Anywhere but Paradise (20 page)

I STARE
at the mountain range as I plod back from the beach to the Halanis’. Like an accordion, its deep green folds divide the island.

Light green fills in the crevices.

Up close you can see vines hanging from the trees.

After a heavy rain, waterfalls stream down its faces.

A rainbow arcs across the sky. Sometimes even a double.

This side, the windward side, is greener, wetter, lush.

It looks like paradise.

I wish it were.

Kapakahi

I PICK UP THE PHONE
in our kitchen. Drops of ocean pool beneath me on the floor as I dial the operator. “The Naniloa Hotel in Hilo, please,” I say. “On the water.”

“I’m sorry, all of the circuits for the Big Island are busy. I could contact you when one becomes available.”

I give her the Halanis’ number. “Could you call Texas?”

“That might be easier,” she says. “Let me try.”

She patches the call together through another operator.

“Let’s not panic, Peggy Sue,” says Grams. At least that’s what I think she’s saying. There is static on the line at my end this time.

“But, Grams, everything is kapakahi.”

“Is what?”

“All mixed up. All because of me.”

“Sweetie, what on earth are you talking about?”

“I’ve done something bad. Really bad. It’s all my fault. It’s my fault they’re missing.”

“What kind of talk is this?”

“It’s what I wished,” I say. “I wished Mama and Daddy would never come back. And now it’s happened.”

“Oh, sweet pea.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. Not forever.”

“Of course you didn’t. Now listen to me, Peggy Sue. This may come as a surprise, but you don’t have that much power.”

I grab a tissue and blow my nose. I twist the phone cord around my finger.

“You are strong, Peggy Sue. Strong enough to weather this. You’ve got to remember, after the rain comes the rainbow.”

I take a deep breath.

“We have faith your parents are going to come through.”

“Grams, I’m scared.”

“I know, sweet pea, I know.”

Back at the Halanis’, I leave a note on the kitchen table about the operator who’s going to call. Then I change into my pajamas, crawl into bed, and bury myself under the covers.

Mama and Daddy and me belong together.

We do. Please come back. Please.

Distractions

I HEAR MRS. HALANI
tiptoe in. She taps me gently on my shoulder.

“Peggy Sue, it’s time to sit up for a while.”

I smell toast and peek from under the blanket. A tray rests on Malina’s bed. “Where are my parents?”

“Mr. Halani has a buddy on the police force in Hilo who is doing everything he can to track them down,” she says. “I’ve been calling the hotel, but I haven’t gotten through. I saw your note. You must have, too.”

I nod.

“We’ll have good news soon.”

She sounds confident. Sure.

I toss back the covers and sit up. “Has Mr. Halani found Kahuna? He told me that he’d look for him.” Mrs. Halani shakes her head.

“I found Kahuna, or rather he found me. If it happened once, it can happen again. I want to look for him. I want to do something.”

“The best thing you can do right now is get better. Believe me, there are lots of people searching for that dog.” She hands me the plate of toast. “Eat.”

Afterward, we troop downstairs for a game of hearts. Mrs. Halani shuffles and deals. “You go first,” she says.

While we play, Mrs. Halani tells me stories of growing up here—sliding down a muddy slope on a big leaf, hiking in the mountains, bopping her sister over the head with shampoo ginger flowers to release its sudsy goo, and learning hula from her grandmother who danced for the queen. She talks so I don’t have to.

I ask her about the queen.

“She was a woman of great strength and aloha,” she says.

After two games, we’re tied.

“I know what you’re doing,” I say. “Distracting me.”

“Is it working?” Mrs. Halani asks, and smooths back my hair.

“A little,” I say.

“Good.”

“Will you call Hilo again?”

“Of course.”

She does. But all the lines are still tied up.

Be Okay

“HEY, SLEEPYHEAD,”
says Malina, nudging me gently in the arm later that afternoon.

I wave with one finger.

“Do you want to hear about school? Only four more days.”

After all this, I’ve lost count.

I signal thumbs-up and Malina springs over to her bed and sits. She hands me a get-well card signed by everyone in homeroom. And my porcelain Howdy from Cindy, which she must have brought from next door.

“Tell everyone I said thanks,” I say. I turn on my side and hold the cat loosely in my hand. “How’s Kimo?”

“Of course I still like him, but I need to be realistic. He didn’t talk to me this morning. So I sat with Sam at lunch.” I gaze at her hand. The heart, though empty, is there. She must still have hope.

