Parker plunged in and came up only inches from her face. He must have sucked in most of the air around them, leaving it empty. “I want to go on record as saying you’re beautiful.”
In a moment of complete distraction, Violet shoved her foot down to stand. A sharp burning shot into her heel. She screamed.
Parker wasted no time in grabbing her leg. “Lean back.”
As he examined the damage, a slow burn ran up her leg. Reflexively, she yanked it away. “How bad?” she asked.
“I’m not going to lie. There’s a load of spines in there. Unfortunately, they break off when you try to pull them out.”
Fighting back tears, she looked. Blue-black spikes stuck out from her pale skin like stubble. Over the years, she’d seen kids carried from the water screaming. Because of that, she watched herself near the coral when she had a mind to. Today had been another matter.
“You know the best way to dissolve it, right?” Parker said.
“Unfortunately, yes.”
Nothing dissolved wana spines better than a healthy dose of urine.
“First, let’s get the spines down. I’m going to pull what I can out. Hang in there,” he said.
Violet drifted while he performed the delicate task of plucking fragments of urchin from her foot. Many deep breaths later, he hoisted her out of the water and onto a ledge.
“Shall I do the honors?”
“I don’t have much choice, do I?”
“Just so you know, urinating on women is not my usual thing.”
She laughed, despite herself. Then strangely, the laughing turned to tears.
“That bad, huh?” Parker said. “I shouldn’t be making jokes when you’re in such pain. But if you promise to close your eyes, I can go on your foot and make it better. Something about the ammonia.”
She nodded, still sniffling. The tears were not only from the pain in her foot, she realized. They were for Parker. For the way his hand felt on her skin, and the dimpled smile he so generously gave. And for how in another time, something might have happened between them. She’d already thought the whole thing through and come up with so many reasons not to fall for him. A missing husband. A promise to find him. A troubled daughter. And Parker sailing off to war in less than two months’ time. Her heart couldn’t take another loss.
He stopped a tear in its tracks with his finger. “I promise, you’re going to live.”
If only she could say the same.
* * *
After urinating on her foot—while Violet turned her head and closed her eyes for good measure—Parker helped her scale the rocks, pulling her up with one arm, while clinging to the cracks with the other. Walking on her toes, she was able to hobble along for a ways. But the going was so slow that she finally agreed to let him piggyback her to the beach. His back was hot with sun.
“Good training,” he said.
She didn’t want to think about why he would have to be carrying another person on his back. If only she could erase those images she’d seen in the newspapers. Black-and-white anguish. How different the pictures would be if they were of those you knew. With the whole world as witness.
“Glad I could be of service,” she said.
“You ladies are a lifeline. Like I said before, it feels like we have a home away from home at your place. It matters.”
She swore he pulled her in closer when he said it.
At the beach, the Duck was back. Everyone rushed over and demanded to know what happened when they saw Parker carrying her on his back across the sand like a stalk of bananas. He lowered her onto the cool concrete of the pavilion and the pressure burned.
“You’re a verifiable pincushion,” Jean said.
“Lie down over here,” Irene said, bringing a blanket to the sand next to the pavilion.
“I’m fine. Let me be.”
Even with the foot, she was content to sit and fill up on afternoon breeze and the smell of kiawe pods. Her shoulders were pink and her cheeks warm, as were Ella’s. Everyone seemed to be having such a fine time, she hated to burden them. Irene brought her half a coconut.
Another volleyball game started up, and Parker and Zach joined in. For such a gangly person, Zach was awfully quick. Just when there was no chance of saving the ball, he shot an arm up and sent it right back over. After watching for a while, she also noticed that Parker knew exactly where the ball would end up, always crouched in waiting.
Tommy sat at the picnic table, strumming his ukulele with two fishermen with buckets full of bait fish. One of the men threw a hand-sized fish to Roscoe, who swallowed it whole. Half an hour later, Violet’s foot started throbbing and her skin grew hot and prickly. The leathery Hawaiian man who had been collecting opihi out on the rocks came around to have a look. “Girl, go soak ’em in vinegar. You don’t wanna wait too long.”
She was relieved to hear of another cure. Jean and Irene rounded up their gear. Ella was still in the water, probably wrinkled and half-cured in salt by now. Violet called her out. Ella ran up the beach, her bathing-suit bottoms hanging with a load of sand and too loose on her legs. There was something so fresh and honest about that face of hers, so impossible to not love.
The volleyball game had ended, and Violet was thinking she didn’t want to leave, when the chicken-fight girl intercepted Parker across the sand. Her flat stomach and narrow hips were hard to ignore. Whatever she said caused him to throw back his head and laugh.
When Violet looked away, she saw Jean was watching her intently. “What?”
Jean leaned in close. “Looks like you want to scratch someone’s eyes out.”
She didn’t bother to answer.
Chapter Twenty
Violet
By midweek, Violet was able to walk without trouble. The vinegar worked wonders, as did the salve that Parker had left for Brownie. Her skin was still streaked blue, but the pain diminished. On top of the blue in her foot, she and the rest of the household had been lobster red since Sunday. That was now fading, too.
