The air stilled so suddenly that Gandalf whined and pressed her nose into Red’s hip. Red pushed the dog away, her chest tight and hot.
There, rubber banded together on top of the bundled mail, were the last five letters Red had written to her mom, all marked Return to Sender.
Not one of them had been opened.
Chapter
15
Celine rang the Kapules’ doorbell an hour later, glancing at the gray and black clouds that were stacking up above them, like crouching, watchful monsters.
“The weather sure changed moods fast,” she said.
Red said nothing.
Marvin opened the door, holding a pineapple.
“Aloha!” he practically shouted.
“Aloha, Marvin,” Jackson said.
Red forced down the roiling emotions snaking between her ribs. She wanted to focus on Marvin, on the lū‘au.
Not on the letters.
The unopened letters.
A gust of wind nearly blew the pineapple out of her hand when Marvin gave it to her. All of them lurched and scrabbled for it. Red caught it before it hit the porch. She frowned, handing the pineapple back to him.
He motioned them inside. “Mom told me that pineapples used to be a sign of great wealth,” he said grandly. “Rich people gave them to guests, probably to show off how rich they were.” Then his dimples appeared and he laughed. “But we aren’t rich. We just need it for Kitchen Kahuna. Come on.” He led them into the house. “Have I told you what aloha means yet?”
“Doesn’t it mean hello?” Red asked.
“Well, yeah,” he said. “And goodbye. But it doesn’t just mean hello or goodbye.” He bounced on his toes, his eyes glittering with glee at being able to share so much information in the first ten seconds of her arrival. “It has a spiritual meaning, too. It’s an expression of love and compassion. So you have to use it carefully. Keep the spirit of aloha pure.”
“You amaze me, Marvin,” Celine said. She took off her coat and ran a hand through her windblown hair.
“Thanks, Mrs. G. You amaze me, too!”
Celine laughed.
He led them into the living room. Mrs. Kapule greeted them there.
“Thanks for having us, Leilani.” Celine hugged her.
“Of course! We’re happy to celebrate this special girl,” Mrs. Kapule said, smiling at Red.
Mrs. Kapule was only a few inches taller than Red and had long, thick black hair that she wore in a braid down her back. Her face was round and, just like Marvin, when she smiled, a dimple appeared in the center of each cheek. She wore a dress with large pink flowers on it. A necklace made of delicate white blossoms was around her neck, and she had a pink flower in her hair above one ear.
Usually, Marvin’s mom made Red feel at ease just by being there. There was a peacefulness about her that Red liked, and her dark eyes always sparkled. But even Mrs. Kapule’s gentle smile wasn’t enough to distract Red tonight.
Mrs. Kapule picked up a necklace made out of fresh flowers from the coffee table and held it out for Celine. It was a string of red roses, with some kind of smaller, white flower between them. “Aloha nui loa,” she said, looping the necklace over Celine’s head.
“This is gorgeous,” Celine said. “Thank you!”
Mrs. Kapule gave a similar flower necklace to Jackson, except his was made of red carnations.
Marvin grabbed Red’s arm and pulled her closer to the coffee table. “Here’s yours,” he said, lifting a loop of fuchsia flowers. They glistened like spun sugar, and had a rich, sweet fragrance.
“It’s a lei,” Marvin said as he draped it around Red’s neck.
She was afraid to touch the blossoms, worried they’d fall apart in her fingers. He watched her, his head tilted to one side.
“This is for me?” she asked.
“Mom and Tūtū made them. I picked out the flowers, though.” His cheeks flushed and he grinned. “They’re plumerias.”
“You found plumerias in Colorado this time of year?” Jackson asked. “I’m impressed!”
Mrs. Kapule smiled mysteriously and shrugged. “Marvin is very determined. He left no stone unturned.”
Red heard a door open in another part of the house. A moment later, Marvin’s dad appeared, wearing a brightly patterned shirt and wiping his hands on a striped dish towel.
“You’re here!” he boomed. “Aloha!”
