by Lark O'Neal
“It’s muddy,” Darcy says.
“I’ll come along,” Kaleb says.
“You can give the tour. You must know it by now.”
Those golden eyes shine with his secret little world of amusement. “She won’t remember a damned word.” The word sounds like “dimmed.”
“Come on, girl,” my dad says.
I let myself be dragged. It’s chillier than I expected now that the sun is going down. I dutifully follow them around, hearing mostly blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, like the adult voices in a Charlie Brown cartoon. Now and then a word or sentence gets through. Vines, Kaleb says, award last year. We do tastings here. Popular in summer. My dad adds scientific details—growing season, grape varietal, mumble-blah, blah-gah. He’s snagged by a phone call in the barn and tells us to go on.
“He’s been waiting on some equipment,” Kaleb explains.
“That’s fine. My feelings aren’t hurt.”
At one point a big wolf-looking dog comes trotting up to us and offers a happy greeting. “This is Dusty,” Kaleb says. “He’s on patrol.”
“Coyotes?” I ask.
“No coyotes here. No big predators at all. When the Pākehā came, there were only birds.”
This wakes me up. “What do you mean, ‘only birds’?”
“Just birds. No snakes or cats or dogs or bears or any of that. No mammals.” His voice rises at the end of the sentence, like a question. “Just birds.”
I blink, trying to imagine. “So when you were walking in the woods, you didn’t have to be afraid of bears or mountain lions.”
“Still don’t have those.” A stray black curl falls across his cheekbone. “Only feral cats. They’re pests.”
I’m still back at no snakes or bears. If there were no snakes or bears in Colorado, I’d never be afraid to hike again. And then I frown. “If there were no mammals, there were no deer or antelopes or rabbits, either.”
“No.”
“What did people eat?”
“We ate birds,” he says, smiling at me. “And kumara. And fish.”
I look at him, rearranging my thought that he’s part Asian or Polynesian or something. “We meaning who?”
“Maori.”
I have no idea who that is, and I’m too embarrassed to ask. I’ll look it up on the Internet.
The whole place is pretty interesting, and I really do want to learn more, but as the sun goes lower and lower, my brain feels like someone has wrapped it in a hot towel. My eyes are sandpaper. All I want in the world is to fall into bed and sleep for a million years.
Kaleb notices. He touches my shoulder. “Let’s get you back, girl, or I’ll have to carry you.”
Back at the house, Katy takes over my torture. “You’re probably going to wake up in the middle of the night, and I want you to feel comfortable.”
I shake my head. “I doubt it. I’m pretty good sleeper.”
“Could be,” she says lightly. “Let me show you around just in case. Jet lag hits everyone differently.” In the kitchen, she points out the kettle, shows me how to turn on the outlet, then the kettle itself. “I’ll leave a cup and the sugar bowl on the counter for you, and there’ll be tea in the cupboard, there. Plenty of food all around, yogurt and cheese and some bickies.”
I nod, feeling highly emotional all of a sudden. I’d been so worried about all this being awkward, and it isn’t. At all. “Thank you,” I choke out. “This is so nice.”
She touches my arm. “We’re so glad you’re here,” she says again. “Make this your kitchen, and your house.”
I nod, willing myself not get suddenly teary eyed like a five-year-old. I hate it that I cry, but I always have. “Thanks.”
“Now to bed with you. I’ll leave night lights on so you don’t stumble.”
As I’m getting ready to go upstairs, I realize I’ve forgotten two things. “What about plugging in my iPad and getting on the Internet? Is there wireless in the house?”
She makes a snorting noise. “Your father couldn’t live without the best Internet.” She yanks open a drawer and takes out a notepad, scribbles down a series of letters and numbers. “This is the password. I’ll ask your dad what he did with the adapter plug and bring it up in a few minutes. Can you last that long?”
“Maybe.” I’m feeling anxious to email Tyler. Maybe even Skype with him. It will center me. “I want to tell my friend and my neighbor that I’m here and safe. They’ll be wondering.”
“Understood.” She leans her head toward the stairs. “Go on up and get ready for bed.”
