Anywhere but Paradise (19 page)

I throw out my arms to steady myself, but I tip to the right and fall. My hip-shoulder-head slam against the concrete.

A flash of light.

Everything goes black.

Stranger

I WAKE TO JANGLING.

Someone with hot, bad breath rubs wet sand across my cheeks.

“Kahuna?”

No. The dog is white.

I hold statue still.

It licks again.

Please don’t bite me. Please don’t bite. Please don’t.

The dog is not growling. Good. This is good. He does not look like he’s going to attack. Even better. But you never know.

A red something catches my eye. A muumuu. Someone else is here.

Clap. Clap
.

The dog turns and sits beside the dress.

I look up. An old lady with white hair flowing past her waist holds a garden hose. I move my legs. Freely.
The hose. I tangled with the hose. Not a big fat snake. Right. This isn’t Texas.

“A tidal wave is coming,” I say, sitting up real slow. Sudden movements may provoke the dog. Not to mention make my pounding head worse. “You and your dog need to get to higher ground.”

She nods.

“I’m looking for a dog. A dog named Kahuna.”

The old woman raises her hand and points toward the water.

A dog sits at the edge of the rise, looking out.

It’s him. I know it’s him.

“Kahuna,” I say. “Come here, Kahuna.” I turn to ask the old woman, “How did you—?”

But she and her dog are gone.

Good Dog

I CALL AND CALL AND CALL.
The dog turns and looks at me. I call again. I’d go after him, but I can’t get up just yet.

Finally, finally, Kahuna comes.

“Good dog,” I say.

He sniffs my hand.

“Kiki sent me.” My voice shakes.

Kahuna wags his tail.

“Wagging is good, right?”

Kahuna barks.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Steadying myself with the dog and the table, I rise.

Slowly, Kahuna and I make our way up the sandy path toward the street. I place my hand on fences and walls that line the way to keep upright.

My head is full of drums beating louder and longer with each step.

Maybe this is how Mama feels sometimes.

Mama. Daddy. Howdy. Be safe. Please be safe.

I stop every once in a while, lean against a fence, and start again.

Kahuna never leaves me.

Bufo

WHEN WE FINALLY
reach the street, I sit on a big piece of lava rock in someone’s front yard. Palms rustle overhead, a gecko chirps. The soft
pa-boom
of the waves in the near distance fills my ears.

“Go ahead, I’ll be okay,” I say.

Kahuna licks my hand and settles down beside me.

“Just so you know,” I say, petting his head, “if I ever had a dog, I’d want one just like you.”

Headlights from a car beam down the street. The blue light on top of its roof means it’s the police. “We’re safe now, Kahuna. Safe.”

I stand and wave with both arms like I’m on a drowning ship.

The car picks up speed and stops next to us.

Mr. Halani steps out.

“You okay?” he asks.

My stomach rolls and I hold up one hand and cover my mouth with the other.

“You’ve got a nasty cut on your shoulder,” Mr. Halani says, and takes my elbow. “I’ll get Charlotte to drive you to the hospital.”

I sway. Mr. Halani holds me steady.

“I see you found the dog. Good detective work.”

Kahuna wags his tail as he roots his nose around the base of the large lava rock I’d sat on.

“Time to go, Kahuna,” I say.

But he doesn’t pay any attention.

Mr. Halani whistles. Kahuna lifts his head and lowers it again. Nuzzles his nose in the grass.

A bufo hop hop hops away. Kahuna pounces.

“No,” I shout. If bitten, bufos squirt a poisonous liquid.

Kahuna turns. Two small legs of a bufo protrude from his mouth. He growls.

“Kahuna,” I say. “Drop it.”

The dog backs up, shakes his head from side to side, and growls some more.

“This isn’t a game, Kahuna,” I say.

“Kahuna, speak,” says Mr. Halani.

Kahuna opens his mouth and the toad flops to the ground. Out comes a garbled bark.

“Good dog,” I say, and step toward him.