Marvin looked a lot like his mother, but Red had learned that his personality came mostly from his dad. The first time Red met Mr. Kapule, he’d been wearing his Air Force uniform, and she’d expected him to be serious or scary. But he joked all the time, and his laugh was loud and a little high-pitched. She’d liked him immediately.
He hugged Celine and Jackson, and held up his palm to give Red a high five, which she gave half-heartedly. “You all look lovely tonight.”
“Thank you,” Celine said, looking at Red when she didn’t respond.
Red was too distracted to notice.
“Marvin, where are your kūpuna?” Mr. Kapule asked.
“Behind you,” came the voice of Marvin’s grandfather.
Marvin’s grandparents, Mr. and Mrs. Makani, were both short and slight, like Mrs. Kapule. They had brown eyes and wide smiles. Marvin’s tūtū wore an orange dress similar to Mrs. Kapule’s pink one. Her hair was almost completely gray, and the flower she had tucked into her bun was as yellow as a banana. Her husband, Marvin’s papa, had thick white hair that stood up messily, just like Marvin’s. He wore round glasses and had a gap between his front teeth that made his smile look impish.
“I got the kitchen set up for your video, Marvin,” Mr. Kapule said.
Marvin did a little dance. “We’re making pineapple kebabs,” he said to Red.
Red was staring out the window, where two little pine trees in the Kapules’ front yard were rocking, their branches whipping back and forth. The pressure in Red’s chest was building. Why were the letters unopened? She clenched her fists against her stormy thoughts.
“Helloooo?” Marvin jabbed a finger into her shoulder.
She blinked and tore her gaze away from the trees.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, starting toward the kitchen.
Celine’s fingers brushed her arm as she passed, but Red ignored her worried expression, concentrating instead on keeping the rage of her wind under her skin.
Chapter
16
She barely said three words while they filmed the episode of Kitchen Kahuna. As Marvin narrated their actions for the camera, she dipped sliced pineapple into various spices, then slid them onto long sticks, like giant toothpicks.
She tried not to think about the swirl of storm clouds building just under her skin. But the more she ignored her own storm, the more the wind howled outside.
Focus on your breathing.
Not on the letters, now stuffed under the mattress in her bedroom.
Focus on your breathing. On pineapple. On Marvin.
Marvin didn’t seem too concerned by her silence, at least. He talked throughout filming, and before Red knew it, they were done.
Celine, on the other hand, kept glancing at Red during dinner.
“You okay?” she whispered as she handed Red a basket of golden-topped rolls. A crease between her eyebrows deepened when Red only shrugged.
“Try the potato mac salad,” Marvin said, offering a bowl of creamy noodle and potato salad to Red from the opposite side. “Tūtū makes such good potato mac salad. Oh, and the kālua pig is ah-MAAAA-zing.” He sang out the word, eyes squinched shut for emphasis.
Mrs. Kapule smiled. “Marvin helped plan the menu for tonight.”
Marvin was glowing. “All my lū‘au favorites!”
Red tried to return his smile, but her face felt stiff and hot. She ignored the flow of conversation, focusing on breathing slowly and carefully. Her storm was drilling into her skull, roaring between her ears. But she couldn’t let it out. It would ruin everything nice the Kapules had do
ne for her.
She closed her eyes, saw the bundle of envelopes, wrinkled and smudged by the mail service, but otherwise unopened, unread, unwanted. Why didn’t Mom read my letters? What did I do wrong?
She gripped her fork, brought food up to her mouth that she didn’t taste, her fingers shaking. Don’t think about it anymore.
In … and out. Ten.
“In June we had a lū‘au for the entire church to celebrate Papa and Tūtū’s fiftieth anniversary. Fifty years is a. Long. Time.”
In … and out. Nine.
“Mom and Tūtū danced for everyone and I filmed it for my class. Did I tell you I’m taking an online filmmaking class?”
In … and out. Eight.
The pressure in Red’s skull began to ease. She swallowed the food in her mouth. Her stomach cramped.
“We should have another church lū‘au next year, Mom. Then Red can come!”
In … and out. Seven.
“You’d love it, Red. We even gave a hula lesson to everyone. It was hilarious. All these old white ladies trying to move their hips.”
