Red Sky Over Hawaii

by Sara Ackerman

  Grant exuded his own gravity, pulling her toward him like a full moon. She had to stand on her tippy toes, and he stooped over with his eyes closed. She felt his belt buckle and the warmth of his skin beneath his shirt. At once Lana decided that whoever had been kissing her before had been doing it all wrong. A peculiar and minty taste on his tongue made her want more.

  Wherever he touched her, her skin heated up. Hip, small of the back, neck. This strange chemistry between them caused her to want to curl up in his arms under a downy blanket and feel every inch of his skin against hers, naked and taut.

  When they finally separated, and she opened her eyes, fog swirled around their ankles. It overflowed from the crater, which had been erased by a dense white cloud. Grant saw it, too. He grabbed ahold of her hand. “We’d better go.”

  But we just got started, Lana wanted to say.

  Along the way, she wondered if he had planned on kissing her, or if it had been an accident. She felt guilty for not being honest with him and debated blurting everything out right then. I am housing a Japanese man and his son, and you are housing the parents of my two girls. But the words remained lodged in her windpipe.

  They made it back to the jeep without incident. Lana walked to her side of the car, still feeling the weight of his kiss and his minty breath. She felt cheated by the fog. Now they both seemed to have regained their senses.

  “I should get back,” she said, worried if they started up again, they might never stop.

  He pulled out his keys. “Sure.”

  Day had entirely drained away. They bounced down the road, blue cellophane covering the headlights and casting an eerie glow on the forest. All Lana could think about was why he hadn’t tried to kiss her again. Should she have kissed him?

  “Have you heard about the ID cards?” he asked.

  Mochi had mentioned something about it yesterday. “I did.”

  “Tomorrow they will be setting up at Volcano House for local residents to come in. You should bring the girls.”

  “We have ID cards.”

  “Everyone needs a new one, with fingerprints. And they’ll be handing out gas masks, too,” he said.

  Lana winced. “Sounds like a fun time. The kids are getting fingerprinted, too?”

  He paused for a beat. “For identification purposes.”

  She pictured Coco’s small, nail-bitten fingers and Marie’s soft hands. The thought of either of them in bad enough shape to require this kind of identifying gave her the chills.

  “We’ll come.”

  Neither spoke the rest of the drive. When she reached for the handle, he stopped her. “Look, Lana, I need to get something off my chest. These past days, I’ve come down to your place under the guise of cowboy business and rounding up horses. But the truth of the matter is I wanted to see you.”

  At least one of them had guts.

  He continued. “And what happened back there on the bluff—that was not planned. In case you haven’t noticed, you’ve been hard to read, even though I’ve been trying my hardest. I hope you would tell me if I’m out of line.”

  “You’re not out of line.”

  She swore he was smiling, though it was too dark to tell, and the air in the cab was suddenly hard to take in. Without another word, Grant jumped out and came around to her side. She opened the door and turned to him. Cool air rushed in. This time he positioned his body between her thighs. Lana heard nothing but the beating of his heart and a faint buzzing somewhere deep inside. Her hands gripped his back, which was solid as the rock wall holding up their house. His lips covered hers.

  So this was desire.

  With Alika it had been a case of friendship turned curiosity turned romp in the sheets. And that went downhill fast when she got pregnant. Buck, on the other hand, showed up when Lana was most vulnerable and searching for someone to save her. He’d been careful and safe and wealthy. Most important, though, he helped her forget, at least temporarily. Now she hoped Grant wasn’t just a bad case of loneliness.

  Something told her otherwise. Never had she experienced such a continuous stream of thoughts about a man. Scrambling eggs and wondering what he eats for breakfast. Walking and imagining his bow-legged stance. Dreaming about his well-defined stomach while she’s half-awake in the morning. Grant had woven his way into her mind, and there was not one thing she could do about it.

  He kissed her harder, one hand lifting from her waist, tracing a line from her navel, along her sternum and across each collarbone. Lana opened her eyes and counted stars to keep herself sane.

  He pulled back. “Damn, woman.”

  “I should probably get back to the house. I don’t want the girls to worry.”

  Lana was the one that was worried—terrified, in fact, that he would run his hand up her skirt and she would do nothing to stop him.

  “Will you promise me something?” he whispered.

  “That depends.”

  “One of these days, I want a big chunk of time with you, when neither of us has to run off. You think we can make that happen?” he said.

  The thought of a full day with Grant made her head spin. “Absolutely.”

  THE CARDS

  Word on the radio was that ID cards would be issued and anyone not complying faced arrest. Elderly, adults, small children; Japanese, Chinese, Filipino, haole; no one was exempt. Obviously, Mochi couldn’t go, but what about Benji?

  “Can’t we tell them that you adopted him, too?” Coco asked at the breakfast table.

  “Or you run an orphanage,” Marie suggested.

  It almost felt that way. Maybe it was something to look into—a volcano orphanage. There were likely to be others with imprisoned parents all throughout the islands. Where would those children end up? The thought filled Lana with something close to despair.

