by Edie Claire
She had seen countless photographs of the landmark since adulthood, but none of those images had ever come close to the ones that burned so brightly in her memory. The colors were never as vivid, the angles never as sharp. Photographs could show nothing more than a slant-topped chunk of reddish rock rising from the ocean to form a sea tower. Videos did a better job of showing the tower’s dramatic placement, sitting like a punctuation mark a hundred fifty feet out from the highest point of the cliff that separated the Manele boat harbor from the Hulopo'e swimming beach. Travel books could gush about how, by catching the trailhead at the beach and walking along the cliffside path, one could reach the overlook a hundred twenty feet above the ocean and gaze over at the surface of the sea tower to see the burial mound of Pehe.
But none of the above could create the feelings that rushed through Maddie now. It was not only the sights she was seeing. It was the warmth of the sun on her face, the movement of her hair in the wind, the taste of the salty spray on her lips. Her eyes could see only one side of the Sweetheart Rock, but her senses remembered so much more. In a flash she was again standing high atop the cliff, half her hair still braided while the other half flapped around her eyes trying to blind her, her bare toes caked with the powdery red dirt, her mouth dry with thirst from the climb. There was no guardrail before her, no paved path, no warning sign. Just a couple more feet of flat dirt, then a straight drop clear to the ocean. She was with a half-dozen other rowdy, school-aged children whose parents had only the vaguest idea where they were and wouldn’t have cared if they did know. No other adults were around.
She was fine.
She was sure, in fact, that life held nothing better. Far below her feet, the ocean crashed into the rocks, sending up a curtain of white spray that looked tantalizingly cool. It was one memory. It was a hundred. She was seven years old. Ten. Eight. The rocks, the ocean, and the red dirt never changed. The curious rectangular arrangement of dark stones atop the sea tower never changed, either. Though an obvious product of human hands, it had stood there, looking just as it did now, for hundreds of years.
I think there’s bones in it, she had insisted.
There’s not, Kai had contradicted.
Nobody knows for sure.
They do, too!
Do not!
It could have been one argument. It could have been fifty. From what she remembered of her childhood charms, it was probably closer to the latter.
Maddie snapped back to the present. Ben was entertaining the other passengers by telling them the traditional legend of Pu'u Pehe, which involved two lovers, a sea cave, an unexpected storm, and a Romeo and Juliet ending complete with tomb. He was a good storyteller, but Maddie could not keep her mind from drifting. She was back at the top of the cliff again. And it was a boy who was talking.
There’s nothing WRONG with the story, Kai had explained. I just get tired of it. Why does everybody always have to tell the same story over and over again? If it’s not true anyway, why can’t I make up new ones?
“There were no human remains found at the site,” Ben finished. “But archeologists do believe the structure was a form of Hawaiian temple, or heiau.”
Maddie chuckled, and Ben looked at her curiously.
“Sorry,” she said. “I just realized I owe somebody an apology. A rather long-overdue one.” Too bad he won’t be here to apologize to, she thought with a sudden pang.
She shook off the feeling as quickly as it had come over her. Kai Nakama would be twenty-five years old now, the same as her, and he was no more likely to have stayed on Lana'i than she was to have stayed in Paducah, Kentucky. She knew that. She hadn’t expected to find him here, or any of her other childhood friends. She knew that most if not all of them would be gone.
Just please, God, let Nana still be okay, and be here. And Mr. and Mrs. Nakama. And old Mr. Li and Mr. Kalaw…
Several passengers in the bow of the boat cried out with delight and pointed forward.
“Spinner dolphins!” Ben announced. He launched into a description of the familiar marine mammals as they frolicked at the mouth of the bay.
Maddie looked eagerly toward the sleek gray fins, but found her eyes drawn beyond them to the road past the marina that headed uphill towards Lana'i City. She felt a sudden and unexpected chill as she remembered something else.
But Dad, can’t I even say goodbye? Won’t everyone wonder where I’ve gone to?
I’m sorry, honey, but there isn’t time. Your grandparents are waiting. I’ll make sure everyone knows what’s happened and pass along your goodbyes for you, okay?
