I lean in and kiss his cheek. “It’s a deal.”
The sun seems especially bright today. We’re driving toward Hilo, on the “wet side” of the island. I’ve never been away from the “dry side.” Kai says that his home is a contradiction: a desert and a jungle, smooshed together on one small island. I gaze out at the arid landscape, black lava rock stretching as far as the eye can see. Seagulls wheel through the empty sky. I close my eyes and focus on the touch of the sun’s rays warming my bare arm through the cracked-open window. I focus on the solidity of Kai’s hand in mine, resting on the center console. The hum of the Jeep tires on the asphalt. The gentle breeze lifting and dropping tendrils of my hair.
All of these things exist. They must exist. Because this is too real to be a dream.
Gradually, the landscape becomes more lush with life. Tangled green trees dot the mountainside. Bushes erupt with bright-pink and yellow flowers. Tucked into a cliff, I spot a small waterfall—a stream of water dissolving into mist.
“Almost there.” Kai turns onto a narrow dirt lane.
I grip the door handle for balance as the Jeep bumps over ruts in the road. We’re heading toward the cliff. Toward the waterfall.
After a few minutes, the dirt road ends, eaten up by grass and shrubs. Kai parks the Jeep, and we climb out. The air is humid. We’re surrounded by green—eucalyptus and jacaranda trees, creeping vines, bushes and ferns as tall as my shoulders. A narrow pebbled path leads into the underbrush. Kai takes my hand, and I follow him, remembering that long-ago night when we crept along a similar path toward our hideout. Right now, it feels like we’re running away all over again. Like we’re trying to escape the inescapable.
A neon-green gecko darts in front of us. Dragonflies buzz past our ears. I squeeze Kai’s hand. Please, let this all be real.
My face is sweaty, and my legs are tired. The path opens up into a clearing; we have reached the base of the waterfall. A small wooden house is nestled there, surrounded by mist. The house is painted a deep green to blend in with its surroundings. It looks like something out of a fairy tale.
“Here we are,” Kai says.
I am suddenly nervous. What are we going to find here? What am I hoping to find?
The porch stairs creak under our weight. Up close, I notice the green paint is peeling, and a corner of the porch has rotted away. It is as if the house is sinking down into the earth, resigning itself to becoming part of the wild land surrounding it. The doorframe is painted a vivid blue, and, above us, a wind chime tinkles in the breeze.
Kai lifts his hand to fit the key in the lock, but a second before he does, the door opens wide. We both jump back. An old man stands there. His hair is a thick shock of white, and his eyebrows are gray caterpillars. He is wearing a plain white tank top, and, for an old man, his arms are surprisingly muscular. He smiles at us as if he has been waiting all day for our arrival.
“Welcome,” he says. “We’ve been expecting you today.” His voice makes me think of the ocean depths, infinite and mysterious.
Is this Kai’s grandfather? I glance at Kai. His eyes narrow in suspicion.
“Who are you?” he says. “What are you doing in my grandpa’s house?”
“You may call me Okalani,” the old man says. “I live here with my wife. And I knew your grandfather.”
“You did?”
“Akamai Kapule. He was a good man. And he was very proud of you. He talked about you often, always with a big smile on his face.”
“Really?” Kai says. The tension in his shoulders drains away. “I’m, um, sorry to intrude on you like this. I didn’t realize my parents had sold his house already.”
“No need to apologize. Come in, come in. My wife is eager to see you.” He opens the door fully and gestures for us to enter.
I look at Kai, and he looks at me. Is there a reason I dreamed of this house? Can these people help us? Likely not, but it’s worth a shot. I nod my assent.
Kai slips off his sandals in the entryway, and I follow suit. The interior of the little house is dim and smells of lavender and jasmine. Potted plants and flowers abound. Okalani leads us through sparsely furnished rooms. Everything in the house is clean and simple.
We enter a room filled with books. On the floor, an old woman is seated on a cushion. She is wearing a bright flowered dress, and her silver hair erupts in curls. Her face is warm with smile-wrinkles.
“Hello,” she says. “Welcome. It is so good to see you both.”
