Island Fire

by Toby Neal

“Bye.” She moved out as Jaden disappeared down the slope toward the town. Bea gave the mare an extra scoop of expensive grain in her bucket back at the house and slipped inside.

  Nothing had changed in the hours she’d been gone—snores still reverberated from her dad’s room, and Sam’s door was still closed. She went into the bathroom and tucked a towel into the crack under the door to muffle the noise as she turned on the shower, stripping out of her soaked clothes and taking them into the galvanized metal surround with her. Under the fall of sun-warmed water they collected through a catchment system on the roof, she rinsed her clothing. Laundry was a bimonthly chore in town she preferred to put off as long as possible.

  Bea noticed some reef scrapes on her calves she hadn’t felt at the time, and there was a blister in the web of her right hand from holding the rubber loop cocked back on the spear. It didn’t matter. Tonight’s haul was well worth a few blisters and scrapes.

  She washed her long brown hair. Her mother’s Hawaiian heritage was most evident in the thick, luxurious carpet of hair, which her father refused to let her cut. Bea’s green eyes were the result of William’s blue crossed with her mother’s brown.

  She still remembered her mother, Angel, so well—the humor she’d used to handle William’s moods, the affection and hugs she’d lavished on the kids. “I love being Angel Whitely,” she’d say. “I can polish my halo all over town.”

  Her mother had failed to wake up one morning three years ago. An embolism, the doctors said. “Unforeseeable. A fluke.”

  Bea had tried and tried to wake her mother. Nothing had worked, even her attempts at CPR. She wished she could forget how it felt to try to blow life into her mother’s rubbery, cold lips, but the memory could still bring a wave of nausea and grief so paralyzing it bowed her over under the flow of warm water.

  When Bea thought of Mama, she felt tightness in her chest like a wall of tears—as if she’d start crying and never be able to stop. She knew Mama would have been sad to see what had happened to them without her. Bea’s aunt, Hilary Kanekoa, had tried repeatedly to have the kids come to Molokai to live on the family’s ranch as William’s drinking got worse, but this year he’d even put a stop to their annual summer visits to Molokai.

  Bea still heard him weeping at night. Maybe he just couldn’t handle being without them as well as Mama.

  Bea turned off the shower, frowning as she toweled off and noticed that her breasts were still growing. She was definitely going to have to get a bigger bra, a situation as challenging as her period starting six months ago—a monthly problem involving mess and secrecy. At almost sixteen, she was a late bloomer, but the changes in her body seemed to make her dad even more paranoid. Asking him for a larger bra would definitely lead to a lecture about staying pure like the Bible said, as if her breasts had a sinful mind of their own. As if she even saw any boys but Jaden.

  And where would she get a bra, on Lanai, where there were no real clothing stores? All the other families took their kids on the ferry to Maui, the main island, to shop at Walmart or Sears, but her father hadn’t taken them to Maui since their mother died.

  “I’ll just make it work,” she muttered, pulling on another tank top and a pair of loose pajama pants. Maybe Jaden’s mom could get her one—but how embarrassing to have to ask. She and Sam had a steady stream of hand-me-down clothes Jaden passed on from his big family, which included two sisters.

  Bea hung a dark sheet over the window of her small bedroom so she could sleep in and draped her long, damp hair over the pillow and off the end of the bed. Hopefully, it would dry by tomorrow.

  Chapter Four

  Sam awoke as soon as he heard Dad rustling in the other room. He tossed his quilt aside and limped into the kitchen, hoisting up loose pajama bottoms. He swung the basket open on the coffeemaker, took out the old grounds and filter and put them in the sealed can on the sink for garden mulch. He had a fresh pot of coffee brewing and was checking out the bag of eel chunks in the fridge when Dad came in—shuffling forward with the gait that said he was tired but the hangover wasn’t too bad.

  Sam closed the fridge door with a couple of eggs from their chickens in his hand. “Hey, Dad.”

  “Hi, son.” Dad ruffled his hair, heading for the coffee mugs hung in a row over the sink. “Making me breakfast?”

  “Yeah.” Sam took down the black iron skillet from its hook. “Want some fish? Bea caught some yesterday.”

