What a Mother Knows

by Leslie Lehr

Michelle spotted the man in the windbreaker a few slips away. The advantage of being tall was that she could spot him easily. The disadvantage was that he could spot her as well. “Kenny, I think someone’s following me. Tell me I’m being paranoid.”

  “Paranoia is just a heightened state of awareness, Michelle. Any number of people could be following you. My bet is on the car company. They want to find your daughter as much as you do.”

  “That’s not possible.”

  “Maybe not, but they’ll pay more. They think her testimony about seeing the recall notice will absolve them of potential liability. I thought I’d explained this to you.”

  “I was a little foggy.”

  “But not too foggy to fly off to Hawaii?” Kenny covered the receiver and spoke to someone in his office far across the Pacific Ocean. She scanned the tourists until his voice returned. “Hang on, Michelle, that’s Drew on the other line.” He clicked off.

  So did Michelle. She turned the ringer off her phone and buried it in her purse. For a moment, she wondered if she should work with the person following her, doubling their chances of finding Nikki. No, she decided, they might pull some legal shenanigans to keep them apart. She had to find Nikki first, even if it meant riding every boat in the harbor. She ran back to the Maui activity hut.

  Reuben fanned several brochures. “What kind of boat for the pretty lady?”

  “You pick,” Michelle said. She looked behind her. The pasty man was gone.

  Reuben tapped each brochure. “Tradewinds II is most popular. Five hours, pupu, mai tai, and BBQ. I offer special, one hundred twenty-five dollars, today only.”

  Michelle couldn’t waste the day on one boat. She needed to check out all the crews. “Anything shorter?” She balanced herself against the counter to flip the brochure open. Her sleeve fell, exposing her forearm.

  Reuben dropped the sales ploy. “My brah has an arm like that, from a sugar cane thresher.”

  “Nothing so exciting for me, I’m afraid. Car accident. That’s why I’m a little fuzzy about which boat my daughter is working on. I’ve been in the hospital awhile. She’s young, not an experienced sailor.”

  Reuben leaned close and lowered his voice. “There’s one captain hires kids, pays cash.” He pointed to a weathered gray fishing boat casting off from the dock at the far curve of the small harbor. “They snorkel at Molokini Crater, then make a quick stop for turtles. Maybe try that, yah? Only fifty bucks. All the poi rice you can eat. But you better hurry.”

  Michelle gave him three twenties and didn’t wait for the change. What was an extra ten bucks in the scheme of things? She would pay anything to see her daughter’s smile. Her flip-flops slapped against the wooden boardwalk as she hurried around the small harbor toward the last slip.

  A red bandana waved at the end of the dock, where young families heeded the last call for the Jolly Roger. Despite the dented hull of the tour boat, the ragtag crew collecting tickets on the entry ramp was enthusiastic. They lacked proper deck shoes and pristine haircuts, but were easily identified by matching skull and bone T-shirts in assorted fades of black. Michelle slowed to study their faces.

  “Ahoy there!” shouted a gravelly voice from above. High-pitched squeals were deafening as children spotted the spindly old man with an eye patch leaning over the crow’s nest with a parrot on his shoulder. “Ahoy there,” the parrot squawked as parents shoved past Michelle to secure spots at the railing.

  A pretty Hawaiian girl passed out soiled orange life jackets. Michelle pushed up her gift shop sunglasses and peered into the portholes at the rest of the pirate crew setting up below. Once the first mate cast off, she would interrogate them one by one.

  By the time the hotels lining the Kaanapali coast disappeared in the morning mist, Michelle was quelling her nausea with a macadamia nut muffin. Vomiting wouldn’t endear her to anyone, so she was stuck outside on the deck until she could stand up between swells. The hearty couple sitting next to her clutched their coffees and pointed at the Hawaiian girl balancing the breakfast tray. They grinned at each other as their brood rushed to the rail where the girl flung crumbs to shrieking gulls. Michelle smiled at their matching yellow shirts. She and her kids had worn matching flowered prints when they were last here. Drew declined, but she didn’t care how dorky they looked, they would never get lost. If only Nikki was wearing hers now.

  When the seagulls flapped their wings and flew off in formation, the Hawaiian girl led the children back to the bench like baby ducklings. Michelle found the photo she had cropped of Nikki in her birthday crown and stood up. “Miss? Or should I say, Matey?”