“Hi,” I say uncertainly. “I’m Tegan, and this is Kai.”
“You may call me Keone.”
“Please, sit,” Okalani says, opening his arms. There is a tattoo of a small fish on the inside of his left wrist.
Kai and I lower ourselves to the cushions on the floor. Okalani sits down beside us. He seems as limber as a young boy. The cushion is surprisingly comfortable, and I cross my legs beneath me, my body relaxing a little.
“What are your worries, child?” the old woman asks, looking directly at me. Maybe she senses that I need help. I bet she can read the confusion and fear on my face.
“Oh … nothing,” I say unconvincingly. “I’m fine.”
Keone narrows her eyes at me. Her expression is exactly the same one that my mom gives me sometimes—the look that says, Don’t you dare try to bullshit me, Tegan Rossi. As she leans forward to take a sip of her tea, her necklace dangles and catches the light. I gasp.
“Your necklace!” I say, pointing. “I have the same one!” I’ve never seen anyone else with a puka shell necklace like mine. It must be a sign.
A second later, I feel foolish. Of course she has the same necklace as I do. Kai got it for me here in Hawaii. Probably lots of people wear this same necklace.
Keone smiles. “My husband got this for me,” she says, her fingers delicately brushing the shell. “A long, long time ago. Back when we were teenagers, like you two.”
“Wow,” Kai says. “You’ve been together a long time.”
“Oh, we were only friends when I gave her that necklace,” Okalani puts in. “Believe me, I wanted to date her. I wanted to marry her. I was completely in love with her, from the moment we met as little kids. But she kept me at arm’s length. She only wanted to be my friend.”
“I was afraid,” Keone says. She takes Okalani’s wrinkled hand in her own and kisses it. “Falling in love can be terrifying. By opening yourself up to love, you open yourself up to loss as well. But I sense you two already know that.”
“It’s worth it, though,” Kai says. His tone is fierce. “It’s a million times worth it.”
“You are wiser than I was,” Keone tells him. “It took me a little while to trust enough to make the leap.”
“So how did you convince her to date you?” I ask Okalani, not caring if I sound nosy. I am strangely invested in this couple. I want to hear their story.
“I got her to spend time with me,” he says. “Quality time, just the two of us. I took her to all the places I loved. I let down my guard and held my heart out for her to take, if she wanted it.” Okalani smiles. “And it turns out, she did want it after all.”
There are so many more questions I want to ask, but Keone interrupts my thoughts. “Tegan,” she says. “You still haven’t told us. What are your worries, child?” She resolutely sets down her mug and brushes a curl away from her face. Is this a random question she asks all her guests, even strangers? Maybe it’s her idea of deep conversation? But then she leans closer and whispers, “Be honest. We can only help you if you trust us.”
My arms break out in goose bumps. Can this couple give me answers? Is that why my vision brought us here?
I clear my throat. “I, um … well, this is going to sound ridiculous,” I begin. Kai reaches over and squeezes my hand.
Okalani and Keone gaze at me with patient eyes. How far does their patience stretch? If I tell them what I remembered—or think I remembered—will they conclude I’m completely insan
e? I picture Keone urging us out of the house, sweeping at our legs with a broom, but the image doesn’t hold. Even though I only met Keone and Okalani moments ago, I can tell they aren’t the type to chase people away.
“It’s okay, T,” Kai urges me on.
I look at Keone, who is smiling at me with gentle, authentic warmth. She makes me think of my grandma, who died when I was five. I hardly remember my grandma at all … and yet, here in Keone’s presence, I am reminded of her somehow.
I decide to take the plunge and put it all out there. “I woke up in Hawaii two days ago. I didn’t remember how I got here. But I’ve been having recurring nightmares about an accident … and then, this morning, I started to remember.” I tell them how, weeks ago, I made plans to visit Kai here in Hawaii but then canceled those plans and decided to move to college early. How Kai and I got into a huge argument because of it. I describe the disappearing photo on Instagram, the news article about the accident, and my name on the list of victims. I show them my hourglass tattoo and the smooth skin where my scars used to be. I tell them about my fragmented memory of boarding the train, settling into my seat … and then the sudden violent chaos of the accident. How my last wish was that I could see Kai again.