  “I would still need to show birth certificates,” Lana said.

  Mochi set down his teacup. “Not if you tell them all their paperwork is on O‘ahu.”

  The thought of going in there made her nervous. People in Hilo had to know about the so-called kidnapped Wagner girls. But without photos, no one had any proof. If she and the girls acted perfectly normal, there should be no cause for alarm. In the end, it would be safer than not having ID cards.

  “It would work for the girls, but I already told Grant that Benji lives here and is just a neighbor. And what about you? If this war drags on, how will you explain your lack of ID card?”

  Mochi was still frail, but the volcano air seemed to be doing him well, cold as it was. “I can only take each day as it comes,” he said.

  He might be spiritually advanced, as Jack used to say, but sometimes his lackadaisical attitude annoyed her. “That might be fine for you, but Benji?”

  “I can make us cards. See if you can grab some blank ones,” Mochi said.

  Lana fumed. “That’s a stupid idea. If I go to jail, then what? You’re not in any shape to take care of these kids.”

  “I meant only if the opportunity arises.”

  “Fine.”

  Coco had already woken up on the wrong side of the bed after a fitful night of bad dreams. She was solemn and puffy eyed, and she picked at her porridge. Going to get fingerprinted was not helping matters. To cheer her up, Lana suggested they go find a Christmas tree afterward.

  On the way to Volcano House, they rehearsed their story again. The girls were not to speak unless spoken to, and if asked, they had flown over to see Grandpa Jack Spalding on Saturday, the day before the attack. She imprinted their birthdays front and center in her memory. Lana wanted to get there early, before any crowd.

  Gray skies and a light drizzle spread over the mountain. There were a couple of cars in the parking lot, but not hordes of people like she had been worried about. They’d brought Sailor along for the ride, but Lana insisted they leave her in the back of the truck. Inside, next
to the fireplace, two tables had been set up, one with rows of cards and ink and pens, the other with gas masks. A small man in a big hat sat at the table.

  “Good morning. We’re here for identification cards,” Lana said, herding the girls over.

  The man put on a thick pair of spectacles and examined them as though they were a small herd of cattle. Without even saying hello, he launched into a monologue about keeping the cards on their persons at all times and about curfew and blackout and rations. Clearly, he had worked to memorize this little speech.

  “How old is this one?” he asked.

  “Eight,” Lana said at the same time Coco did.

  Lana shot her a look. Coco shrunk back.

  “I’ll need your birth certificates.”

  Lana glanced at his name tag. Dick Jones. “Mr. Jones, we came over from Honolulu to see my ailing father on December 6. Needless to say, we are stranded here until further notice, and all our paperwork is over there.”

  His whole face pinched into a frown, giving him a ratlike appearance. All he needed was a set of whiskers. “This is highly unusual,” he said.

  “I have my driver’s license,” she offered.

  “You are supposed to report to your voting precinct to register,” he said.

  “That’s not possible.”

  “Then I’m going to have to call this in,” he said.

  Wherever had they found this unpleasant man? “Call it in to whom?”

  “That is no concern of yours, ma’am. Procedures must be followed.” Dick shoved three papers her way. “Fill these out, please.”

  Lana leafed through her wallet for her license while the two girls stood mute behind her. She could feel their discomfort at being here, which made her angry.

  Dick set the pad of ink in front of her and sat down at a typewriter. “Your full name, please,” he said.

  “Lana Hitchcock,” she said, hoping for once that her name would carry some clout. Upon hearing her name, he stared at her for an extra beat. One way or another, he had heard it before.

  “Spell it.”

  He asked her height, weight and age, which she had written on the paper but wasn’t about to point out. He then smashed her thumb into the ink and set her card aside to dry. When it came to the girls, he studied them again for a moment. Studied her.

  “Are these your biological children?”

  There was no way around more lying. She had told everyone else they were adopted, but to say that now would likely send him down a long road of questions. She was banking on Mr. Jones leaving as soon as he finished his business.

  “They are,” she said, looking him in the eye.

  “Where is your husband?”

  “On O‘ahu.”

  He must have believed her because he started clacking away on his typewriter again, asking for names and stats. Then, out of the blue, he said to Marie, “You must take after your father. What’s his background?”

  Lana wanted to keel over and was about to give an answer, when Marie calmly said, “My father was born and raised on O‘ahu. His family is English and Dutch.”

  Jones considered this. “Well, then.”

  Lana almost cheered, and just like that, Coco and Marie Wagner officially became Coco and Marie Hitchcock. Lana turned to go.

  “Not so fast, Mrs. Hitchcock. Two things you need to know. One is how to use your gas masks and the other is that all civilians are required to build a bomb shelter at their residence.”

  She was so eager to leave that she’d forgotten about the gas masks. He motioned them over to the table with masks of assorted sizes. The contraptions were heavy, with a partial helmet that went over the head and face and a canister hanging down in front of the chest. Jones had them each try several on for fit and showed them how to adjust the straps, but none were small enough to fit Coco’s head. Coco was near tears.