  The Hawaiian girl looked up. “Leilani. Can I help you?”

  The boat lurched. Michelle grabbed the nearest pole and dropped the picture. She crouched to rescue it from water as dingy as Leilani’s sneakers. Then she noticed a spot of color peeking through the grime. It was purple, dotted with tiny black skulls—like the Converse high tops Michelle had given Nikki for her birthday. Michelle hated the skulls, but Nikki had insisted. Michelle said a silent prayer and peered around Leilani’s heel, but whatever name had been embroidered there had been blacked out. “Yes. You can tell me where you got these shoes.”

  “Lost and found,” Leilani said, reaching to help Michelle up.

  “When?” Michelle tried to keep the excitement out of her voice.

  “Long time ago.”

  Michelle held up the sodden picture. “Ever seen this girl?”

  Leilani’s eyes glazed over like sea glass. “No. Is she in trouble?”

  The music stopped and a voice called out on the tinny speakers. “Ahoy, me hearties! Time for snorkel orientation below deck. All landlubbers walk the plank!”

  “No trouble,” Michelle said, not sure what to reveal. A real friend would help a teenager hide, even from her mother. Especially from her mother.

  Kimo, the buff first mate, approached, waving the crowd inside with his bullhorn. “Let’s go!” He raked his blond locks and ripped off his shirt, like a Coppertone ad. There was something sad about the softening belly at the base of his V-shaped build, the tan line at the top of his board shorts, and the barest hint of ganja trailing him on the salty breeze.

  “I’m not snorkeling,” Michelle said.

  “Bar’s open,” Kimo replied, pulling a tube of Chapstick from his pocket. Several tweens circled him like a sweet-smelling lei.

  Michelle held her breath from the girls’ cheap perfume as they asked for the loo. When Kimo corrected them and called it the “head,” they giggled at the hint of sexual innuendo. Michelle watched them skip off. Tonight they would go to Cheeseburger in Paradise and sit at a picnic table on the top deck, giggling about this over milkshakes and fries. Nikki was never so silly. If only she had been, then maybe she’d have been on this boat for fun instead of food money.

  Kimo waved them off then turned back to Michelle. “Piña colada?”

  “Sold,” Michelle said. She followed him down to the bar.

  Halfway through her watery drink, Michelle heard her daughter’s voice. At first she thought she was imagining it, or that she was already drunk, but no. That was Nikki. She dropped the plastic glass. She craned her neck over the sunhats and rose, oblivious to the complaints of tourists wiping sticky liquid from their shins. Michelle pushed through the crowd. Then she saw her, larger than life, an image of light projected on the fiberglass wall.

  This suntanned young woman in the pirate hat was nothing like the gawky girl wearing disco earrings and a birthday crown, nor the blushing teenager in love. This was a stranger. Her cheeks were full and her eyes sparkled. She belonged more to the crowd of tourists than to Michelle.

  And yet, none of them understood the irony of Nikki’s beaded blond braids. They didn’t recognize defiance in the way she tied her T-shirt above her black sarong. Nor could they translate the pierced navel into a message as clear as Morse code. Nikki had once prided herself on being intact, natural—she refused to pierce her ears. But at some point, she had
severed the umbilical bond. Now, Michelle worried they might never be whole again.

  “Pay now,” Nikki was saying, “to appreciate the next two hours for the rest of your life.” When she waved a henna-painted hand, Michelle caught her breath until her throat was so constricted that barely a speck of air flowed through. She swallowed hard and moved closer, one painful step at a time, until she was only inches away. She reached to touch her daughter’s face. A hideous pain shot up her right arm. She bent over and cradled it tightly with her left hand, ignoring the crowd of witnesses who surely thought that she was crazy. But Michelle wasn’t crazy for reaching out. She’d be crazy to ignore the heart heaving against her rib cage.

  Nikki coughed on camera, then flashed her straight white teeth in a smile before resuming her speech. She knew she was being watched, but did she know that she’d been watched every day, twice a day, since she stood before the camera? The women longed for her freedom; the men lusted after her form. But only Michelle would love her long after they snorkeled and took their souvenirs home.

