Leaving Lana'i

by Edie Claire

  “Not even a picture?” Gloria asked.

  Maddie struggled to figure out the question. Had Kai seen any recent pictures of her? “No!” she replied shortly. “Why would he? We haven’t been in touch.”

  “Not at all?”

  Maddie turned and exhaled with impatience. “No!”

  An evil-looking smile broke out on Gloria’s lips and spread slowly up her cheeks. “Oh,” she said in a low voice. “This is good. This is soo good!” She squealed with glee, kicked her feet on the floorboards, and pounded her palms on the steering wheel. The truck swerved sharply to the left into the path of an oncoming jeep.

  “Gloria!” Maddie cried, leaning over to grab the wheel.

  “I got it, I got it!” Gloria protested, righting the wheel and safely passing. She threw a dismissive wave in the direction of the jeep. “It’s a rental. They don’t know who I am.” She chortled again. “Oh, Kai is so screwed!”

  “Excuse me?” Maddie was getting annoyed. If there was a joke involved, she wanted in on it. “Explain, please.”

  But Gloria would only smile that annoying smile of hers. “Let’s just say it’s complicated. I don’t know what Kai was like when he was ten, but I think it’s safe to say he’s changed since you knew him. A lot.”

  Maddie felt a pang of disappointment on top of her annoyance. Everybody changed when they grew up. She couldn’t expect Kai not to change at all. But “a lot” didn’t sound good. She had liked him the way he was. “Oh?”

  “Yeah,” Gloria continued. “I mean, I was pretty little when he still lived at home, but I remember he was more laid back then. After he went to the mainland for college he got all stuffed up, you know?”

  Maddie did not know. “All… ‘stuffed up?’ Like… snobby?”

  “No, no,” Gloria corrected. “Not stuffy-snobby like ‘I’m better than you.’ More like ‘I know better than you.’”

  Maddie considered, then breathed a little easier. “Well, he was always like that.”

  Maddeningly, Gloria shook her head. “No, it’s different. It’s the whole morality thing. His grandparents screwed him up. They’re all super-religious and everything.”

  Maddie was confused. “What grandparents?” Nana’s husband had died ages ago. Kai’s father’s parents had always lived on the island and, as far as Maddie could remember, were not particularly religious.

  “The ones in Utah,” Gloria said impatiently. “That’s where he went to college.”

  Maddie’s head spun. Kai had relatives in Utah? Deep in the back of her brain, a lone bell began to chime. Actually, she knew that. Kai had mentioned family on the mainland more than once. She didn’t remember his calling them “grandparents,” but his family was multi-faceted and vast, they used all sorts of relational terms in ways that made no sense to her, and she’d had little interest in the topic at the time. She was jealous enough of the plethora of aunts, uncles, and cousins he had spread all over the islands — to know that he also had relatives on the mainland, when her own tribe was so sparse and unworldly by comparison, was just plain annoying.

  “When did he come back?” Maddie asked, her heart racing suddenly. “Is he here now?”

  Gloria looked at her as if she were stupid. “He doesn’t live here. He’s a lawyer. There’s no jobs. But he comes over pretty often.” She grinned again. “And I would really like to be there when he gets a load of you.”

  Maddie relaxed a little, but as she sensed a theme to Gloria’s comments, she frowned. “And what exactly does his relatives in Utah being super religious have to do with me?”

  Gloria squirmed a bit. “Well, no offense or anything. It’s just that you’re… well, you know. Like, hot. And he’s got this… well…”

  As her voice trailed off to nothing, Maddie resisted a strong urge to scream. “This what?” she prompted finally.

  “Oh, crap!” Gloria spouted, removing her foot from the accelerator. “What day is it?”

  Now Maddie really wanted to scream. “Tuesday,” she forced out.

  “Crap!” Gloria repeated. She slowed the truck to a crawl, which wasn’t difficult, since she had been driving slowly ever since they reached town. City drivers were rarely in a hurry. “I totally forgot!” she wailed. “Dad got off early from the lodge today! He probably went over to Nana’s to work on her yard, and I was supposed to clean up the truck!”

