never, ever want that siren to blow for real again.
Lava Rocks
AT HOME, I watch Mama unpack. “I brought you a gift,” she says. “Something you can’t find just anywhere.”
Mama opens her hand. Four small black lava rocks lay in her palm. “They’re from the volcano.”
“Oh, Mama. You made it there after all. Thank you.”
She looks pleased.
It’s best not to hurt her feelings, so I don’t explain.
“I also picked up a few other things,” she says, handing me a bag. “And a stuffed dog for Malina as a thank-you gift for having you.”
“She’ll like that.”
Afterward, I sit at the dining room table, write a letter, and set the lumpy envelope out for tomorrow’s mail. Thanks to David, I know what to do.
Dear Madame Pele,
My mama is a malihini, a newcomer, just like me. And she doesn’t know your rules. I do. Well, at least some of them anyway. I am very, very sorry that she took these rocks from your volcano. I am returning them so nothing bad will happen to her or our family. Or maybe I should say nothing more. Thank you for understanding. I hope you are having a very nice day.
Aloha,
Peggy Sue
PS I think you and your dog might have helped me on the beach the other night. I didn’t get a chance to thank you. Mahalo, Madame Pele. Mahalo.