The entire time I’m speaking, Okalani and Keone are silent. It is obvious when someone is waiting for you to stop talking so they can start talking, versus when someone is truly listening to what you are saying. I can tell Okalani and Keone are deeply listening to me. It is as if they hear not only the words I speak but also the words I don’t speak—the complicated emotions and jumbled-up questions racing through my mind and my heart.
When I’m done, silence settles into the corners of the room. Time stretches and compresses. Kai, still holding my hand, rubs his thumb against mine. High up in the sky above us, the clouds must shift, because a ray of sunlight spills through the window. The beam of light illuminates Keone.
Keone presses her palms together and gazes into my eyes. Her eyes are startlingly familiar. She looks into my face as if searching for something.
“Have you heard of the o’opu alamo’o?” she asks finally.
I shake my head.
“At Akaka Falls, there is a fish called the o’opu alamo’o.”
“We’re going there!” Excitement fills me at the mention of a familiar place. Is what I need at Akaka Falls? “Kai’s going to take me there.”
Keone nods. “I know he is. On Friday, yes?”
Kai and I look at each other and shrug. “Or maybe tomorrow,” I say. If the answer is at Akaka Falls, why wait until Friday to go there? “It’s not far, is it?”
“No, it is not far,” Okalani puts in. “Nothing is too far.” I’m not sure if he’s talking about the island or if he’s speaking in more general terms. But he doesn’t elaborate.
“We’ll go there tomorrow. Today, even,” Kai tells me.
Keone smiles at us like we have told an amusing joke. “These fish,” she continues, “the o’opu alamo’o, they are born in the waters above Akaka Falls. Their offspring drift in the current all the way down the falls, down the river, and out to the Pacific Ocean. There, they grow into adult fish. When it is time, they swim back from whence they came, up the freshwater streams, up to the base of the waterfall. Then, they climb.”
Kai’s eyes are wide. “How do they climb? They’re fish. And Akaka Falls is, like, hundreds of feet high.”
Keone nods. “Yes. Four hundred and forty-two feet tall.”
Okalani stretches his left arm out to the side, showing us the fish tattoo on his wrist. “The o’opu alamo’o climb using a special sucker on their bellies,” he explains. “Slowly, painstakingly, they climb up the sheer cliff wall, up and up and up, until they reach the top of the waterfall.” As he speaks, something strange happens. Each time I blink, the fish tattoo moves a little higher up his arm. Forearm. Elbow. Bicep. Shoulder.
“There, at the top of Akaka Falls,” he says, “the o’opu alamo’o hatch the eggs of the next generation of o’opu alamo’o, new fish that will make the same journey.” Yes, the fish tattoo is definitely on his shoulder now—his wrist is clear and smooth.
What is going on? Maybe it’s a trick of the light.
I shake my head and close my eyes, taking a couple of deep breaths before opening them again. “Okay … but how do these fish relate to me?”
Keone leans closer. “The o’opu alamo’o, you see, understand that life is a cycle,” she says. “Sometimes we must hoist ourselves up waterfalls in our own lives, back to our origins, back to where we began.”
“Is that what I need to do?” I ask. “Hike to the top of Akaka Falls?”
Okalani chuckles. “Oh, no,” he says. “You are not the o’opu alamo’o. You are Tegan Rossi.”
How does he know my last name? I didn’t tell them my last name, did I?
“Tegan Rossi,” he continues, “you have been given a special gift. When we die, each of us gets to relive the Best Week of Our Lives. This reliving period is what you are experiencing now.”
My brain tries to take in his words, but one word keeps hitting my consciousness like a sucker punch. Kai must feel the same way, because he leans forward, pain on his face. “Die?” he says. “What do you mean, when we die?”
My heart is being squeezed in a vise. My throat is dry, but I manage to get out the words in a whisper: “So I really died in the train accident?”
Keone’s eyes contain eons of sadness. “We do not have all the answers, my child. We do not know why things happen. But from what you tell us, yes. I think that is what happened.”
