Anywhere but Paradise (21 page)

Mrs. Halani helps me upstairs and I fall back into bed.

Dinner Sounds

SLURPING CHICKEN
and rice soup: me.

Screechy knife cutting pork chop: David.

Chewing carrot and raisin salad: Malina.

Clearing throat: Mr. Halani.

Humming a slow song: Mrs. Halani.

Silence: Radio. TV. Phone.

The Call

SOMEONE CALLS MY NAME.

I open my eyes. Malina stands over me. The room is daylight bright, but it’s dark outside. “The phone. Hurry. It’s for you.”

My heart ticks up and I bolt out of bed.

“I can’t believe you didn’t hear it ringing,” says Malina as we tear down the stairs.

“What time is it?”

“After midnight.”

“Here she is,” says Mrs. Halani. Her eyes shimmer as she hands me the phone.

“Hello.”

“Peggy …” The person on the other end is crying.

“Mama? Mama, is that you?”

“Yes, yes, Peggy Sue, it’s me. Your daddy’s right here, too. How’s our girl? And our cat?”

“You’re okay? I miss you.”

“We’re okay. We miss you, too. It’s so good to hear your voice. We finally got through once, earlier today, but no one answered.”

I must have been asleep or at the beach.

“When are you coming home?”

“Tomorrow afternoon. It’s the first flight we could get. We can’t wait to see you. We’ll all visit Howdy.”

“That sounds great, Mama. Really great.”

We talk a little more. A lot actually.

The Naniloa Hotel evacuated all the guests and transported them to another hotel.

I tell them Mr. Santos called to say Howdy is still purring.

I don’t mention my stitches.

When I hang up, realization sinks in—my horrible wish didn’t come true.

About Kahuna

I SCRAMBLE DOWNSTAIRS
Tuesday morning as soon as I wake up. It’s just after eight, but I slept so hard again that I didn’t hear Malina leave for school.

Mrs. Halani sits at the dining room table with index cards spread out before her.
Hula O Maki
reads one.
Po La‘i La‘i
, another. Dances for the recital.

“I didn’t dream that phone call, did I?”

“It was real,” she says, and reaches out her hand. I take it and squeeze it tight. “Your parents are okay.”

“They’re coming back this afternoon,” I say, my eyes filling.

“Before you know it,” she says as she moves a strand of hair behind my ear. “Now, tell me how your head is today.”

“Much better.” Which is true.

“I’m so glad to hear that. The doctor will be, too.
Remember, you’ve got an appointment this morning. Why don’t you take a quick bath and then I’ll fix you breakfast?”

“Has Kahuna come home?”

“I’m afraid not,” says Mrs. Halani. “And he probably won’t.”

My eyes fill in an instant. “I wanted to save him.”

“Of course you did,” Mrs. Halani says. “But it wasn’t your fault.”

“If only I’d made Mr. Halani find the vet right then and there.”

Tears overflow and plop on my nightgown.

Mrs. Halani lifts my chin and looks me in the eyes. Hers eyes are tender. “Kahuna was a good dog, Peggy Sue. Mr. Halani did what he thought was right. He’s made sure folks know Kahuna’s last whereabouts. No one has found him. We have to let Kahuna go.”

“I don’t want Kiki to be mad at me.”

Mrs. Halani moves her hand to my shoulder. “Kiki made a mistake.”

I tilt my head.

“She wasn’t supposed to let him out. Everyone is sorry and upset and sad. It was a tragic accident. We can’t change the past. We can only take it from here.”

“I want to see her.”

“Are you sure?” asks Mrs. Halani.

“Positive,” I say. “This morning.”

“Then I’ll make the call.”

After the doctor declares me fit for school but excused for PE, we drive to Kiki’s house. She didn’t go to school today either.

With Mrs. Halani beside me, I knock on the door of the small, white wood-frame house. Right away it opens.

Whoa. It’s the woman from the luau who wore the tapa print muumuu. The one who was sorry my family moved in next door. The one whose husband got passed over by a haole.

“Hello, Pua,” says Mrs. Halani.

Kiki’s mother looks directly at me. Her eyes narrow. “So you’re the haole troublemaker.”

Chills prickle my shoulder blades.

“Enough,” says Mrs. Halani.

“Kiki’s not here,” she says. “She’s looking for her dog.”

“I am very, very sorry about Kahuna,” I say. “I feel awful that he’s still missing. Kahuna was”—my throat starts to close—“Kahuna is a very special dog. I know Kiki misses him very much. I’ve tried to look, too. I hope he’s still out there and will come home soon.”

I’m not ready to give up on him. Miracles happen.

“He’s her best friend, you know,” says Kiki’s mom.

I lower my head. I know how Kiki feels about Kahuna. I do. He is as special as Howdy. I take a deep breath and look up. “Will you please tell Kiki what I said?”

“Okay.”

Maybe Kiki will understand. Maybe she won’t hate me even more.

Mrs. Halani puts her arm around me and leads me back to the car.

Reunion

AT THREE O’CLOCK,
Malina and I sit on my front steps and wait. Wait for my parents to return. There’s not a cloud, gray or white, in view.

“Now I’m positive you saw Pele Sunday night,” says Malina.

“How can you be so sure?”

“She was old, had long white hair and a white dog.”

“Yes, but—”

“You said you warned her about the wave.”

“Yes, but—”

“That’s helping, right?”

“I guess.”

“And now your parents are safe, so she helped you back. Right?”

“Yes.” I remember David saying that Madame Pele had a heart.

“Did she look like a beggar, wear old clothes?” Malina asks.

“I’m not sure. I don’t remember.”

“No worry. Last question. What color was her muumuu?”

“Red. I do remember that. It was red.”

“If it was red or white, it was her, then. Definitely her.”

I guess it’s possible.

A horn honks twice and our blue station wagon rolls into the drive. I jump to my feet and hold a
WELCOME BACK
poster above my head.

Daddy and Mama wave out the windows.

“They’re here,” we shout, so Mrs. Halani will come, too.

Before Daddy turns off the engine, Mama is out of the car with her arms open wide.

I drop the poster and run.

We squeeze each other until we almost pop. Then Daddy, too.

“I’m so glad you’re back,” I say.

“We love you,” says Mama.

“I love you, too,” I say.

“Welcome back,” say Mrs. Halani and Malina, holding a bowl of mangoes and papayas for us.

“Thank you,” Mama says. “We’re just here for a minute. We need to drive Peggy Sue to see our cat. Only sixty-six more days.”

Mama has been counting, too.

We pass Howdy from arms to arms to arms and back again. We all agree that he feels like he’s gained weight.

He never stops purring.

On our way out, I ask Mr. Santos where they took the animals when the sirens sounded. He looks to Daddy.

“She needs to hear the truth. Unvarnished.”

“They weren’t evacuated,” Mr. Santos says.

I press my hand to my forehead. I can’t imagine … Actually, I can.

If the wave had hit the quarantine station, I wouldn’t have Howdy.

I never, ever want that siren to blow for real again.

Lava Rocks