The only thing not fading was her memory of riding on Parker’s back through the lava. What concerned her the most was that in all her years with Herman, she had never come close to that kind of stinging jealousy she had felt down at Kawaihae last Sunday. Parker was some kind of stubborn affliction. The more she tried not to think about him, the more she did.
On Thursday afternoon, she and Jean had their hands white with flour, making piecrust, when Zach called.
She picked up with a dish towel. “Hi, Violet. It’s Zach. Would it be okay if I stopped by tonight?”
“Tonight? What about curfew?”
“You didn’t hear? They’ve moved it back to ten. Which means you may be seeing more of us, by the way.”
“Good news. Must mean that they’re feeling more confident in the war’s outcome?”
Even with the good news, Zach sounded somber. “I need to speak with my sister about a matter.”
Jean had no problem interrupting. “Who are you talking to?”
“Of course you can come over, and save some room for dinner.”
Violet hung up. “Your brother. He’s coming by and they’ve pushed curfew back to ten.”
Jean’s expression clouded over. “Did he say why he’s coming?”
“I didn’t ask.”
“Tell me what he said,” Jean demanded.
“Just that he wants to speak with you.”
Jean backed up against the wall and slid to the floor, knees to her chest. “It’s Bud. I know it.”
“Honey, don’t jump to conclusions. Maybe Zach just wants to see you, get away from camp.” Though she had a bad feeling, too.
Jean’s fingers wound around themselves like she was trying to tie her hands into knots. “Something terrible has happened. You know when you know?”
Unfortunately, Violet did
know, but she wanted to remain hopeful. “Before you get all worked up, let’s hear what he has to say.”
Jean let out a sigh that spilled through the house.
Even with her reservations about Bud and his intentions, Violet wished him no harm. And if her friend loved him, then so be it. No one could take that away from Jean. People fell in love with the wrong people all the time. Love wasn’t just blind. It was dumb. Violet sat down beside Jean and picked up her hand. Jean swallowed hard. They waited.
Outside, the wind groaned as it passed through the floorboards on the lanai. Ella always kept her eye on the chickens in high winds, worried they might blow away. Today they’d brought Brownie in—the other hens now tolerated her—and she hunkered down in a box in the living room. Violet’s father had always believed that the wind brought in the ten thousand evils, stirring up towering dust storms and sickness in their Minnesota town.
Here, the wind was mild in comparison, but Violet’s hairs bristled nonetheless.
* * *
Zach drove up at seven o’clock sharp, alone. He wore his civvies with a tan jacket buttoned up to his chin. Jean stood with her face pressed against the screen door, oblivious to the dust. Next to her, Violet held her arm around Jean’s waist. She had a feeling that this was one of those times that friends held each other up.
The look on Zach’s face gave away most of what was coming. His eyes focused on the steps as he trudged up to the house. Jean opened the door and rushed into him, smothering herself in his broad chest. “Tell me!” Her words were muffled and tear-soaked.
“Oh, sis. I wish I didn’t have to be the one coming here to tell you this. But it’s not what you think.”
Jean lifted her face. “What do you mean? You’re here about Bud, aren’t you?”
He glanced across the driveway at the neighbor’s house. “Let’s go into the kitchen.”
Ella sat on a rice bag pillow next to the radio, which they’d turned down low, listening to Bulldog Drummond and his latest detective story, but her eyes were on Jean and Zach. “Ella, why don’t you run off to bed. I’ll be in soon,” Violet said.
“But I have to hear the end,” Ella whined.
Violet walked over and turned up the volume. “Fine, but stay in here. This is adult talk.”
In the kitchen, Zach sat his sister down on a chair. “I’ll start by telling you that Bud is alive.” He swallowed hard. “On the final days of Saipan, there was what they’re calling a banzai charge, where what was left of the Japanese attacked our front lines. Three thousand armed troops, plus wounded and bandaged, barely armed men, engaged our guys. It was a bloodbath, and Bud was shot in the leg. But he made it out and, from what I hear, is going to make it.”
This was news. If Bud was alive, why was Zach so grim?
Jean looked like she had ten thousand questions, but couldn’t quite get any of them out. Instead, she held her hand over her mouth and started bawling. “Dear Lord above, thank You. My baby is coming home with breath in his lungs. Did you hear that, Violet? He’s alive!”
“I heard. It’s wonderful!”
Zach glanced up and cleared his throat. He still had something to tell, that much was obvious. But no man wanted to make a woman cry. Especially his crazy-in-love sister. He let the good news sink in for a while, until Jean had worn herself out from crying.
“When I asked around about Bud, I found out something else,” he said, fidgeting with his cuffs.
The room felt hot all of a sudden, dense and uncomfortable. “What?”
“Shucks, I hate to have to tell you this, but he has a wife back home. And a kid.”
Jean’s mouth opened and closed without spilling any words out. “Impossible.” She looked at Violet with a deep question in her eyes.
Zach’s head wobbled on his long neck. “I confirmed with at least three reliable sources.”
