“Hardly,” I joke, not wanting to admit, even to myself, that I did. “My lady parts needed some recovery time.”
He reaches a hand over and runs it down my bare thigh. “I happen to be quite fond of your lady parts.”
“Which is exactly why they are exhausted,” I say.
“Where do you want to go today?” he asks when we approach the exit of my resort.
“Let’s go right and take the tree tunnel over to the fifty.”
There is a road, Route 50, that is the main artery on Kauai. The locals call it the fifty. Anywhere you want to go on the island, you pretty much have to use the fifty to get there.
“Right it is.”
“Good. I love going through the tree tunnel.”
In order to get to Poipu Beach, where we’re staying, you have to go through an iconic tunnel of greenery. The road gets completely covered by a canopy of eucalyptus trees, leaving just enough room for cars and trucks to pass through. Last week, when we were on the helicopter, our pilot flew over it and we could see cars disappearing into one side and emerging from the other. And now we’re one of those cars.
I sit back and wait for Bass to deliver another speech to me about how great it is to look at things from more than one perspective. But he doesn’t.
We drive through a brief rain shower and he reaches over to grab my hand. I think he gets my love-hate relationship with rain. But again, there are no questions, not even when I become silent and stare out the window.
A half-hour into our drive up a winding road, Bass slows, pointing to a sign. It’s a sign for a waterfall. Oh, God. I really don’t want to see another waterfall. Luckily, I’ve been able to avoid them on our hikes. Seeing hundreds of them from the helicopter was almost too much to take. Waterfalls were one of the reasons Dahlia picked this island. And they are far worse than rain.
Before I can protest, Bass turns down the road, looking excited. “I’ve never seen one up close and personal before. Have you?”
All I can do is shake my head.
He finds a place to park along the side of the road that is lined with lots of other cars. He turns off the Jeep and gets out. When I don’t open my door, he comes around the side of the car to open it for me. But I sit, frozen to my seat.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“You go ahead. I’ll wait here for you.”
“You don’t want to see it?”
I shake my head.
He sighs, probably wondering why I don’t want to go, but not questioning me about it. He watches the other people making their way to the falls that we can’t see yet from where we’re parked. He clearly wants to check it out. He starts to make his way back to the driver’s side. He’s going to leave. For me.
“No,” I say, feeling guilty. “You should go. We’re here and you should see it.”
“I really don’t need to. It’s fine.”
“Bass, go. I promised my brother I’d call him today,” I lie. “I really just want to stay in the car and make that call. I’m okay.”
“Are you sure?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“Okay, I’ll only be a few minutes.”
“Take all the time you want.”
I watch him walk away. Then I see a family pass by on the way back to their car. A little girl is holding her mother’s hand, squealing about how wonderful the falls are. The girl has a flower in her hair. She must be about six years old.
Through my tears, I follow the family with my eyes until they are out of sight. Then something happens. I feel the strongest urge to get out of the car and go see the waterfall. I don’t want to, but it’s almost like I have to.
I slowly walk around the bend in the road, hearing the rushing water get louder and louder as I make my approach. I see dozens of people lining the railing that separates them from the valley below. I look over to see Bass talking with a man. I hang back, walking to an unoccupied viewing spot far from the crowd.
When the falls come into full view, I gasp. The power of the rushing water is incredible. And the mist it creates as it hits the rocks below fills the valley.
My emotions overwhelm me, and I have to turn my back to the waterfall and sit on the ground. I sit here and listen to the sound of the falls with my eyes closed, wishing for the millionth time that Dahlia were here to see it.
To my left there’s a break in the fence, like someone had cut through the wire to make their way down to the waterfall. There is a flimsy rope that is attached to try and prevent anyone from going through.
I stand up and walk over to investigate. When I look beyond the fence, I see a trail that cuts through the brush. It disappears beneath the heavy foliage. I’m not sure anyone standing at the railing would even see someone walking on the trail.
I look at Bass to see him still talking to the man as they both admire the falls. Then I look back at the water, being drawn to it like I am to the rain. I feel the need to touch it. As if somehow touching it will bring me closer to her.
Without thinking too much about it, I untie the rope and slip through the break in the fence. The first part of the short trail is easy to manage, but I stop walking when something catches my eye. It’s a flower. But it’s not just any flower, it’s a daisy. A single daisy. I look around for more, knowing daisies grow in bunches. In fact, they grow in such hearty masses that they invade gardens because they’re resistant to bugs and pesticides.
I stand here, staring at the flower, wondering how a single daisy came to grow here all on its own. And even over the loud drone of the waterfall, I can hear her words. ‘Daisies gonna make everything better.’
As I get closer to the falls, I have to be careful not to lose my footing. I navigate my way down by holding on to tree branches. And a few minutes later, I find myself standing on a slippery rock behind the falls, about halfway between the top and the bottom.
I can just barely touch the water if I extend my arm out. I can’t hear anything but the water rushing by me. It’s loud and I find that I like it, because the loudness of the water quiets the voice in my head. It quiets her voice.
I stand here, letting the water rush over my hand, wanting so desperately to stand underneath the falls and let them engulf me. But I know if I make one wrong move, I’ll end up falling thirty feet to the rocks below.