Kahuna’s eyes are extra big and his mouth foams.
White globs of bubbles ooze out, extend toward the ground, and plop on the grass.

“We need to take him to a vet,” I say.

“My responsibility is to humans first,” says Mr. Halani, stepping between the dog and me. “I can come back later.”

“No, please,” I say, grabbing his arm. “We have to save him.”

Mr. Halani looks me straight in the eyes. “It may be too late.”

“Don’t say that,” I cry. “It’s not too late. It can’t be.”

“We’ve got one vet in Hanu, Peggy Sue, and I happen to know where he lives. He’s evacuating like the rest of us.”

I crouch down and open my arms. “Kahuna, come. Please. Please. Come.”

The growls grow deeper.

He turns and runs.

Hospital

THOUGH THE TIDAL WAVE
didn’t hit Hanu, it did strike my mind.

Washed some stuff away. Rearranged others.

But I cannot forget:

Kiki’s screams.

Bright lights in the emergency room.

Me telling the Halanis about the lady and her dog.

Mrs. Halani saying, “You hit your head pretty hard, Peggy Sue.”

Tutu saying, “It could have been her.”

“Who?” I ask. “Who?”

“Pele,” says Malina.

Questions, lots of questions: How many fingers am I holding up? Who is the president of the United States? Do you know where you are?

My questions: about Mama and Daddy. About
Hilo. About Howdy. About Kahuna.

But no one answers.

Six stitches.

I didn’t feel a thing.

The Radio

I JERK AWAKE.

Mama? Daddy? Howdy? Kahuna?

Where are Y’all?

Malina’s curtains are closed, but it’s daytime. Her bed is made, but all of the stuffed dogs on her bed—gone.

The clock reads ten minutes after eight.

A note from Mrs. Halani is taped to the nightstand:

What about my parents? What about Kahuna?

I swing my legs over the side of the bed and my stomach lurches. I have a whopper of a headache. But I force myself to stand.

I have to find my parents. Have to find the dog.

I wobble down to the kitchen, still wearing my clothes from the day before.

Ukulele music comes from the studio. I bet Mrs. Halani is practicing her dance for the recital.

I reach the kitchen and lean against the refrigerator. The radio murmurs. The newsman says “Hilo” and I listen in:

“Mama? Daddy?”

My whole body shakes.

I cross my arms and hold myself tight. I turn, stumble out the back door and down to the beach.

Next to the water, the shiny blue-green water, I stand. Shivering. My head throbs as I squint in the bright light. The water slips in and out, in and out.

I picture it.

The wave.

The gigantic wave.

What if Mama and Daddy are gone? Gone forever? I remember my wish. I remember what I said—that
I hoped they’d never come back. I remember that I didn’t say good-bye.

I cover my face. I am so sorry. I didn’t mean what I said. I’m sorry that I am prickly. I’m sorry I am a terrible daughter. I messed up with Kahuna, too. Lost the dog. Lost my chance to get on Kiki’s good side.

I squeeze my eyes and imagine the wave. An enormous rushing wall of water, hurling toward me. Roaring. Like hundreds of trains. Foaming. Blocking the horizon. And before I can run, or even scream, it hits me, swallows me whole and sweeps me away. It is cold and dark here. The wave pushes me forward. Turns me sideways, upside down. Holds me under. Forever. And then, and then … spits me up. I cough, call for help, but no one is around to hear me. The water slaps my face and I swallow the salty sea. My eyes burn. I grab for the top of a coconut tree as I rush by. And miss. The waves don’t stop coming. Won’t stop. They are big. Bigger. Strong. I am pulled under again. I can’t, can’t breathe.

And then I do. Air. I gulp it in, sink to my knees. “Please be alive. All of you. Please.”

When I look up, the ocean in front of me is glassy. Calm. Two surfers, straddling their boards, wait for waves that will rise only in their imaginations.

I scan the beach. It’s empty. No people. No dogs.

I stand, half-wet, and walk away.

Beauty