  “I’m going to be poisoned,” she said to Lana.

  “No, you’re not. I bet Major Bailey can find us one.”

  Jones added, “We’re still waiting on the kid ones, unfortunately.”

  He then explained how to construct a bomb shelter. It was easy, he told her; they just needed to dig through six feet of solid lava and have a hundred sandbags on hand. That way, they would be immune to flying objects and fire. Lana noticed Coco staring at the masks, clearly working something out in her head. Please, don’t say anything. Jones was searching through a crate under the table for something when Coco said, “Excuse me, mister, but we need one for our dog, too.”

  That got a laugh. “Sorry, but the masks are only for humans,” he said.

  “Why not dogs?”

  At that very moment, Lana heard voices behind them. An older Japanese couple and Auntie had walked in. Lana said hello, grabbed their masks and ushered the girls out the door. She let out a huge sigh. It felt as though she had been holding her breath the whole time they’d been in there. When they sat down inside the truck, Coco pulled something out of her pocket and held her hand open.

  Blank identification cards.

  Lana felt unhinged at the thought of Coco stealing these and the possibility of getting caught. “How did you get those?”

  “Easy. Mr. Dick wasn’t looking.”

  “But how did I not see?”

  Coco shrugged. “People see what they want.”

  * * *

  Back in the truck, Marie and Coco wanted to talk about bomb shelters and the secret room under the house, and they all reasoned that if indeed it was there, that was its purpose.

  “When the Japanese planes come back, do you think they will see our house?” Coco asked.

  Lana noticed she held the wooden horse from Grant in her lap. The poor horse was in a death grip.

  “Our military won’t let them come back. And if they did, no planes will be flying out here in the boondocks. They go for the big military bases and boat harbors,” Lana said.

  “Our parents are in Hilo,” Marie said.

  Lana had already done enough lying for the day and the residue left her feeling tainted. The girls deserved to know.

  She took a deep breath. “About that. I just learned something about your parents and I was waiting to find out more details before I told you, but I haven’t had a chance. Your folks have been transferred to the camp up here.”

  Lana was hit with a blast of questions: “How do you know?” “What kind of camp?” “Can we see them?” “Do they know where we are?” “How come you didn’t tell us?” “When are they getting out?”

  “The Kīlauea Military Camp. Mrs. Kano saw them driving past, and Major Bailey confirmed that a German couple from Hilo had been brought in. I’ve been trying to find out more without telling him who you are, but I think I’ll just have to come out with the truth,” Lana said.

  Coco started quivering. “They aren’t getting out, are they?”

  “Don’t say that!” Marie said.

  Lana patted Coco’s leg. “The good news is they are close, and we know someone at the camp who might be able to help us,” Lana said, praying that Coco was wrong.

  “Why do they call it a camp if they keep prisoners there?”

  They rounded a bend in the road and passed the sulfur banks and steam vents, where clouds rose out of holes and cracks in the ground.

  “It used to be for military to come on holiday. The name stuck. In fact we’ll be passing by it on the right soon.”

  She wanted to slow the truck, but thought the better of it. Now that it was a military installation, guards were likely to be on the watch for anything suspicious. Not that a truck of women and a dog was a threat, but one never knew. Marie rolled down the window, and the smell of burning kiawe wood wafted into the truck. Since Lana’s last visit, a barbed-wire fence had been set up around the perimeter. Same stone buildings, new occupants.

  As they
passed, Coco was on the edge of her seat staring out over Marie’s shoulder. “Do you think they let them play cards? My parents love to play cribbage,” she said.

  “Maybe we could find out,” Lana said.

  She could feel the longing in both girls as sure as the vibration of the engine on the back of her thighs. To have their parents just on the other side of a fence and not be able to see their faces or hug them was unthinkable.

  “We’ll find a way in. I promise,” Lana said.

  * * *

  Thank heavens for the Christmas tree search. Mrs. Kano had told Lana there was a small grove of Norfolk pines out near the golf course. Both girls were distracted by not only the trees but the sheer number of blackberry brambles loaded with dark, juicy fruit. It was a bit late in the season, but at Volcano, nothing was ever certain. Bees made honey on their own sweet time, berries came and went depending on the rain and sun, and ‘ohi‘a lehua bloomed haphazardly.

  “Benji told us the Japanese submarines torpedoed the boat that brings the trees,” Coco said as they walked through the forest.

  Mochi had mentioned hearing that on the radio. Though another account was that the freighter was sunk by angry seas off Oregon. Lana didn’t know what to believe. The newspaper that day had declared “Maui Shelled by Japanese Submarine. General Short and Admiral Kimmel Relieved of Duty.”

  “Most likely rumors. The thing is people start talking about what they think happened, and they tell a friend, who then passes it on to a neighbor, and pretty soon that idea has become fact. So we have to be careful what we believe.”

  “I wish Benji was with us,” Marie said. “I feel bad for him having to stay home all the time.”

  “Once he has an ID, we can bring him with us.”