I don’t bother to unpack anything, just brush my teeth and shed my clothes and slip into my pajamas. It feels so good to climb into bed. I rebraid my hair and open my iPad. It’s down to 6% power, so I’ll have to be quick. I type in the password for the wireless, then go right to my text function.
I’m here. Ate dinner. Crashing now, just wanted you to know I’m safe & sound.
There’s no immediate answer. I go to email and let Electra know I’m safe, too. I close the cover and sink into the bed, pulling the covers over me. The pillows are big and soft, and there are a lot of them to cuddle into. Everything smells like lavender. As I’m struggling to stay awake, I feel the soft thud of an animal on my feet and hear an abbreviated “Me—ow-r.”
A cat, I think, imagining myself reaching out to pet him, but then I’m gone, sucked into the land of sleep, far, far away.
Chapter FOUR
I’m not sure what time it is when I wake up, but it’s still dark outside. The house is quiet, but outside it’s raining again, the sound pattering against the windows. I tug the covers up to my ears and turn over, imagining I’m really in Tyler’s room and he’s somewhere close by. Painting, maybe, or in the bathroom.
The rain patters. The silence echoes. My mind is jumping around like a cricket. I’m so not going back to sleep.
Quietly, I get up and turn on my lamp so I can find some socks and a sweater in my suitcase. I see that Katy must have brought the adapter, because my iPad is sitting on top of my suitcase, a cord connecting it to the wall. I tug on the warmer clothes and carry the iPad downstairs, creeping quietly through the sleeping house. The clock in the kitchen tells me that it’s four am. I’ve slept for ten hours. Probably not going back to sleep anytime soon.
I put the kettle on for tea. A cat wanders into the room, a big tan and white guy with Siamese markings on his face. Instead of a full mask, they’re stripes, like a tiger. “Meo-wp!” he says, and curls around my legs. Must be the cat who slept with me last night.
“Hey, Cat,” I say quietly, bending down to pet his back. His fur is soft and silky, and he arches up against my hand. “I’ve never had a cat. You’re really pretty.”
He sticks with me while I make my tea and find some cookies to quell the growling in my tummy. Carrying it all into what seems to be a family room off the other side of the kitchen, I settle in a big recliner, cover myself with a quilt. The cat jumps into my lap and plops down like we’re old pals, blinking up at me, his mouth curled in a smile. I scratch the top of his head and feel the slightest rumbling purr through my legs. When he “meo-wps” again, I see that his light blue eyes are very definitely crossed. “How can you hunt with those eyes, dude? But I guess you don’t have to. You’ve got a comfy gig here, right?” He lifts his head, showing me that he wants his chin scratched, so I do that, too. “Hands to rub you all over, food on your plate, beds to sleep on.”
He purrs softly. I sip my tea, and when he settles his head down, I open up my tablet to see if Tyler texted me back. Nothing.
I check email. Nothing there, either. I can’t remember how the time works, really. He’s four hours behind? Four hours ahead? Either way, it’s in the realm of possibility he might not have seen my message yet. There’s an email from my step-dad, Henry, who’s happy when I’m happy. “Have a good time, kid,” he says. “Love you.”
There’s nothing on Facebook. I post that I’m here but can’t think of anything to say b
eyond that. I know some of my friends are pretty excited that I’m on this trip, and I had a bunch of texts from people when they saw the first message about me leaving that I should post a lot of pictures. They all said the same thing: “I really want to go there!” so I feel sort of an obligation to share the experience. When Jenna Gold went to England the summer between junior and senior year, we all checked her posts every day, and it was cool to see through her eyes.
This isn’t exactly a vacation. I’m not sure how long I’m going to stay, or even what I’m looking for.
No, that’s not exactly true. In a way, I made a leap because my dad offered to fly me here and I’d hit a wall in my life. I was sick of trying to hold up a holey tent over my head, always broke, always hungry, always worried I’d be kicked out on my ass. I’m sure my dad doesn’t want to support me, and I’m not going to wear out my welcome or anything. Maybe I can learn to do some work at the winery, like Kaleb. That would be cool. I’ll have to explore it more when I’m awake.