No. It was not okay. It was not okay at all.
Tell them I still want to go to the mountains, just as soon as I get back. Okay?
She couldn’t remember her father’s expression when she’d said that. Most likely, he had paused before answering. Perhaps even fought back a tear. He had to feel guilty for deceiving her, but she realized now what the poor man must have been going through himself. His wife was dead. His only child needed family, who lived thousands of miles away. He had no idea what tomorrow would bring.
She had not come back. Ten-year-old Maddie Westover had simply disappeared one day, never to be heard from again.
Well, almost never. She had written Kai a letter once. Mailed from her grandparents’ house in Dayton.
He hadn’t written her back.
The stinking rat.
“Maddie?” Ben was looking at her with concern. “You okay? If you’re getting cold feet about this little adventure of yours, you’re more than welcome to come back with us later today.”
Maddie stood up. The catamaran had pulled into the harbor and the water was calm. “Thank you,” she said genuinely, flashing him one of her better smiles. “But I’m fine. Just momentarily overwhelmed with a rush of childhood memories, that’s all.”
He smiled back at her. “Good ones, I hope.”
“With few exceptions, they were the absolute best,” she said honestly. A lump formed in her throat as she spoke, and she fought back the fear that gnawed at her gut.
Her recollections of the island had always been glorious. Idyllic. Warm, wonderful, and carefree. They were a child’s memories, true. From a child’s perspective. But with every fiber of her being, she longed for what she’d left behind here. For goodbyes left unsaid, for hugs not given, for endings never written.
She had to come back.
She was not naive. She knew that her memories could have become tainted with time. Whitewashed, slanted, perhaps some even wholly fabricated. Even if most of what she remembered was accurate, both the place and the people could have changed by now, at least as much as she herself had changed — which was a whole hell of a lot.
She knew that. She also knew that, as a child, her memory was likely to contain certain omissions. Omissions that could prove much more relevant to her experience of the island as an adult. What if nothing was as she remembered? What if all the people she had loved were gone? What if they were all still here, but were not the people she believed them to be? What if all those years of built-up hope and dreamy anticipation had done nothing but set her up for one colossal fall?
“We’re here!” Ben called out merrily once the catamaran was secured to the dock. “Welcome to Lana'i, everyone!”
A strong gust of wind blew across the bank ahead of them, jostling green fronds of palm and threatening to lift off the hat Maddie had replaced mere seconds before. She raised a hand and clamped down on it, her heart leaping with joy as another of her senses awakened to memory. It was the scent on the air — the scent of Lana'i. Exactly what that aroma consisted of, she had no idea. The volcanic earth, its microflora, the peculiar Cook Island pines… a blend of all of the above? She could not describe it; she had no words to do so. She hadn’t realized that such a scent existed, much less that she would recognize it.
But here it was.
And here she was.
Welcome back, Maddie, the island whispered.
&nbs
p; Chapter 2
Maddie set her backpack down by her feet near one of the benches at the marina’s portico. The next item on the passengers’ itineraries was snorkeling at the nearby Hulopo'e beach, and the assembled company had been milling around for several minutes now, deciding how best to get there. Some groups opted to walk up the road and around the bend themselves, while others decided to wait for the promised vans which could deliver them there in a matter of seconds. Ordinarily, Maddie would walk. But snorkeling at Hulopo'e was not on her agenda, at least not today. What she needed was a ride further inland into Lana'i City, and she was hoping to hitch with one of the van drivers.
“Beautiful trip so far, huh?” a man said politely as he stepped up beside her into the shade.
“Gorgeous,” she replied. The man appeared to be in his late forties, and he dressed with the meticulous look of a businessman who took vacation only when he had to. Maddie had seen him sitting on the boat earlier with his wife and teenaged son; she had noticed the family because they barely talked to each other. At the moment, he was alone.
“Gorgeous, indeed,” he said more quietly, edging closer. He looked her up and down. “You staying somewhere in Ka'anapali tonight?”
Oh, God. Not again. She really didn’t want to put the jacket back on.
