Here Today, Gone to Maui (32 page)

Suzy opened her mouth to protest, but Sergeant Hosozawa gave her one of his scary looks. She nodded and backed out of the room.

Sergeant Hosozawa took a step toward the cameraman. “If a video of this shows up on the Internet or on TV or even in your goddamn living room, I will throw your ass in jail.”

Sergeant Hosozawa was my new favorite person.

Tiara didn’t let the disruption ruin her moment. As soon as she had an opening, she fell to her knees and clasped her hands. “Jimmy. You have hurt me. You have lied to me. But these past few days, believing you were dead, I realized how much you meant to me. Without you, life is not worth living.” She got back on her feet and blinked back tears. Or maybe dust. “Jimmy Studebaker,” she said, “if loving you is wrong, I don’t want to be right.”

Beside me, Sergeant Hosozawa muttered something that sounded an awful lot like “what the fuck.” (Days later, a tape of Tiara’s speech showed up on YouTube. I think she had a recorder hidden in her bra.)

While Tiara delivered her speech, Jimmy spun around on the bed and put his feet on the floor, facing her. Once she’d dropped her head to let us all know that the monologue was over, he said, “I’ll never leave you again, baby, you have my word.”

“Actually, you will be leaving her,” the sergeant said. “You’re going to jail.”

“So you’re saying the ring
was
for Tiara,” I said to Jimmy, still looking for clarification. When he didn’t answer, I blurted, “I thought
I
was your baby. Couldn’t you give her a different pet name, at least?”

Jimmy blinked at me before his face crumpled with an emotion that I would have labeled shame if he had anything resembling a conscience. “You’re such a good person, Jane. I thought maybe some of that would rub off. Like, if I was with you, I could be different. Better. I wanted so bad to make it work.” He shook his head. “But the truth is, I’m not good enough for you, Jane. I never was.”

“No shit,” I muttered.

 

 

Soon after that, Jimmy, with a police escort, went into the bathroom to put on clothes (linen khakis and a Tommy Bahama shirt—both purchased in the hotel and charged to the room). The police snapped on the handcuffs, draped a jacket over them, and hauled Jimmy away.

Tiara, wailing, tried to follow, but Sergeant Hosozawa wouldn’t let her. Instead she stood in the doorway, calling, “I love you, Jimmy! No matter who you are!”

When Jimmy disappeared around the corner, she came back into the room, her eyes suspiciously dry.

“I’d better go,” she said, forcing a sniffle. “The newspeople will be waiting downstairs.”

Suddenly it hit me.

“How long have you known?” I demanded.

Her eyes widened: surprise, confusion. She bit her lip: vulnerability. “I never knew about you, Jane. I swear.”

“That’s not what I meant. How long have you known that Jimmy was alive?”

Her jaw dropped: shock! “The police called me about an hour ago. I called Suzy, and we rushed right over.”

“Cut the crap, Tiara. You knew he was alive all along, didn’t you?”

Her eyebrows knitted (concern). “Is that really what you believe?”

I ran the last week through my mind. “I think you really believed he was gone at first. And maybe you thought the dead body was his. But I think he called you. I think you knew.”

Her eyes narrowed with calculation before reverting to wide-eyed vulnerability. “I’m hurt that you’d believe something like that, Jane. Really, really hurt.”

 

 

“Do you think she knew?” I asked Michael once she’d left.

“Hard to say.” He was standing at the thermostat, turning off the air-conditioning. “For her, it was the role of a lifetime—whether he was dead or not.” He looked at me. “But you might be right. Are you going to tell the police?”

I shrugged. “There’s nothing to tell—no proof, no admission. And I don’t think she helped him, so she’s not really an accessory to the crime.” I shook my head. “I just want to move past all of this.” I rubbed my arm. It really was cold in here.

The air-conditioning off, Michael slid open the glass door. Immediately the smell of salt and the sound of waves filled the room. I followed him out to the lanai. The moon—and about a thousand tiki torches—lit a wonderland of tropical pools, a wide white-sand beach, and the Pacific beyond.

“So, what now?” Michael asked, leaning on the railing and gazing out.

I took a deep breath, enjoying the damp air in my lungs. “I’ll go home, take a little time off. I’ve been meaning to paint my bathroom. I’ll close out my job at Wills, if they want me to. After that, the usual—update my résumé and start making phone calls. With any luck, someone will be looking for an anal-retentive stalker.”

Michael grinned and turned his head. He looked younger in the moonlight, softer, like a college kid who hasn’t been toughened by life. “No. I mean, what about right now? Do you want to come back to Trey’s? Or would you rather stay by the airport?”

That’s right: I’d need a place to sleep tonight. Above us, airplane lights twinkled alongside the stars. One of those planes might be mine—it was supposed to leave right about now—and here I was, standing on a lanai. The air smelled so sweet.

I looked back into the room. It was large and restful, decorated in beige and grays and potted palms. The bed was enormous, covered with a fluffy white comforter and lots of pillows. In the closet there was probably another white cotton robe like the one Jimmy had worn.

“I think I’ll stay here,” I said, surprising myself. “In this room. I’m paying for it, anyway. Getting to the airport tomorrow shouldn’t be a big deal—they must have a shuttle.”

“You’re going to stay . . . in Jimmy’s room?”

“It’s not really Jimmy’s room,” I said. “He didn’t pay for it.” I gazed at the room, imagining myself in it. “Did you see that big Jacuzzi tub? I can’t remember the last time I took a bath.” My shoulders relaxed at the very thought of the warm jets.