But really, I’m here because I’m looking for answers my dead mother didn’t share and Henry won’t. There’s some kind of mystery bound up in her story, which leads to mine. Why did she take me away from my dad and never come back here? Why didn’t I have contact with him? He acts like he wasn’t sure he’d ever see me again, as if she didn’t tell him where we were.
Why would she do that?
Before I left, I talked with Electra a lot about this. What if it was because there was some problem with my dad? That there was some danger with him or something? Not that I really thought that—we’d been Skyping, and you’d just have to see him, see his face, to know what I mean. Everything about him is open, friendly, sunny.
She said sometimes you have to face the facts, whatever they are. If you go there, you’ll know, and you’ve got a ticket home.
So there’s something that went on with my mom, and so far nobody’s told me what it is. I guess part of what I’m doing here is trying to find out.
But maybe I’m looking for me, too. The me who was born here. The me who has a dad she doesn’t know and wants to. The me who has no idea what she wants to do with her life. Maybe my time here will tell me.
In the meantime, I need to talk to Tyler, even if he can’t talk back.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: loneliness
Hey Tyler,
Jet lag doesn’t feel the way I thought it would. It’s the middle of the night here and I’m up, drinking tea with a cat for company. (He’s a really cute cat, a Siamese mix with crossed eyes.) I fell asleep right after dinner—just couldn’t keep my eyes open anymore. I guess it must be the middle of the night there. You must be fast asleep. I am thinking of you in your bedroom, with a mountain breeze blowing in through the windows. It makes my chest ache to think of it. In the quiet, so far away from everything and everybody I know, I feel lonely. Like this was the dumbest choice I’ve ever made.
It’s not that they’re bad here. My dad is wonderful. Still all hearty, you know, a little nervous, but when I hugged him at the airport I remembered his smell, and something in my whole body let go. Like I know him, know he’s good. Does that make sense? My little kid self recognized him and recognized him in the right way.
Which leaves me wondering even more why my mom left. Not so much the leaving, but why didn’t I ever come back to visit? It’s probably some simple answer. They were kind of hippies, and maybe they just didn’t care. But I get the feeling he thought he’d never ever talk to me again, that he didn’t know where I was.
Strange.
Anyway. I thought you’d be relieved to know that my dad is cool. My step-mom, Katy, is super nice, and there are even people here my age. Darcy and Kaleb, Katy’s niece and nephew. The house is all wood and porches and long windows. I have my own room, and it’s about the size of my old house, or at least the living room, dining room and kitchen.
Huh. Babbling. I can’t wait to Skype with you, see your face and your amazing eyes. I miss you already, and it’s hard to think of you SO FAR away.
Don’t forget me.
Love,
Jess
PS I forgot—these people making a commercial were at the airport and they want me to come test for the part of an elf. Hahahahaha. Not sure I’m going, but they made it sound like it could pay a lot for a few weeks work, so I might. I can always use cash, especially since right this minute I have…um…about $35.
I send the email and it’s still the middle of the night in a far away place. But in spite of missing Tyler, I notice a creeping sense of coziness. I have a cat covering my entire lap, tea and cookies, and an iPad full of books.
A person can always read.
* * *
It’s still dark, but it’s close to six when I’m ready for some real breakfast and wondering what I should do. I pad into the kitchen and fill the kettle for the third time, which means I have to start looking for a restroom down here or risk waking people up by going upstairs. Luckily there’s a powder room under the stairs, and, luckily, too, I see that my hair is a complete mess. I yank out the rubber band and finger comb it out quickly, then head back into the kitchen for more tea. It comes to me that Katy said there was yogurt, and I’m reaching in for one when a raspy voice says, “Toss me one, too.”
It’s Kaleb, also wearing PJs, so I don’t have to feel silly. His are red and black flannel checks. His t-shirt is black and worn to threads, the sleeves ripped off to show his arms, which are lean and strong the way mine are, from work, not working out. I can just make out All Blacks, whatever that is, on the front. I toss him a yogurt, and he catches it, glancing at the flavor and giving a slight nod. His hair is all tousled and that scar through his eyebrows is wicked, and even in pajama bottoms he’s pretty hot. His skin is sleek and golden, the ebony tumble of his curls, his very lush mouth. I look away, flushing slightly.