  “Sure. Girl’s making up for sleeping in.”

  Sam bit his tongue on defending his sister. He could tell she must have been out very late, and now, at five a.m., the sun was barely staining the sky outside the window with morning pink. He took out a chunk of eel, rinsed it, and cut it into a couple of filets, setting them to cook alongside the eggs. Dad filled his mug with black coffee and headed outside to sit on the steps and wake up, his morning ritual.

  Sam sprinkled the filets—smelling delicious—with Lawry’s All Purpose Seasoning, one of their indulgences from the Lanai Market. He flipped the eggs just so, but broke one of the yolks. He felt his stomach clench.

  Dad came back in as Sam slid the eggs and eel filets onto the plate beside the stove.

  “Broke the yolk,” he said.

  “Sorry, Dad.” Sam braced himself but too late—the blow caught him on the side of the head, and he staggered sideways. His bad foot crumpled, and he almost fell, catching himself by grabbing the sink, hanging there awkwardly and hauling himself up.

  “Get it right. Thought your mother taught you how.” His father stood over him. Sam could hear him breathing, a low snorting through his nostrils like a bull about to charge. Sam held perfectly still, his ears ringing and vision blurry, waiting to see if there would be more. “If you got it right, I wouldn’t get mad like this. Now you’ve made me mad.”

  “I’m sorry, Dad,” Sam whispered. Shut his eyes. Braced himself with one hand on the sink. But the blow came from the other direction this time, and he flew the opposite way. His head caught on the handle of the still-hot frying pan as he went down. It followed him with a clatter, and the heated metal connected with Sam’s arm as he hit the floor, wrenching a cry out of him as he landed.

  “Leave him alone!” Bea’s shout sounded muffled to Sam from the other side of the room as he cradled his burned arm. “Stop it!”

  His father picked up the breakfast plate, moved away with it to the back door. “Don’t sass me, girl, or I’ll give you some, too.”

  The screen door slammed as Will Whitely went out onto the back porch with his breakfast.

  Bea murmured something as she knelt beside Sam, pulling him up, checking him over. His head was ringing too much to decipher the words. He kept his eyes shut, feeling those weak tears he could never seem to control squeeze out from under his eyelids. She hugged him and hauled him up to the sink, turning on the water and letting it run over the burn, and still he kept his eyes shut and felt the tears running. He held his breath so as not to make any noises.

  Noises just made Dad madder.

  He missed Mama with an ache that really never went away. The way Dad had been getting mean, keeping them home all the time and away from other people, made him want to run away. Like he could run anywhere, on an island as small as Lanai—and with his bad leg.

  Mrs. Apucan, Jaden’s mother, had asked him one time why he’d never had surgery to fix his foot. He didn’t really know how to answer her, and had ended up shrugging and silent.

  “Stop it, Bea,” Sam finally said, as Bea wiped his face with a wet cloth and put ice in the cloth to cover the burn. He worried one day his eardrum would pop. He wished Dad would hit him somewhere else—like his back or his arms. “I have to fix his lunch.”

  Lunch was Sam’s job. Things had a certain order that had to be followed. He pushed his sister away and limped over to the fridge. His knees were still a little wobbly, but the cool air of the fridge on his throbbing face felt good. He took out a homemade Spam musubi—rice and fried Spam wrapped in nori, pounded b
lack seaweed—a mango, and some cold leftover fish from dinner. He put the food in Dad’s lunch box. Bea helped, pouring the rest of the coffee into a thermos.

  Dad came back in. He’d put his work boots on and had finished his breakfast, and he put the plate in the sink. He addressed Bea like nothing had happened.

  “Get the seeds in from the garden and set them up to dry properly today. I’ll be checking both of your schoolwork tonight.”

  Bea folded her arms and glared at Dad without answering. Sam hurried to set the metal lunch box and thermos on the corner of the table.

  “Okay, Dad,” he said. “Have a good day at work.” It was what their mother had said to Dad every day when he left. It was what he wanted to hear, and Sam said it with feeling. He really did hope his dad had a good day at work.

  “Be good.” Dad picked up the lunch box and thermos. He walked out onto the porch, and the screen door slammed behind him.