In … and out. Six.
“Marvin, please speak respectfully of your elders.”
“What? They are old white ladies! Saying the truth isn’t disrespectful.”
In … and out. Five.
“Marvin…”
“Do you like to dance, Red?”
Her throat was still tight and hot, and she didn’t trust her voice, so she nodded.
Marvin’s eyes widened. “You do? Awesome. I love dancing.”
Red nodded again, the movement feeling less jerky and stiff this time, the rush in her ears fading. Her voice barely cracked when she spoke. “I used to dance. With my gamma.”
“I dance with Tūtū! She’s a kumu hula.”
Tūtū’s smile was proud. “Marvin is an excellent student.”
Mrs. Kapule squeezed Tūtū’s hand. “Mama and I taught together for many years. We are a good team.”
In … and out. Four.
“Mom’s gonna dance for you guys later, right, Mom?” Marvin reached for the plate of pineapple kebabs they’d made for Kitchen Kahuna. “Mom competed at the Merrie Monarch Festival once. I wasn’t born yet.”
In … and out. Three.
“Red?” Celine leaned in close to Red so nobody else could hear. “Are you okay?”
Red chewed her lip. The buzzing wind between her ribs was quieting some, but her stomach still ached. She whispered, “I’m not very hungry.”
Celine nodded. “Okay. That’s fine. Just eat what you want.”
Red pushed the food around on her plate, struggling to focus on Marvin’s chatter, on Celine’s steady presence next to her, the musical laughter of the Kapules and Marvin’s grandparents. She finished her breathing exercise, though it didn’t make much difference.
Celine kept a close eye on Red, and Red even caught Marvin’s tūtū looking at her with concern a few times. She tried to smile, tried to act normal.
“I believe we were promised some dancing,” Jackson said once everyone else had finished eating.
Mrs. Kapule stood. “Yes! We’re here to celebrate Red, after all.”
Red’s stomach cramped again. Gamma always danced when she was celebrating. Big things, little things. It didn’t matter. She danced when the Broncos ran a touchdown. She even danced when they were losing, saying, “Someone’s gotta dance the life back into their defense, baby girl!”
“What do you say, Red?” Mr. Kapule asked. “Would you like to see some hula?”
Marvin jumped up. “I’ll get the ‘ukulele!” He hurried from the room.
Red’s throat was sandpaper. She followed the adults into the living room in silence. Celine’s arm brushed hers as they moved toward the couch.
“Are you sure you’re okay? Do you want to go home? We can,” Celine whispered.
Tears sprang into Red’s eyes and she turned her face away from Celine’s. Her whole body ached with wanting to go home. Home to her mom. Home to before the pills. Home to Gamma.
But that was impossible.
Marvin bounded in with what looked like a tiny guitar and handed it to his grandfather. The Kapules moved a small table and a cushioned chair aside to make space for the dance. Tūtū sat next to Red on the couch. She patted Red’s knee. Red wanted to pull away, but Celine was on her other side. Her skin felt as tight and thin as a balloon’s.
Just breathe.
She clenched her fists. Behind them, the windows rattled as the wind outside grew louder. Jackson looked over his shoulder. Celine glanced at Red, the crease in her brow deepening.
Mrs. Kapule stood tall and strong before them, preparing to dance. She looked right at Red as she spoke. “We’ve had the privilege of walking beside Celine and Jackson as they became foster parents. We’ve seen them face each challenge with courage and love, and we know they were very, very eager to welcome you into their home.”
Sweat prickled the back of Red’s neck. The house creaked.
“The three weeks or so that you’ve been with Celine and Jackson have been our joy, too. We’re so honored that they asked us to be their Support Friends, and we’re honored to get to know you better each day,” Mrs. Kapule continued.
Celine had already explained that Marvin’s parents were respite caregivers. That meant they could take care of foster kids without actually being foster parents. Except the Kapules were respite caregivers just for the Grooves. Or, really, just for her. They called it being a Support Friend. She’d never heard of anyone getting certified just to help out one specific foster family before, but that’s what the Kapules had done. Celine had said it was a program sponsored by their church.