  On-screen, Nikki flipped on a monitor and the darkness filled with dazzling fish. Giant turtles soon appeared on the wall like images of prehistoric ghosts floating past. The image popped, then a snorkeler swam into the frame. He waved until another snorkeler kicked into the picture, then a smaller figure paddled after them, like a family of seals. The camera froze on their facemasks. Letters typed in: The Smith Family Vacation. The screen went black.

  Families rushed to the counter. Young couples stopped kissing to count their cash. Michelle stood like an island as they streamed around her. When a reggae beat flooded the air, Michelle began to move, but her steps were more frantic than festive.

  Leilani pushed her mirrored glasses up, a shield against her gaze.

  Kimo’s voice boomed on the bullhorn. “Ahoy there! Once you’ve paid Leilani, help yourself to fins and masks. Anyone interested in a wet suit, follow me.”

  Michelle gave up on fighting the crowd and followed him to the storage locker on the aft deck. He flipped through the worn wetsuits hanging behind him. “Floatation belts are optional, but you’ll want one.”

  “Just tell me about Nikki.”

  “Who?” He turned around, the small rubber suit in his hands.

  “The girl in the video.”

  “Never met her,” he said. “That recording is older than the turtles. Doing the new one myself, almost pau. Hi-def, 3-D—it’ll be solid.”

  Beer-reeking boys with flippers tucked under their arms interrupted to rent wetsuits. Kimo set the small suit on the bench beside him, then pocketed the brothers’ cash and pointed to the extra large suits. “Have fun, but stay off the reef or you’ll get a ticket from the Coast Guard. And don’t touch the fish! Seriously, brah, those scales are razor sharp. We’ll have to sew you up with sailcloth thread.”

  Michelle waited until she had his attention. “Is the captain the owner? Would he remember her?”

  Kimo looked up at the skinny old man who was steering them across the open sea. “Don’t bother. I’ve been here since last summer and the dude has no idea what my name is. First mate is always Kimo. Photographer is always Leilani.” He waved behind her at the next in line.

  Michelle turned and peered back to the shaded area inside the cabin. There were still a few people surrounding Leilani. One of them looked like the pasty man outside the activity booth. Had he followed her? Michelle’s legs felt wobbly.

  She leaned against the bulkhead and took a deep breath, permeated by the scent of ganja. Snorkeling wasn’t a bad idea if it would free her from being followed. She turned back to Kimo, and pulled a fifty dollar bill from her bag. “Keep the change. I hear weed is pricey these days.”

  “You a cop?”

  “Just a mom,” she said, tugging at her cover-up. Her rash of scars was exposed by her black tank suit.

  “Fifty gets you personal service,” Kimo said, stuffing the cash in the tip jar. When he opened the closet of wetsuits for the others, she saw the scar across his back. He caught her looking. “Hockey,” he said. He helped her step into each leg of the wetsuit then pulled it up high to ease each arm in. He kept the back zipper open and showed her how to reach the pull tab. “My mom’s freezing her ass back in Wisconsin, dusting my trophies. I keep asking her to visit.”

  “At least you talk to her. My daughter doesn’t know I’m alive.”

  Kimo laughed, then saw that it wasn’t a joke. “Talara—that’s Leilani’s real name—she might have gotten those shoes from a roommate.”

  Michelle gave Kimo a one-armed hug. “Thanks. I grew up in Buckeye country, so I know how important sports can be. But you’re a good kid.”

  “Tell my mom,” he called, as others surrounded him for help.

  Michelle headed back where she had last seen Nikki. The wall was white and shiny, like a dream. Nikki had looked so confident in the snorkel video—so different from the scrawny girl she had reported to Detective Alvarez. Thank heaven for all that poi, Michelle thought. She wondered if she should call the detective—or whoever had taken over the case. Then she remembered there wasn’t a case. It was up to her.

  Perhaps Leilani would know what Nikki looked like now, but there was no sign of her amid the tourists milling about the boat. Michelle sat by the rail to wait.

  A disposable camera dangled in front of her face as the young family beside her slathered on lotion. “Would you like me to take your picture?” she asked.

  The young father grinned as if his crappy camera was too complicated for Michelle to handle. Then he displayed the ticket Leilani had given them. No offense, but here was proof they’d have plenty of pictures, moving pictures, the ultimate souvenir to show their friends. They were starring in a movie of Hawaii!