  The coast was almost clear—Dad would be gone for another eight hours. Bea wiped down the table, and Sam washed Dad’s plate, listening for the sound of the truck’s engine firing up, the grumble of it pulling away. Sam didn’t relax until it faded into the distance.

  Bea had filled a couple of ziplock bags with ice, and she brought them to Sam as he turned away from the sink. “Put these on your face and on that burn.”

  He took the ice. “Okay.”

  “I’m going back to bed—Jaden and I worked hard last night.” She stomped away, like she was mad at him. Maybe she was. He never seemed able to get things right.

  Sam took the ice and his favorite comic and went to his bedroom. He wished he had a friend to read with—but no one ever came to their house, and Sam couldn’t walk to town. He put one ice bag on the burn and one on the cheek and eye he could feel getting puffy.

  He opened his comic. Batman would never put up with getting hit. Dark feelings choked Sam that he couldn’t swallow and he couldn’t speak.

  Chapter Five

  Nick was back on the plane after a stop in Scottsdale, Arizona, where they let the passengers off to stretch their legs while the plane refueled. He’d been tempted to work an area around a gate headed for Chicago, but the stress of the previous scare had him lying low.

  Nick stowed his backpack under the seat, setting his feet on his worldly possessions. A chatty-looking older woman took the seat beside him, and Nick pulled his hood deeper over his face and turned on his earbuds to tune her out in case she tried to talk to him. Cocooned in his self-made cave, eyes shut, he let himself think about what was going on.

  His grandparents had retired to Maui, and he hadn’t seen them since he was little. He hardly remembered them. His mom had been in college when she got pregnant with Nick, and she’d insisted on keeping him against their wishes. His dad was a fling and had never been part of their lives. Mom had dropped out of college and worked as a waitress, going to school on the side. She’d worked hard to become a nurse, only to die two years ago on an icy road when Nick was fourteen.

  His throat worked, thinking about it. He still raged inside at how wrong it was that she was gone—his hardworking, loving mom. They’d never had much, but he’d been on the narrow then. He’d wanted to make her proud.

  After she died, Nick had gone into foster care. In foster he’d met Dodger, a kid with fast hands and smooth moves who’d taught Nick a way to take control of his destiny.

  He and Dodger had worked together as a team, but Nick would never forget the manacle-like grip of the undercover cop he’d tried to dip closing around his wrist and his last glimpse of Dodger’s worried face before his friend melted into the crowd.

  At the station, his grandparents had been tracked down and contacted, given a chance to take him or he’d be put away in juvie until he was eighteen.

  They’d agreed to take him rather than see their only remaining flesh and blood locked up. Nick guessed they’d felt guilty about not taking him in the first place, though that wasn’t what he saw in his grandfather’s stern face in the Skype interview with Child Welfare Services.

  “This is your chance to get back on the right path, Nick,” his grandfather had rumbled, snowy brows pulled together over deep-set blue eyes he recognized as his own.

  “We can’t wait to see you, honey,” his grandma said, reaching out a hand as if she could touch him through the computer screen. “You should have come here right away, but we—we had a hard time after Amanda died.”

  They had a hard time. Like he hadn’t. He didn’t think they really wanted him; they were just embarrassed to turn him away in front of Social Services. Nick gritted his teeth. He moved his hands to feel the thickness of the money belt around his waist.

  Every time he dipped, he got a thrill that made him feel good, like anything was possible. Unfortunately, the thrill didn’t last long, but anything was possible with enough money. If he didn’t like it at the grandparents’, he could take his stolen IDs and go somewhere else. Maybe find Dodger, move out to California. Find his dad, even—a scary idea he’d toyed with over the years. In the meantime, by working the airport he was set up nicely for whatever Maui had in store.

  Still holding the money belt, he finally relaxed enough to fall asleep.

  Someone was pounding on her door. Bea sat up and threw aside the quilt her mother had sewn years ago from old jeans backed by a flannel sheet, worn soft by washings.

  “What?” Bea called, pushing frizzing hair out of her eyes. At least it had finally dried. She’d had trouble falling back asleep after the all-too-familiar scene in the kitchen. She’d been so angry with Dad, and as usual, there was nowhere to go with those feelings.