I focus on the cushion beneath me, solid and real. Kai’s hand in mine, his palm damp with sweat. The pattern of sunlight dancing on the wooden floor beneath the window. Artifacts of this world. Proof of this life.
“But I’m not reliving anything,” I protest. “This week has never happened before. I haven’t been to Hawaii since the summer I was fifteen, and I only saw Kai for a couple hours that trip. What’s happening now … all of this is brand new.”
Keone pats my knee. “It seems, dear one, that when you died, the Best Week of Your Life had not happened yet. So you are getting to live it now.”
“Wait,” Kai says. “So, you’re saying this week is what would have happened if Tegan had come to Hawaii instead of boarding the train?”
Keone and Okalani both nod.
“But what if she got off the train, at the last minute, and she’s safe here now?”
Okalani smiles sadly. “It is a beautiful wish, but wishes are not always enough.”
Kai’s voice plows on. “Then we’ve got to change what happened! There must be some way to fix things.”
Okalani puts his palms together like a prayer. “The o’opu alamo’o must climb up the waterfall they have been given. None of us can change the past. I urge both of you, do not try to change what has already happened.”
“Instead, enjoy the time you have left together,” Keone says. She taps her own heart. “The hourglass shows your remaining time, Tegan. When the final grain of sand runs out, your Best Week will be over.”
I try to swallow, but my throat is sandpaper. “And what happens then?” I ask.
“No one knows for sure, dear one. But your journey here will end.”
My mind wants to resist what they are telling me. I died in the train accident? All I have left are a few more days, here in Hawaii with Kai?
“What about my parents—my mom—am I never going to see her again? Or even talk to her again? Why can’t I reach her on the phone?”
Keone runs her fingers over her puka shell necklace—the same gesture I do sometimes, when I am deep in thought. “You are meant to be savoring this time in Hawaii with Kai,” she says. “Your Best Week is lived when you are fully present here. Does that make sense?”
“I guess so.” If I had visited Kai instead of boarding that train, it’s not like I’d be on the phone with my parents all the time. That m
ust be why my calls are not going through. Whatever this reality is, my parents aren’t a part of it.
“How do you know all this?” Kai interjects, flinging out his arms. “I’ve never even heard of a Best Week. Why should we believe you? This is just a wild story you’re making up.”
Okalani leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his stomach. The fish tattoo has moved back to his wrist. “No one is forcing you to believe anything. But if I could give one word of advice, it would be this: trust.”
I think back to what Keone said earlier, about falling in love. I had to trust enough to make the leap. This moment is similar. My brain doesn’t want to make the leap Okalani and Keone are suggesting, but my heart trusts what they are telling me.
“So what is this place?” I ask. “Am I in Heaven? Am I dreaming? Is none of this actually real?” I think of all that’s happened with Kai in the past two days, and there is a sharp pain in my gut to realize everything has been a dream—a last wish, a fantasy. Not something that counts.
“Reality is a matter of perception,” Okalani says. “You perceive this to be real, so yes, it is real. And no, you are not controlling what happens here. You are living it, and Kai is living it, as if you had come here instead of boarding that train. You are making decisions, and those decisions have consequences. You feel hunger here, yes?”
I nod.
“You feel tired here?”
I nod.
“If you cut yourself, you will bleed. If you run into the ocean, you will feel the waves against your skin. This is reality, is it not?”
I don’t nod. I don’t know what to say. I think about my first kiss with Kai, how my entire body felt aglow with light.
“No,” I murmur, shaking my head. “No, no.” How can this be true? How can this be The End? I’m only eighteen. I have so much more living to do. I have so much more to figure out.
A strange raspy sound escapes my throat, as if I am choking on my own panicked dread. I want to push away everything they have told me, but, despite myself, deep down I believe their words. The strange gap in my memory was only related to the train accident. My flower-patterned suitcase is filled with everything I would have packed if I actually had taken this trip to Hawaii to visit Kai. The scar on my knee is still gone. So is the one on my wrist. It’s as if my body has been wiped clean, except for the hourglass tattoo: an ever-present reminder of time ticking away.
The Best Week That Never Happened Page 12