Suddenly, arms come around me and I’m hauled back against the wall of rocks behind me.
“Ivy, what are you doing?” Bass screams at me.
I can’t answer him. Because I’m not even sure myself.
“You’re not fearless, are you?” he yells over the loud sound of rushing water. “You want to die, don’t you?”
I slip down the face of the rock until my butt hits the ground. I pull my knees up to my chest. My eyes are so blurry with tears, I can’t even see his face anymore. And maybe not being able to see his face makes it easier for me to be honest. Honest with him. Honest with myself.
“Yes,” I say, probably not loud enough for him to hear. “But I can’t. Because I made a promise to live.”
“Promise to who?” he says into my ear, sitting down next to me.
I just shake my head.
“Ivy!” he shouts. “Tell me. You can’t hide from your pain forever. You need to let me in. Can’t you see how much I care about you? Can’t you see that I love you?”
My eyes snap to his. He loves me? He’s only known me for one week. That’s ridiculous. Not to mention how someone falling in love with a shell of a woman is unlikely.
I stand up and face him. “I don’t want you to love me!” I shout.
“Why?” he yells back. “Why won’t you let me love you? Who did you lose, Ivy?”
I ignore his question and walk over and reach out to run my hand through the water one last time. He holds on to me so I don’t fall.
Then I turn and make my way back up to dry land. On my way, I pluck the daisy from its root and throw it to the ground. Dahlia was wrong – daisies don’t make anything better. Nothing
can make anything better.
As we emerge from the broken fence, people watch us. We’re dirty and wet and I wonder if I’m going to get in trouble for trespassing. But nobody approaches us as we walk back to the car.
“Take me home,” are the only words I say to him.
We drive in silence back to my resort. And when I get out of his car, I don’t even bother getting the cooler I put in the back seat. I want away from this. From him. From everything.
“Ivy!” he calls after me as I shut the door and walk away.
But I don’t stop. I don’t even turn around. I just keep walking. I walk up to my room and collapse onto my bed, not even bothering to clean myself off. And I cry. I cry harder than I’ve ever cried before. I cry a waterfall of tears.
~ ~ ~
“That’s it, Ivy,” the doctor says. “Just one more push and your daughter will be here.”
Eli grabs my hand and tells me I’m doing great. I’m excited, but terrified at the same time. The last time I did this, it was anything but a happy occasion. Waiting for my dead child to be born was every woman’s nightmare. One I lived through. But this is different. She has a heartbeat. I could hear it on the monitor just a little while ago. She’s alive. I’m going to have a baby.
“Just a little more, sweetie,” the nice nurse says.
I shake my head, not having any strength left in me.
“Come on, you can do better than that,” the bitchy, condescending nurse says, trying to do her job even though she clearly has a problem with me becoming a teen parent.
I muster up all my strength and give one final push, feeling the overwhelming relief of my baby’s body slipping out of mine. Eli is asked to cut the cord. But I still can’t breathe. I can’t breathe until I hear her breathe.
When her little cries bounce off the walls of my room, I cry out myself. She’s here. And she’s alive.
Eli leans down to kiss me, his tears mixing with my own. “You did it,” he says.
“We did it,” I reply.
The nurse places our tiny baby girl on my chest and I wrap her in my arms as the doctor finishes his job. I look up at Eli. “Dahlia,” I say. “I want to name her Dahlia.”
For months, Eli’s been asking me to pick a name. But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t name my baby unless I knew she was going to be okay. Because last time when we picked a name early in my pregnancy, everything went wrong.
“Dahlia sounds perfect,” he says, leaning down to kiss her.
One of the nurses comes over after we have a minute to bond with our new daughter. “We need to clean her up now,” she says. “Don’t worry, you can have her back shortly.”
Someone else places wristbands on Eli’s and my wrist just as the doctor tells me everything looks good ‘down there.’
My huge smile feels like it could split my face in two. Not even the looks from that second bitch of a nurse bother me. The one who thinks Eli and I are too young to start a family. But she doesn’t know. She doesn’t know what we went through. She doesn’t know Dahlia is a gift. She’s not a replacement—she’s a miracle.
Suddenly, there’s some commotion around the doctor who came into the room to examine Dahlia.
The nice nurse comes over to us, not looking as happy as she did a moment ago. “They need to take your daughter for some tests,” she says.
“Tests? Is she okay? Wait!” I cry as the other nurse wheels my baby out of the room. “You said I could have her right back.”
The doctor comes over. “I’m Dr. Halburn, a pediatric resident. Dr. James just informed me that you experienced a stillbirth last year. Did they perform an autopsy?”
“Oh my God! What’s wrong with her? She was crying. She’s alive, right?”
He puts a hand on my arm. “Yes. She’s alive. I just noticed some irregularities when I was palpating her abdomen.”
“Irregularities?” I ask through my tears.
“It may be nothing,” he says. “But if we knew what caused the death of your other child, it might be helpful.”
“Death? She’s going to die?” I scream.
“No. No,” he says. “She looks good. We’re just trying to cover all the bases.”