“In the morning I’ll order room service,” I continued. “No matter what it costs. And I’ll eat it out on the lanai.” Below us, the hotel’s multilevel pools shone like enormous sapphires. “And then, before checkout, I’ll go swimming. I mean—look at that! It’s like a water park!”

Michael squinted at me. For once in my life, I had managed to surprise someone. “Your credit-card company won’t like that,” he said. “They may not even reimburse you.”

I nodded. He was right.

“You know what?” I said. “I really don’t care.”

Jimmy got three years in prison. Since the prison is in Honolulu, I can’t feel that bad for him.

Tiara got her own TV show. I found out about it while reading the paper one day:

 

“THE BACHELOR”—WITH BARS

 

Ball and Chain
was canceled after one barely watched episode. Last I saw (while channel surfing late one night), Tiara has moved on to a cable news show, where she’s the entertainment correspondent. Now when she flutters her fingers, a chunky diamond sparkles on her left hand; as soon as she realized that the prison-love angle wasn’t going to get her anywhere, she ditched Jimmy for a Lakers player.

As for me, I really did spend the night at the Grand Wailea. Michael said good-bye and drove back to Trey’s house, so you can stop thinking your dirty little thoughts. The next night, I flew the red-eye home. The airline didn’t even penalize me for missing my original flight. The jury’s still out on the hotel charge.

Once back in Brea, I painted my bathroom turquoise, cleaned out my personal filing cabinet (being careful to shred all outdated statements), and got rid of everything that reminded me of Jimmy (except the television . . . and the couch . . . and the bed . . . and . . . well, I threw out a couple of greeting cards, anyway).

Then I repainted my bathroom—tan this time—because the turquoise was way too bright.

Neither my Korean dry cleaner nor the checkers at Trader Joe’s recognized me as the woman from Maui, thank God. My hairdresser treated me like a celebrity, introducing me to everyone who walked by (the shampoo girls, other clients, hairspray sales reps) as “Jane Shea. You know—Jane Shea? Plain Jane from Maui—her boyfriend disappeared?”

The next month, I went to a new, quieter hairdresser and told her to get rid of all of those annoying, hard-to-style layers.

I thought about Michael every once in a while. Okay, I thought about Michael a lot. I could have easily Googled him or checked his Web site, but once again I decided that self-respect mattered more than knowledge—especially since knowledge wouldn’t get me anywhere.

 

 

And then I ran into him. It was the following November. My hair was unwashed, my face free of makeup (unless you count remnants from the previous day), my eyes tired and baggy. My clothes were no better: old black sweatpants and a pilled fleece pullover, a faded one-piece bathing suit underneath. Naturally, Michael recognized me immediately.

We were on a dock in Long Beach, waiting to board a dive boat bound for Catalina Island. It was so early in the morning, the sun had just started to peek over the horizon. I was stumbling across the dock with my bag and tank, trying to spot someone from my dive class, when I found myself looking up at Michael: tall, tan, and fully awake.

“You’re a diver now?” he asked, grinning. He looked different somehow, more relaxed. He was wearing jeans and a black sweatshirt and carrying his dive gear as if it weighed nothing.

“This is my last dive for certification,” I said, heart racing (from coffee, I told myself). Truthfully, I hadn’t enrolled in the certification course out of any love for the sport. Rather, I was annoyed at myself for giving up so easily the first time, as if getting water up my nose was the worst thing that could happen.

Since coming back from Maui, I’d pushed myself to try other things, too: a cooking group, a book club, yoga. (I was bad at the yoga; when I was supposed to be concentrating on my breathing, I made to-do lists in my head.) Through a local charity group, I’d helped organize a clothing drive for a women’s shelter; next month I’d be collecting toys for Christmas. My busy schedule left me no time for dating—which was fine with me.

“Do you like diving?” Michael asked.

I considered. “I don’t like getting up so early. And the gear can be a headache. But when I’m down there, under the water, I’m just . . .
there
. In the moment. I’m not so good at that on land.”

I remembered being out in the water with Michael, seeing the turtles, squealing into my snorkel. It seemed like something out of a dream.

“Nobody is,” he said.

“What’ve you been up to?” I asked (getting out of the moment). “How’s work?”

“I sold my business a few months ago,” he said. (Aha! That’s what was different: no phone!) “A Chinese sportswear company offered me more than it was worth. I couldn’t really say no.”

“So are you retired now?” What was he? Thirty-five?

He shook his head. “They didn’t pay me
that
much. No, I’m just taking some time off, trying to figure out my next step.”

“Did you ever make it to Australia?” I asked.

He raised his eyebrows. “You remember that? Yeah, I did, actually. Just got back a couple of weeks ago. It was awesome.”

Had he gone alone? It was none of my business.

“Plus I’ve been spending a lot of time in Maui,” he continued. “I bought a condo in Wailea—not big, but it’s right on the beach.”

“Nice.”

“You should visit some time.”

I was all set to blurt out, “I’d love to!” when I realized that was just something people say—like, “Stop by when you’re in the neighborhood.” As if I’d ever find myself in Wailea.

“It must be nice,” I said instead. “Having all this free time.”

He ran a hand through his hair, which was longer than it had been in Maui. “I hate it. If I don’t start working soon, I’m going to lose my mind.”

I nodded with understanding. “Yeah, I didn’t really like my time off, either. It was only a couple of months, though. And I managed to do some traveling—went down to Florida.”

I hadn’t seen my father since my college graduation, over ten years earlier. It shocked me to see how much older he had gotten. In my mind, he always looked the way he did when I was fourteen. Elise, on the other hand, looked suspiciously frozen in time. I still didn’t like her—couldn’t imagine that I ever would—but I appreciated how well she took care of my father.