“Everyone’s jazzed because it’s the last week,” she says. “And most kids didn’t get a lot of sleep last
night. You’re not going to believe this—we don’t have any homework. Not even in Mr. Nakamoto’s class and …”

Listening takes a lot of energy and I fade in and out. My head hurts something fierce.

I think about Mama and Daddy. Be okay. Please. You’ve got to be okay.

Kahuna, too.

The cat slips out of my hand, shattering into I don’t know how many pieces on the floor.

The tears come. And I can’t stop them. Salty waves wash down my face.

“Peggy Sue, I’m sorry all this has happened,” says Malina.

“I want my parents. I want Kahuna to be okay.”

Malina’s eyes grow wide. “Let me get my mom.”

They are keeping something from me. Otherwise, Malina would have told me good news by now. Or she would have said, “No worry, beef curry.”

Mrs. Halani rushes in from her class.

“Where are they?”

“We still don’t know yet,” Mrs. Halani says.

Maybe, maybe they are alive. Maybe they’re floating in the ocean, waiting to be rescued. Maybe they’re in the hospital getting well.

“Kahuna?”

“No news.” Mrs. Halani puts her hands on either side of my face. “Would you like to talk to the school counselor? She called when you were sleeping and asked about you.”

“I want to see Howdy.”

“I promise,” she says, and kisses me on the top of my head. “As soon as you get your strength back, we’ll go. You need to get up again. The doctor doesn’t want you sleeping all day.” Mrs. Halani reaches into her pocket. “I meant to hand this to you earlier. Before they left, your parents asked me to give this to you while they were gone.”

On the front of the postcard is a photo of a fiery volcano. On the back, these words:

Daddy’s handwriting, but Mama signed her name.

I sink into the bed and trace their words again and again.

Headlines

NOT TOO MUCH LATER,
I slip into the bathroom and stare into the mirror. My hair hangs limp at my shoulders. It looks like someone has smudged charcoal under my eyes. They are sad. So sad. I barely recognize myself. I pick up the rubber band that Malina must have left on the basin and pull my hair into a ponytail.

“You in there?” Malina asks after knocking softly.

“Uh-huh.”

“How about ten minutes of Monopoly?”

“Be right out,” I say. I open the door and we begin making our way downstairs.

Thunk
.

My grip tightens on the handrail. I place the sound. The paperboy’s aim was on target—the Halanis’ front door.

Malina scampers outside, and I settle in next to the game board. Malina tosses the loosely rolled paper onto her dad’s recliner and joins me around the coffee table.

“I believe it’s my turn,” she says, and picks up the dice from the game we started last night, the night the sirens bellowed.

Malina rolls a four, picks up her token, and travels around the board.

Mr. and Mrs. Halani enter through the back door. Mr. Halani must have just gotten off work, because he’s still in his uniform. They take seats on the couch. Their faces are neutral, like the doctor in the emergency room.

Malina and I exchange a look. Something’s up.

“We wanted to tell you that we have a bit of news from the Hilo police,” says Mr. Halani.

I clutch the side of the coffee table and rise to my knees.

“They’ve found your parents’ rental car.”

My grip tightens. “Where?” I ask before he even has a chance to say.

“On the street, but they weren’t inside.”

“Was there a note or anything?” asks Malina. I can tell she’s trying to be helpful.

Mr. Halani shakes his head.

“Where are they?” I cry.

“Right now, we only know where they’re not. They’re not in the hotel, car, or hospital.”

“Mama’s not a very good swimmer,” I say.

“Peggy Sue,” Mrs. Halani says, and kneels beside me. “They’ll be found.”

But she doesn’t add “safe and sound.”

And Malina doesn’t say “no worry, beef curry.”

“I don’t feel so good,” I say, hobbling up. “Time for ginger ale.”

I pass by Mr. Halani’s chair, glance in the seat, then grab hold of the back to steady myself.

Big, bold, black headlines declare Hilo a disaster. Two dozen or more folks are dead. Over twenty are missing.

Malina races over and snatches the paper away. But I rip it out of her hand, hold it overhead, and open the front page.

Photos of deserted streets thick with mud, boulders, and lumber. Telephone poles all catawampus. Where a building once stood, ruins. A car with busted windows askew on top of all the muck. Is it Mama and Daddy’s?

It looks like someone crammed Hilo into a Mason jar topped with filthy water, shook it to death, and smashed it into the ground.

How did anyone survive?

I clutch my stomach, run to the nearest bathroom, and heave.