Eli shakes his head. “They didn’t do an autopsy. We were told that sometimes those things just happen.”
“Sometimes they do,” the doctor says. “I don’t want you to worry. Your baby is in good hands. We’re just being cautious.”
“Dahlia,” I say. “Her name is Dahlia. Please. I can’t go through that again.”
He gives me a sympathetic nod. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Try to get some rest.”
“Oh, Eli,” I cry. “What if—”
“It’s not like before, Ivy. I promise you. She’s big and healthy. You saw her. She was crying. Her eyes were open. She’s going to be fine. They are just being cautious like he said.”
He sits on the bed next to me and I cry in his arms until I fall asleep from exhaustion.
Chapter Eleven
Sebastian
I haven’t seen her since yesterday afternoon. She won’t answer my calls. She won’t respond to my texts. She didn’t even go for a walk on the beach last night or this morning like she has for the past week. I should know. I’ve done nothing but stalk her resort, watching for her to emerge.
By dinnertime yesterday, I was going crazy and finally convinced Leilani, the concierge, to go check on her. She reported back that Ivy was okay.
But it’s not true. She’s anything but okay. I pushed too hard. Asked too many questions. And when I said I loved her—I’m sure that was the nail in my coffin.
Why did I say it? I’m not even sure I do. Maybe it’s just the fireman in me trying to protect her. But, holy shit, was I scared that she was going to do something reckless.
And now she’s shut me out completely.
I’m an idiot. First, I go for years without telling the woman I loved how I felt about her, and now I go and do just the opposite, spouting it out after only seven days of knowing Ivy.
I pick up my surfboard and head back out for another set. Every time I catch a wave and come close to shore, my eyes scan the beach for a certain blue bikini.
Late in the afternoon, I head back to my resort, trading my surfboard for my guitar, taking my usual spot by the fire pit.
“Aloha, Mr. Briggs. Where is your beautiful lady?” Tua asks, catching me sitting alone.
“She’s not feeling well,” I lie.
He nods to my guitar. “Maybe I’ll come play with you later.”
I shrug. “I’m not sure I’ll be here. I’m not feeling so great myself. I might turn in early.”
He raises his eyebrows at me. “A lovers’ quarrel?”
“Something like that.”
He puts a fatherly hand on my shoulder. “Not to worry. Nobody can stay mad for too long on Kauai. It’s paradise.”
I glance out over the water, but it’s not as blue as it was a few days ago. I look inland at the mountains, and they don’t seem as green.
“I hope you’re right, Tua.”
“Tua always right,” he says, going back to his job of stacking some beach chairs as people are leaving for the day.
I take one last look down the beach before I stand up and start to walk away.
“Help!” I hear a lady scream.
I throw my guitar on the grass and run over to the woman who is clearly in a panic.
“My daughter. She was playing in the surf right over there, but now she’s gone. I don’t swim very well, so I didn’t go in with her. I looked away for just a minute.”
“How old is she?”
“Six.” She covers her mouth in a painful cry. “Oh my God. Where is she?”
“Ma’am, she probably just went to the bathroom or for a drink. What’s her name and what color is her bathing suit?”
“Bright pink with yellow flowers. Her name is Misty.”
I call out to Tua. “Get some people and search the grounds for a six-yea
r-old girl wearing a bright pink bathing suit with yellow flowers. Name’s Misty.”
He throws down the chair he’s holding and runs to the nearby bar to do what I asked.
The mother screams again and runs toward the water. “There she is! Oh my God, she’s drowning! Someone help!”
I see a momentary flash of pink, and then nothing.
I throw off my shoes and yell to Tua. “Call nine-one-one!” I look at the gathering crowd. “Someone run and get the lifeguard.”
I grab the mother who is trying to go in the water. “Hold her,” I say to a few other women. “If she comes in, I’ll be rescuing two people.”
A man runs up alongside me as I’m running into the water. “I can help. I’m a good swimmer,” he says.
I point to where I saw the girl. “I’ll come in from the left, you take the right, and we’ll work our way around the area. She could be on the bottom, possibly being dragged out, so use your feet to feel around, too.”
“Got it,” he says before we both dive into the deeper water.
I try to stay calm and remember my training on drowning victims, something we don’t see a lot of in the city. I dive down and attempt to search in a methodical manner, but it’s hard with the surf coming in. It’s only about four feet deep, but in the twenty seconds it took us to get out here, the girl could be anywhere.
It guts me to hear the mother screaming back on the beach every time I come up for air. I see a few more people swimming out to help with the search.
My foot touches something soft and my heart thunders. I reach down and feel a small foot. I pull the girl up and into my arms as I wade as fast as I can through the water to make it back to the beach.
A lifeguard is running toward me with a backboard. “Put it on the beach,” I say. “I need her on a flat surface.”
“I can handle this, mister,” the lifeguard says, looking like he might pass out from fear.
“I’m a trained paramedic and a firefighter. Unless you’ve been to medical school, I’m taking point on this. Do you have an ambu bag?”
“Yes,” he says, reaching into his pack.
Igniting Ivy (The Men on Fire Series) Page 8