  The young mother wearing a Hilo Hattie muumuu pointed at Michelle’s zipper. “Would ya’ll like some help?”

  Michelle shook her head. In a world of helpers and helpless, she’d crossed the wrong line. When the woman finished rubbing lotion on the boy’s face, he clambered up to the wooden bench. Michelle saw the Velcro closure on his red sneakers and chuckled. She missed those days of dressing her children. She’d dressed Tyler in sporty clothes, and he’d become a jock. She’d dressed Nikki in pink, and she’d become a pirate wench. Go figure.

  Michelle clutched the rail and savored the last quiet moment of ocean mist. The sun burnt a hole in the clouds and the sky was a ceiling rising up and up and up. The day expanded on all sides, sharply real, as Michelle looked around. The surface of the deep green water lightened to a cool algae glow, then faded to a crystal sheen where the sunlight skimmed across.

  The bench bounced when the boy started jumping and pointing at the yawning green patch ahead. Soon, the far side of the crater came into view with a ridge of scrubby trees clinging to steep rock. The horn wailed, the engine coughed, and gas fumes filled the air.

  The deck soon resembled a country bar with couples dancing a rubber two-step. Families applied sunblock and adjusted masks as they prepared to snorkel. The young mother turned to chat. Michelle knew the kind of small talk to expect: children’s names and ages and activities. She used to love to compare notes. But what would she say now that her daughter was a runaway and her son had followed his father? Michelle stepped away and pulled the leash from behind her neck. The zipper sealed up her sleek neoprene skin. No room for sympathy.

  She looked out at the water, where yellow snorkel tubes sprouted like daffodils as the first group kicked past. A moment later, a flurry of violet fish flashed beneath the surface, then turned and swished from sight.

  Michelle wandered back toward the empty cabin, taking deep breaths to stop herself from hyperventilating. A scuffling noise made her look around the counter. Leilani was kneeling in a bikini, with a wetsuit zipped up to her waist. She set a cigar box inside the cabinet, then lifted out the camera equipment.

  “I know she lived with you,” Michelle said. “Tell me where she is.”

  Leilani lifted th
e camera package up and set it on the table, avoiding Michelle’s eyes. “Not me, my sister.”

  “She knew Nikki?”

  Leilani slipped her arms into the sleeves of the wetsuit and zipped it over her bikini top. A fluorescent stripe rose up from each side. There was a hole in one armpit. She picked up the camera, and adjusted the shoulder harness.

  Michelle blocked her way. “I’ll give you fifty dollars to tell me how to find your sister.”

  “Forget it, I’m no snitch.”

  Michelle chased her to the edge of the cabin. “Hundred bucks,” she said. “Tell her if she ever hears from Nikki, to please let her know—” she felt her throat closing up. This girl couldn’t possibly express how much Michelle missed her daughter, how she had a hole in her heart that burned larger every day. Leilani shifted the camera and held out her hand. Michelle dug in the bag for her emergency cash. “Just tell her to be careful. I’m not the only one looking for her.”

  Leilani snatched the money and stuffed it in her fanny pack. “Okay. But if she’s fencing drugs again my sister’s no part of it.”

  “Excuse me?” Michelle said. This had a familiar ring.

  “Word is, Cap’n found her stash in the camera hold. She split and stuck my sister with the rent.” The boat horn wailed. “Believe me, if my sister could find her, she’d have gotten her money.” She heaved the camera to her shoulder.

  “Wait—if that’s true about the drugs, then why didn’t your boss call the police?”

  “Cap’n keeps things on the down low. Plus, that girl had da kine eye. Cap’n says my underwater shots will go online soon, but I’m not holding my breath.” She headed off.

  The words echoed in the empty cabin. Da kine meant good. Nikki had a good eye? That meant she was good with the camera. But if that was true, then so was the part about selling drugs.

  Marijuana was medically legal in California, probably Hawaii too, if Kimo could reek like that and still have a job. Michelle tried not to think of Colleen’s son with his suburban heroin addiction. Nikki hated needles so much that it took three nurses to hold her down for her measles vaccine. Michelle couldn’t imagine her shooting up. Then again, she couldn’t imagine Nikki doing a lot of things that she’d apparently done. Were drugs the reason she couldn’t come home?