Outside, the wind picked up speed and rattled the blackout boards all around the house. He reached out for her hand, but she shook it off. As understanding colored her face, she jumped up, grabbed the fattest tomato from a basket on the counter and whipped it at the icebox. A red explosion splattered across the whole kitchen, which up until this point had been a shiny white.
“That bastard. He’s going to wish he had died over there!”
Another tomato, splat. At least her aim was good.
There was no point in putting a stop to Jean. Sometimes it was better to let a fit run its course than to intervene. And, boy, did Jean have a right to be north of upset. Bud had charmed the skirt off of her and all but proposed during his stay here. He never showed up without a flower—ginger, plumeria, even lehua, which were known to bring on rain when picked. And he had a penchant for saying things like, “You’re my once in a lifetime,” or, “I get goose bumps when I hear your name.” He also liked to spend a lot of time in the bedroom. A right miracle Jean hadn’t gotten pregnant.
“You are one hundred percent sure about this, Zach?” Violet asked.
“As sure as Jean is my sister. If he’s unlucky enough to show his face on this island again, I’ll make him wish he’d stayed in the trenches.”
Jean changed course, flopping back down on the floor with her skirt spread out around her. She broke into tears. “This can’t be happening. He told me he loved me.”
Zach handed her his handkerchief.
“Some men have a funny way of being able to love more than one woman,” Violet said.
“Then it’s not love,” Jean said.
“To him, it may have felt like it, is all I’m saying.”
Jean looked defeated, with streaks of black staining her cheeks. “It’s not fair.”
“Mean is what it is. And hurtful and dishonest,” Zach said.
Violet grabbed Jean’s hand again and squeezed. “What burns me up is that we took him in, cooked for him, prayed for him. He betrayed all of us.”
She had heard stories about people like this, but when you grew up in a small town of fewer than two hundred people, it was hard to get away with so much as taking an extra breath. With the military in town, people came and went all the time. Men sailing off to meet their fate might invent stories, too. It was harder to judge them when she thought of it like that. But heavens, this was hard to swallow.
Jean’s face was now as red as the tomatoes on the wall. “Men are nothing but trouble. A pack of liars and scoundrels.”
“Come on now. What am I?” Zach asked.
“Brothers don’t count.”
Violet’s stomach twisted. “There are good ones. I know from experience.”
One look at Violet and Jean burst out crying again. “Oh, I know. Herman was as good as they come. I didn’t mean him. He was a real man. Maybe the problem is I’ve been dealing with boys.”
When Violet had first seen Jean around Herman, she noticed right away that Jean didn’t bat her eyes around him like she did with most men. He treated her like the respected schoolteacher that she was, and she responded in kind. He had a way of keeping people level—one of his gifts.
“There you go. Set your sights higher. Like Bud, most of these guys here wouldn’t deserve you,” Zach agreed.
What about Parker? How does he measure up?
“Keep on living your life, and someone designed just for you will show up. You have to kiss the toads to get to the prince,” Violet said.
“No more toads.”
“Only princes.”
All of a sudden, Jean’s eyes narrowed into one of her knowing looks. “Will you help me get back at him?”
Here was the Honey Jean she knew and loved. “Anything you want.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Ella
As soon as Mama closed the kitchen door, I turned the volume back down and went to listen. They had other things on their mind and I knew no one would notice. Bud had been over
here a lot, but he was nothing like the new batch of soldiers. Whenever he came over, he would mess up my hair and say, “Hey, kid.” Besides that, he mostly ignored me. Being around Bud was like being invisible and I even tested it out a few times, making faces he didn’t notice or even talking to myself. I was fine with that because he didn’t have a trust face.
He stayed over on more than one occasion, and I don’t think Mama approved. One night, he gave me a good scare. I remember waking up to someone dying. At least it sounded that way. Mama was snoring next to me, so I knew it wasn’t her. Which meant it had to be Jean. I broke into a sweat as I lay there in the pitch black, terrified about Jean, but more panicked that whoever it was would come for us next. This was the moment I had been dreading. The cane knife was under my bed.
I shook Mama awake. “Mama, I think Jean’s being murdered. We have to hide!” I whispered.
Someone was banging against the wall, over and over, like they were hanging a picture. And you could hear Jean whimpering, all strangled-sounding. Mama listened for a moment and then shot out of bed. “Stay here, Ella. Jean is fine.”
In the hallway, Mama pounded on Jean’s door. “Keep it down in there if you want a roof over your head come morning,” she yelled.
The noises stopped instantly, and I could hear the crickets again. When Mama came back, I asked what had happened, and she told me it was something adults sometimes did when they were in love.
“Are they mating? We learned about that in science class,” I said.
She gave me a funny look. “Something like that.”
Her tone said to stop asking questions. And I was just happy Jean was alive.
I never heard them again, but they did an awful lot of hand-holding and kissing. The kissing made me embarrassed, so I usually went outside to draw or play with the chickens. Whenever Bud was around, Jean’s voice changed, too. Words came out sweeter, like she was talking to a baby or an animal. It was a different kind of love than my mama and papa had. They were more like good team members, not all lovey-dovey.
Island of Sweet Pies and Soldiers Page 15