Maddie picked up her backpack. “No.” She swung it over her shoulders, walked to the opposite end of the waiting crowd, and set it down again. She dug out an oversized tee and finished donning it just as two white vans pulled up.
“Aloha!” a friendly woman’s voice called as she hopped out of the van nearest Maddie and walked around in front of it to open the passenger doors. “Welcome to Lana'i, everyone! You ready for the beach?”
Maddie studied the woman eagerly, taking in her broad face, light brown skin, and straight dark hair, but nothing in the picture stirred recognition. It was possible that Maddie had seen the woman before. She might even have known her name once. But it was also possible they had never met.
“Aloha! Welcome!”
Maddie froze. The driver of the other van had now also disembarked and was standing a mere twenty feet away. Her voice drifted through Maddie’s brain like a song, bringing with it an unexpectedly powerful wave of emotion.
Mrs. Nakama! Maddie sucked in a breath, overwhelmed. All she could do was stare at the mildly plump, strikingly attractive forty-something woman who opened the side doors of the far shuttle van. She looked almost exactly the same as Maddie remembered her. And she was still giving tours. After fifteen years. Why shouldn’t she? She had always been good at it.
Maddie was still standing, still staring, after all the other passengers had been seated. “You coming with me, dear?” the unfamiliar driver asked.
Maddie shook herself and picked up her pack. “No, I… I’d like to ride with Mrs. Nakama. If there’s still room?”
The woman looked at Maddie curiously. “Malaya?” she called over. “Can you fit one more?”
Mrs. Nakama threw Maddie only the briefest of glances. “Sure! You can sit up front.” She closed the side doors behind her other guests, popped open the front passenger door, then walked around the hood and back to her driver’s seat.
Maddie called out her thanks to both drivers, hurried to the other van, and jumped in. Her pulse pounded as Mrs. Nakama threw her a superficial smile, started up the van, and began the usual line of tour-guide small talk on the short ride up the hill and around to the beach. Maddie herself didn’t speak. Her thoughts were elsewhere.
So, she thought with amusement, “Malaya” was Mrs. Nakama’s first name? It was musical, which suited her. Had Maddie known it before? Probably, but children weren’t interested in such things. What she remembered most about Kai’s mother was that she laughed a lot, enjoyed singing, and was always full of life. Although, Maddie recalled with a vague sense of chagrin, the woman was definitely capable of anger — under certain unfortunate circumstances.
Maddie also didn’t remember her as being so pretty, no doubt because she had only seen her as someone else’s mother. But Mrs. Nakama was indeed a beauty, and Maddie found herself wondering what ethnic makeup had created such a pleasing blend of features. As a child Maddie had given little thought to race, except when reminded that she herself was a haole — white — and therefore a second-class islander. Almost all the other children at her school were some shade of brown, and they were the true Lana'ians. They might also be Filipino or Japanese or Chinese, and how all those terms fit together with being Lana'ian or Hawaiian she had never been quite sure, but it had never particularly mattered to her.
Looking at Mrs. Nakama now, Maddie couldn’t help but wonder. She was fairly certain that Kai’s father’s people were Japanese, while his mother’s side of the family were Filipino. Mrs. Nakama’s smooth skin was a medium shade of brown, and her glossy black hair spread in rippling waves over her shoulders, framing an oval face with high cheekbones, a pert chin, large dark eyes, and lashes to kill for. Her son Kai had had the same pretty bone structure, not to mention the same overlong, perfectly curled eyelashes. Eyelashes no boy had any right being born with.
The stinking rat!
Maddie smiled to herself. Kai’s little sister had been cute, too. But Chika had looked more like their father.
Mrs. Nakama turned to look at Maddie periodically as they drove, but her gaze never lingered for long, and as the van pulled up to the drop-off spot at the beach, a fluttering began in Maddie’s stomach. Kai’s mother didn’t recognize her.
In another minute, Mrs. Nakama would unload the van and drive away.
“Here you go, everybody!” Mrs. Nakama announced, hopping out again to release her passengers promptly. The van was theoretically air conditioned, but no conversion van packed with people shoulder to shoulder could ever be called comfortable. Maddie opened her own door, but after stepping down, declined to close it. She still needed a ride into town.