  They coasted slowly through the last block before reaching the park, and Maddie was once again distracted by the happy familiarity of her surroundings. Some things had changed, but far more things were beautifully, fantastically, the same. “That’s new,” she murmured, pointing at the police station, which was across the street from the one she remembered.

  “No, it’s not!” Gloria argued absently, pulling the truck into the first empty spot near the grassy side of the town’s central park. She turned off the engine, flipped herself around, and threw her top half over the seatback. “Crap!” she said for the third time.

  Maddie twisted around to look at the back seat, and was not surprised to see mounds of trash, plenty of red dust, some wet beach towels, flip-flops, and at least two empty beer bottles. With the wind no longer blowing, the vehicle had a distinct aroma as well.

  “It was bad enough before,” Gloria lamented, her upside-down face completely obscured by a curtain of dangling black hair as she thrashed around in the mess. “But then Dylan had to invite his stupid friend to come along! They even left their damn bottles!”

  “It smells like marijuana, too, by the way,” Maddie offered.

  Gloria stopped in mid thrash. One thin hand rose and pulled her hair away from her eyes. “Seriously?” she squeaked.

  “Seriously.”

  A string of increasingly unpleasant words poured from Gloria’s mouth.

  Maddie reached for her backpack. “Look, I can just walk to Nana’s from here, okay?” she offered, getting out of the truck. “You do whatever you need to do. I’ll see you at dinner.”

  Gloria plopped back down in the front seat. “You’re coming to dinner?” she asked sullenly.

  Maddie nodded.

  Gloria’s eyes met hers, the question within them unspoken, but painfully obvious. Was Maddie on her side, or was she a stinking narc? In a flash, Maddie felt some possible insight into Gloria’s seeming resentment of her big brother. Kai was, no doubt, disapproving of some of his little sister’s “moral choices.” And for that, Maddie could hardly blame him. If she ever caught her own twin stepbrothers, who were also seventeen, driving around with open beer bottles in a truck that reeked of pot, her reaction would be no more endearing.

  But Gloria wasn’t her sister.

  “I’m anxious to see Puffles,” Maddie added.

  Gloria’s shoulders relaxed a little. Her lips curved into a smile. “He’ll be there.”

  Chapter 4

  Maddie walked out into the open green space of the park, took in a deep lungful of the cool, fragrant air, and smiled from ear to ear. Home. Lana'i City looked, smelled, and felt absolutely heavenly. She bent down and picked up a fallen “leaf” from one of the Cook Island pine trees. The structure looked as bizarre as she remembered, consisting of multiple leathery needles twisted into a length of braid the width of a child’s finger. The leaves burst out of each branch in clusters like nests of snakes, all the way up and down the tall trunks. She twisted the now-brown, leathery segment in her hands, trying to tie it in a knot, as she had done so many times before. As always, it bent nicely but would break when pushed too far. She never had managed to make a necklace or bracelet of them, although if memory served, she did make a passable Christmas wreath once.

  She raised her eyes and studied the view. The old plantation-style buildings along the long sides of the park looked much the same, although they had all gotten a facelift and fresh landscaping. There was a new ice cream shop near the corner, but the gym and the church across the street were just as she remembered. The children’s playground inside the park had been completely replac
ed and updated and— Oh, my. The “old man” bench!

  Maddie stared at the distant, seated figures for only a second, then averted her eyes. She couldn’t bear to look. She knew that many of the men she remembered likely would not be there anymore. How many times had she skipped up to the old man bench, eager for a smile — and possibly a quarter — from old Mr. Li or Mr. Kalaw? How many times had old Mr. Hiraga bellowed out his grand greeting: “Akage-chan!” which meant “little red-headed girl?” They had considered her a horrible pest, no doubt, but Maddie had loved them all anyway, with the possible exception of Mr. Puyat, who smelled like fish and never smiled or said a word to her. But in her child’s mind, even he had been a part of her family. She wouldn’t look now, but she would ask Nana about them. And then she would be back.