  Sam opened the door, putting his head in. One side of his face was red and puffy, the eye swelling with purple. “Bea, it’s almost lunchtime.”

  “Oh, thanks.” Bea swung her legs out of bed. “That’s some shiner you’ve got. Did you put ice on it?”

  She knew her voice came out hard, but she couldn’t seem to help it. Sam’s injury made her mad at Dad all over again. Sometimes it seemed like Sam thought it was him she was mad at.

  “Yeah. Just wanted to wake you so we can get our schoolwork done. Dad said he wants to see it.”

  “Yeah. He’ll check it. He always does.” In addition to all the chores to keep the household running, Bea and Sam had a fairly rigorous homeschool curriculum to get through.

  “I made some breakfast for you,” Sam said. Bea smelled eggs cooking and something with a fishy tang. “That eel must’ve been huge.”

  “Yeah, last night was crazy.” Bea bundled her hair into a knot at the back of her head as she followed her brother into the kitchen. She recounted how she’d pinned the eel and Jaden had hacked its head off underwater. Sam had done her eggs just like she liked, over hard with some leftover rice and a slab of eel cooked with garlic and margarine, all of it filling the pan. “Oh my God, I’m so hungry.”

  She went over and hugged Sam with one arm as she looked into the frying pan full of delicious food, the same frying pan that had left a red burn on her brother’s thin brown arm.

  All her regrets and fears about Dad rose up to choke her in an inarticulate wave. Dad smacked her sometimes, but nothing like what he did to Sam. She’d never understand it, and somehow she had to make it stop.

  Beosith, she thought, her eyes closing as she squeezed her little brother tightly. Help us!

  It was the first time she’d reached out to her `aumakua that way. But things were only getting worse with Dad. The abuse just had to stop.

  I’ll try. The mo’o dragon sent a warm feeling of reassurance to her, and she clung to it. She had a feeling he’d just been waiting for her to ask for help.

  “I’m hungry, too.” Sam served them, and Bea carried their plates to the table. She lifted her head in alarm to look at Sam. “Did Dad ask about the eel? Where it came from?”

  “No. He knows you go fishing.”

  Bea took a bite of the eel. The meat was pure white, surprisingly light and springy wit
h a texture like lobster. “This is so good.”

  “Thanks. It’s awesome how you guys keep getting us food. And money.” Sam stirred his eggs with his fork, his eyes downcast. “Wish I could come with you.”

  “Maybe another time. There’s only room on Rainbow for two. I also want you to keep an eye on Dad, keep him distracted if he wakes up. I mean, he’d have a hemorrhage if he caught me outside the house at night—not to mention with a boy.”

  “I know.” They each had their job to do. “I got that toaster oven fixed. You can take it into town on your next run.”

  Bea finished the last of the food, her tummy settling into happy contentment. “Thanks, Sam. Let’s do the gardening after we get schoolwork done, and then we can go down for a swim and cool off.”

  “Okay.” Sam carried his plate to the sink, moving with that dragging limp from his bad foot. Bea felt familiar anger looking at his bent dark head as he washed the dishes—Sam never complained, but his disability was unfair and should have been fixed.

  Bea took their books down off the shelf and cleared away the last of the meal so they could do their schoolwork at the table. She took out the dog-eared teacher’s guide, which adults were supposed to use to coach the lessons, but other than choosing a highly rated curriculum and paying top dollar for it, their father hadn’t once looked at the guide.

  Today they were doing a lesson on Latin roots in science and their connections to the romance languages. They had the same lesson in a tenth-grade and seventh-grade version. She wondered if the public school kids had Latin and decided she’d ask Jaden tonight.

  Jaden was her lifeline to the outside world, just as she was Sam’s.

  Bea remembered the strange light phenomena and wondered if Jaden had learned anything. She turned on the radio to the news channel—nothing but static. She rotated the dial through all the stations, but still nothing came in.

  After several hours of schoolwork, they went outside and worked in the garden—a big rectangular plot in full sun. They both wore bathing suits to keep their clothes clean.