She took a deep breath and plucked up some courage. It wasn’t Mrs. Nakama’s fault. God knew Maddie looked different, and her being here now was completely unexpected. She stood still, holding the door, waiting for the other passengers to unload and walk away. At last she was the only one left.
Mrs. Nakama turned. She studied her remaining passenger for a moment with her head cocked slightly to the side, and Maddie felt a flicker of hope. “Is there…” the van driver began uncertainly, “something I can help you with?”
“Mrs.—” Maddie stammered. She felt every bit the child again. “Mrs. Nakama?”
The woman’s eyes widened slightly.
Maddie’s heart leapt. “Picture me a foot and a half shorter and a whole lot chubbier,” she blurted. “At least in most places. Other places, I’m a bit… wider now.”
Mrs. Nakama blinked. Her chest swelled suddenly with breath. “Maddie,” she exclaimed on the exhale. “Holy— You’re Maddie!”
Maddie nodded enthusiastically. Hot tears sprang unexpectedly to her eyes, embarrassing her thoroughly until Mrs. Nakama gave a loud and merry laugh and enfolded her in a hug.
“I can’t believe it!” Mrs. Nakama gushed over her shoulder. “I wouldn’t have guessed it in a million years, but now that I know, it’s as plain as—” She pulled back and gave Maddie an approving once over. “Girl, you have turned out well, can I say it? What a beauty you are!”
Maddie smiled genuinely at the compliment. Despite being “a friend’s mom,” Malaya Nakama was a youthful forty-something, and the girlfriendy vibe she radiated now seemed a natural evolution.
“I can’t believe you’re back! After all these years! Does anybody else know you’re coming?”
Maddie shook her head. “I know I probably should have called. But I just flew into Maui for grad school two days ago, and I couldn’t wait to come over and see… well, everything! But I’m almost afraid to know what’s changed.”
Mrs. Nakama’s eyes searched hers. “Things always change. But I suspect less has changed here than most places!” She paused a moment, th
en smiled gently. “I never had a chance to tell you how sorry we all were about your mother.”
A quick stab of guilt flitted through Maddie’s middle. She never knew what to say to such comments. Of course it had hurt to lose her mother, but she would never get over the queer feeling that the loss hadn’t wounded her as much as it was supposed to. She had loved her mother, but the sad truth was that she felt like she had barely known her. Although she had cried into her pillow for months that rainy spring in Ohio, missing her mother had accounted for only a fraction of her grief.
“Thank you,” Maddie replied. “It was a shock to everyone in the family, her having a heart attack as young as she was; they say she didn’t have any signs beforehand. I’ll confess I was angry at my father for a long time, whisking me away like he did. But I understand now how hard the circumstances must have been for him. I know he did the best he could.”
Crow’s feet appeared at the corners of Mrs. Nakama’s almond-shaped eyes, and for several seconds, frown lines marred her brow. But then a soft smile returned, making her look years younger again. “It was a very hard time for your father, I’m sure,” she said soothingly. “No doubt he thought you needed your grandparents, and the sooner the better.”
“I wrote to Kai, you know,” Maddie blurted, regretting the words immediately. They sounded almost petulant. Well, hell. It still bothered her, didn’t it? Poor little girl that she was, her mother dies suddenly, she’s dragged thousands of miles from home, and her supposed best friend can’t take the time to answer one lousy letter?
Mrs. Nakama’s eyebrows lifted slightly.
Maddie cringed at her blunder. Nothing was more endearing to a mother than having veiled insults flung at her only son. Maddie backtracked quickly. “I mean, he never answered, but that’s not surprising. Boys that age hate to write, right? It’s my fault, really. I feel bad that I didn’t call Nana. I don’t know why I didn’t. I didn’t even think about it. Maybe because I wasn’t used to talking to her on the phone — or any of you. Maybe if my grandparents had suggested it — but they didn’t understand. They tell me now that at the time, I rambled on so much about everybody else on Lana'i but my mother, they thought it must be some kind of defense mechanism—”