  She turned and walked toward the recreational complex across the street. One of the perks of living in a planned community was having a variety of wholesome amusements centrally located, including a baseball field, pool, library, and movie theater, and — at various points in the past — a bowling alley and live playhouse. Maddie glanced in the direction of the baseball field with a smile. Kai had been good at baseball. He was getting very good around the time she left, which was a frustration because it took up so much of his time. She herself was a fast runner and could hold her own at anything that required brute strength, but fine motor skills had never been her forte, and connecting a skinny bat with a ball had been beyond her even if she had the patience to stand around in an outfield, which she did not.

  She reached the far corner of the park, and her heart skipped a beat. Here it was. Lana'i Elementary and High School. A silly grin spread across her face, and her feet slowed. The K-12 facility was no architectural wonder: it consisted of a series of unremarkable long, narrow one-story buildings scattered across a grassy lawn. School was out and the campus was quiet, but Maddie’s mind easily recreated the sounds of children talking and laughing as she walked, and she found herself whisked back in time to a memory of her first day at school.

  This is Madalyn, her first grade teacher had said, standing her in front of the class. Mrs. Eda had been a tiny woman with a beautiful voice like a tinkling bell which the children had to strain to hear, but she managed to keep control of the class with — ironically enough — an actual cow bell that she would clang loudly whenever she needed to get everyone’s attention. She prefers to be called Maddie. She comes from the mainland, from the state of Ohio. Her father works at the resorts. Would everyone please say hello to Maddie? The children repeated the greeting like robots, their faces neither welcoming nor hostile. Well, a couple of the boys looked hostile, but Maddie thought most of her new classmates seemed more curious than anything. Is there anything anyone would like to ask Maddie? the teacher prompted.

  A half-dozen girls had raised their hands. Do you dye your hair? the first asked.

  Maddie remembered being confused by the question. She didn’t know any six-year-olds who dyed their hair. Dye it what color? she had asked.

  The girl had frowned at her. THAT color!

  Oh, Maddie had replied, understanding. No. It just grows this way.

  There had been no more questions for Maddie.

  Do you have any questions you would like to ask your classmates, Maddie? The teacher had offered politely. The children appeared to be done with her. They were already getting out their notebooks for their first class. But Maddie had not been done with them.

  Grown-up Maddie let out a giggle. How much of what she was remembering was accurate and how much had she unintentionally editorialized over time, she had no way of knowing. But the memory, such as it was, was etched quite clearly in her brain.

  The teacher probably hadn’t expected Maddie to have any questions. Particularly after such a lukewarm reception by her classmates. But Mrs. Eda hadn’t known whom she was dealing with. Miss Madalyn Westover from the Buckeye State hadn’t a shy bone in her husky, oversized, tomboyish body, she had been waiting for this moment for months, and once given her golden opportunity for the floor, she had not shut up for at least half an hour. She asked about the school, the town, and the houses. She wanted to know about the beaches, the fish, and the dolphins. She wondered what was up in the mountains, what plants you could eat, which insects might kill you, and whether any of the other kids had ever seen a ghost. She wanted to know if it was true that it never snowed, and if they worried about the volcano erupting again, and if any of the trees on the island were good for climbing. Once the class actually started answering her questions, the discussion got so lively it might have gone on all day if Mrs. Eda hadn’t tactfully put a stop to it.

  Maddie reached the street corner at the far edge of the school and looked up. Her neighborhood. Nothing in Lana'i City was very far from anything else, but she could have literally crawled to school if necessary, which was nice. As she contemplated crossing the street she was struck by another memory of that day, this one equally suspect. On her way home there had been a boy from her class crossing in front of her, heading the same direction she intended to go. He was a little guy, and he was terribly cute. She had noticed him earlier because he seemed smart, especially in math. He hadn’t said anything when she was asking all the questions, but he had almost smiled back at her once, and that was all the encouragement she had needed.

  She had barreled across the street and run right up to him. Hi. Do you live on this street, too?

  He had seemed surprised by her boldness and didn’t answer her. She had been surprised by his surprise, and figured he must be shy. What’s your name?