“Ta,” he says, indicating the yogurt.
The cat wanders in and meows at him emphatically. “What’s that?” Kaleb answers. “I didn’t quite hear you. You’ll have to speak up.”
The accent is cool. Sort of English, but not exactly. More pinched and more drawling at the same time. The cat stares up at him intently, tail swishing over the floor.
“Oh, you want brekkie?”
I busy myself with my tea, listening as guy and cat have a long conversation while Kaleb takes out a saucer and opens a can of food. I listen with a half-smile, struck by the both the whimsy and self-confidence in his manner.
“Is there enough water for another?” he asks.
“What?” I blink, not understanding. “Oh. More tea. Yep.” I open the cupboard, but he reaches over my head and takes out a black mug with a white fern leaf across the front. Again, I smell that hint of summer on his skin, wafting over me, then gone.
“This one is mine.” He sets it on the counter. “Two sugars, milk, if you would. I’ll make the cat stop.”
“He is a talker. What’s his name?”
“Neko.” He squats to scrape canned food onto the dish, and his hair tumbles in black curls around his face. He tosses it back and looks up at me. “It’s Japanese for cat. You’ll find your dad loves little jokes like that.”
“You know my dad pretty well?”
He strokes the cat with long, vigorous strokes, starting at Neko’s head all the way to the end of his tail. Kaleb’s hands are enormous, and his skin is the exact shade of my tea.
“Well enough, I reckon,” he says.
I carry the cups to the table and find a couple of spoons in the drawer. Napkins are in a holder on the wooden table tucked under a window. “How long have you guys been living here?”
“Two years. Not much for us in Christchurch right now since the earthquakes.”
“Earthquakes?”
“In Christchurch. You haven’t heard?”
I lift my shoulders. “I guess not.”
He drops the can into the trash, washes hi
s hands, and comes over to the table. “There were a couple of really big earthquakes last year and the year before. First one was rough. Second one…” He shrugs. “Our house didn’t make it, and there wasn’t any place for us to go, you know, so…”
I nod. “Like Katrina, in New Orleans.”
“Yeah. Like that.”
“Sorry.” I sip my tea. “That has to be hard.”
“Not so much for me. Darcy misses her friends, all the stuff to do.”
Cool gray light is starting to fall through the windows and touches the skin of his arms. It’s the smoothest skin I’ve ever seen, with no hair or blemishes of any kind, and I find myself wondering if his chest and legs are as smooth. The thought shocks me, and I look away, guiltily, reaching down to pet the cat.
“He used to be a science teacher, your dad,” Kaleb says. “When I was a kid he taught me all kinds of chemistry.”
“Science teacher? That’s cool.”
“Yeah.” He sips his tea, nods in approval. “The vineyard is doing well, so he quit teaching.” He inclines his head. “Although he’s still teaching me, I reckon.” Picking up the yogurt cup, he rips off the lid and says, “What about you?” He lifts his chin at me. “Why’d you stay away so long?”
“I didn’t know where he was. And I don’t think he knew where I was, either.” He nods, studying my face as if I am not there, and I can’t tell at all what he’s thinking. “What?”
A shrug. “There’s pictures of you as a little kid, downstairs. You look like your mom did back then.” It sounds like theen.
From the other room, my iPad dings. I jump up and run for it, thinking it’s probably Tyler. It’s only a notice from a game I play online sometimes. My shoulders sag. Why hasn’t he texted or emailed or anything? “Is the US four hours ahead or four hours behind?” I ask.
Kaleb shrugs. “Boyfriend?”
“Kind of. We broke up for awhile and sort of got back together before I left.” I hear that I’m about to start making this long, involved explanation and stop. Why do I want to make it sound like Tyler isn’t my boyfriend? He pretty much is. I shake my head and carry the iPad back to the table. “Do you know what’s going on today? What kind of plans there are?”