Mrs. Kapule continued, “We don’t take that lightly. You’re very special, Red. We consider you ‘ohana. It means we are family. This dance is mele ‘ohana.”
Her words broke something open inside of Red. She wanted to tear a hole in the wall and fly out into the night. Family wasn’t supposed to be strangers. Family was supposed to open letters, to write back. Family was supposed to be there.
Mr. Makani strummed the ‘ukulele. The tone was soft and lilting—a sound so opposite the roar of the wind that Red gasped. She wrapped her arms around her stomach.
Celine leaned in to her as Mrs. Kapule started to dance.
“Red?” Her voice was low, urgent. “What’s going on?”
Red watched Mrs. Kapule. Her movements were graceful, one flowing into the next like water. It was nothing like Gamma’s dancing. Gamma’s dances were all bounce and kick and silly wiggling.
Gamma.
Gamma would never have returned Red’s letters. She would have read them. Every single one.
But Gamma was gone, too, and the ache of missing her was so big, Red couldn’t contain it.
A rasping moan overtook the music. Red realized the sound was coming from her. She rocked forward, the part sob, part groan streaming out of her.
And with it, the wind.
Thunder cracked, so loud and close that Tūtū yelped, and darkness swallowed them as the power blinked out. Red’s wind ripped through the room, rattling the pictures on the wall.
She felt a sudden weight on her back. Hands—Celine’s hands, clutching her, drawing her in, holding her close.
She pulled away.
Glass shattered, and the storm outside came galloping in.
Chapter
17
This is my fault.
Red stood on the Grooves’ back porch under a sky scrubbed clean and flecked with chipped-ice stars. Her cheeks were raw with salt and shame.
“Easy! Easy, Flicka! That’s it.” Jackson’s voice was low, pleading. He held his hands out as he approached the spooked horse.
Flicka, the palomino mare, nickered and stamped, her ears flat against her head. A slice of dusty white moonlight illuminated the field, making the sweat on the horse’s golden coat gleam. Red could see the whites of her eyes, even from a distance.
&
nbsp; Finally, Flicka let Jackson slip a halter over her head. He stroked her neck, speaking too quietly for Red to hear.
Not that she could hear much above the guilt thundering in her veins.
She looked around the Grooves’ field, her flashlight beam scrabbling over debris and splintered tree branches. The fence to the arena was a knot of twisted poles and hooked metal claws. A gaping black hole yawned across the front of the barn. The door had been ripped off and dragged into the night.
Flicka whinnied and chuffed, but followed Jackson without further resistance. Red watched him lead her into the dark mouth of the barn. Celine stepped out the back-porch door.
“The house seems okay. The library window is cracked, but that’s it. Jackson will have to look at the roof tomorrow, though.” She swiped her hand over her face. “Did he get Flicka?”
Red’s mouth was sour and her throat burned. She nodded.
Celine let out a breath. “Good. Who’s left?”
Red couldn’t answer.
Jackson stepped out of the barn’s black hole. He was at the porch in a few long strides.
“Everything okay?”
“Seems to be,” Celine said.
“We’ll have to cancel the last zoo.” Air whistled between his front teeth. “I can’t believe this. The storm took the door clean off the barn. Chewed up the arena pretty good. And of course—” He motioned to the oak tree behind Red’s bedroom window. It had splintered straight down the middle of the trunk, top to bottom. Half of it lay on the ground while the other half stood above it like a tombstone.
“How are the animals?” Celine asked.
“Spooked. And Tuck’s gone.”
Red choked and coughed.
Celine frowned. “Gone—how?”
Jackson shook his head. “Vanished. None of the others were too far out. Flicka and Alfonzo were just out there.” He pointed beyond the arena. “Lancelot and Merlin had the goats and Fezzik rounded up right next to the barn. I’ve accounted for all the chickens, and the rabbits were sleeping in their cage like nothing happened. But Tuck.” He threw his hands up, let them fall against his sides. “I can’t find him. The gate to his outdoor habitat was hanging off its hinges.”
All the Impossible Things Page 6