  Kai, he had answered in a deadpan, not really looking at her. In fact, he had looked back over his shoulder, as if concerned they might be seen.

  Shy Kai, Maddie had thought to herself, not realizing that the nickname was well-entrenched already. Do you like Sabina? she babbled. Sabina was the only other haole in their class. There were two haole boys in the other first grade class, but Maddie hadn’t met them yet. She had only met Sabina, whom she had pegged as a snob within five minutes and had come to dislike intensely within an hour. Sabina spoke with a funny accent, acted like she was better than everybody else because of whatever stupid job her dad had, and derived pleasure solely from making fun of other girls’ hair and clothing.

  Kai had looked at Maddie when she’d asked that question. He looked at her like she was a puzzle he was trying to figure out. No, he had replied.

  I don’t either, Maddie agreed. Do you like math?

  Yes, he had answered more quickly, almost defiantly. Maddie noted an intriguing flash of rebelliousness in his pretty brown eyes.

  Me too! she had gushed. Do you like me?

  There had been a long, long pause. As well there should have been, Maddie thought in retrospect. What a pushy little brat she was!

  I don’t know yet, Kai had answered.

  Which was, no doubt, the truth. They reached Maddie’s house. Do you want to come in and have a double chocolate chunk cookie? she had asked. My grandma made them. We brought them with us from Ohio.

  Kai had considered through another long pause before rendering his final decision, which he delivered in the same serious, steady voice.

  Yes.

  Maddie chuckled at the memory only to realize, with a start, that she actually was standing in front of her old house. She raised her eyes to take in the small, squarish, clapboard building with its center-peaked metal roof, wide eaves, and tiny cut-out-of-the-corner front porch just big enough for one person to get out of the rain. The cottage had been built to house workers on the pineapple plantation and had no more living space than a single-wide trailer, but Maddie had been comfortable here. She and her parents had shared a kitchen, a living area, and one bathroom, and there was one small bedroom for them and one very small one for her. The house sat on stilts to keep out the damp and the bugs, and though it was painted a dull beige color now, in Maddie’s day it had been a cheerful pastel blue.

  She stood still, staring at it. She
felt like she was waiting for something to happen, but when she quizzed herself, she could not determine what. Of the ten short years she had lived with her mother, the five she should remember best had happened here.

  And yet, oddly, she felt very little. There was no sentimentality. No sadness. No fear. Not even a bittersweetness. She remembered a woman with auburn hair and a warm smile who was always kind to her daughter and never raised her voice. A woman who enjoyed birthdays and Christmases. A mother who was always there when Maddie came home. And when Maddie’s father returned from work, the three of them would eat dinner together and talk about the day. But if her father worked late, Maddie would go to Nana’s, because her mother didn’t cook.

  Maddie frowned. She was remembering Nana again. And her father. Why? She had always assumed that she remembered so little about her mother because she had been so young. But standing here now, thinking of Kai and Nana and the other places and people who had been equally absent from her life for the last fifteen years, the fallacy of that assumption hit her square in the face. While her other memories of the island played before her eyes in brilliant color, those of her mother remained in sepia tones. They were little more than a series of vague, semi-warm vignettes, blurry and devoid of any real emotion.

  And almost every one of them had occurred within these four walls. Why did her mother always seem to be at home? Why would any mother not make dinner for just herself and her daughter? Why could Maddie remember no family events at school? No fun trips out and about on the island? What did her mother do all day?

  Maddie felt a sudden sick feeling in her middle. Could her mother have had some illness that both her parents had hidden from her? If so, she could understand their motivations at the time, but surely her father would have explained in the years since. It would be irresponsible of him not to let her know her own mother’s medical history, particularly if it involved cancer or some other chronic disease.

  She pondered the disturbing thought for some time, but finally shook her head in dismissal. No, that could not be the answer. Everyone had been shocked by her mother’s sudden death — that much even a ten-year-old could perceive with certainty. And although Maddie’s observation of her mother’s health was probably not that all that astute, she was sure there had been no progression. In terms of attitude and energy, at least, her mother had seemed no different in the last few weeks or months than at any other time in Maddie’s life.