by Hester Young
She glares at me. “Kind of, yeah.”
“Whose idea was that?”
“Dad’s, probably. He wants my mother to feel comfortable with it. Because he loves her.” She bridles at the judgment on my face. “I’ve been over to Wakea Ranch plenty of times with him, and it’s not like he and Naomi were running off to get a room. He just helped fix her roof or whatever. And he tried to teach Adam how to take care of the property.”
“Why not teach Naomi? She can’t do things for herself?”
“I know, right?” Jocelyn throws up her hands. “She’s totally living in another century with all the ‘girls do this, boys do that’ stuff. It’s the religious crap she grew up with. The point is, Raph is not my brother. He’s not. Maybe my dad has a little crush. So what? The way Naomi flaunts herself around, it’s like she wants him to look. But he’s never done anything with her. He wouldn’t. My mother would have his balls.”
I wonder if she’s right about her mother. I don’t know Sue very well, but it seems to me that if Victor did father a child outside his marriage, she is evenhanded enough not to punish the child. I can imagine her sending Victor off to Wakea Ranch to fulfill his parental obligations, one or both of his daughters in tow to keep things kosher. Perhaps Victor has been visiting as a father, not a lover, these last four years.
“I met Raph and Adam Yoon the other day,” I say. “They seemed nice.”
“They’re weird. All the Yoons are weird.”
“I’ve heard some stronger words than ‘weird’ applied to Elijah.”
Jocelyn stops walking and turns to study me, her face hard. “Are you writing about my father or my sister?”
“Your father,” I say. “Should I be writing about your sister?”
“No,” she says. “You shouldn’t.”
“Hard to provide a full picture of him, though, without even mentioning you girls.”
“You’re writing for Outdoor Adventures. News flash: you’re not going to win a Pulitzer.” Jocelyn stops, as if suddenly aware of how belligerent she sounds. She tries another tactic. “Look, my parents haven’t had an easy time lately. Cut them some slack, would you? My dad’s a private guy. He doesn’t want all this stuff about our family out there.”
“You’re very protective of him,” I note.
Jocelyn waves at a tall blond girl in the gathering crowd of students, still trying to keep up appearances. “My dad has a hard time dealing with reality,” she says. “Especially where Lise is concerned.”
“He thinks your sister ran away. Do you agree?”
Jocelyn doesn’t immediately reply. Her gaze rests on some point above my left shoulder. Ono Place, I realize with a backward glance. Lise’s dream for the future, now empty and abandoned. How strange for Jocelyn to pass it every day.
“I love my sister,” Jocelyn says softly, “but she’s made some poor choices. A lot of them. It’s like she wants bad things to happen.”
“What do you mean by poor choices?” Is she referring to the older guy? Lise’s drug use?
Jocelyn takes a breath. “You know that expression ‘You reap what you sow’?”
“Yeah . . .”
“Lise didn’t sow anything good.”
I wait for something more, but that’s all she’ll give me, all she’ll say about the secrets she still carries for her sister.
“I’d better get to my meet,” she tells me. “Go gentle on my dad, would you?”
“I’m trying,” I say. “I really am.”
I watch her drift away through the students, a solitary figure as she heads back to campus. There will be no one in the stands to cheer her on today, but she’ll push herself just the same. I hope she breaks that record.
“Hey, Jocelyn!” I call.
She stops. Glances back over her shoulder.
“Good luck.”
She smiles, and in that moment I see a flash of the girl who jumped the South Point blowhole at night, see her chin lift and her eyes glint at the prospect of a challenge.
“It has nothing to do with luck,” she says.
eighteen
Back at Koa House, Rae and I sip guava juice on the back patio and dissect our Kai and Jocelyn encounter. Kai, Rae reports, was immediately contrite after Jocelyn ran off. He regretted his mean comments about Victor, however true. Although tired of absorbing his girlfriend’s bad feelings every time her father lets her down, he nevertheless had the self-awareness to acknowledge that he’d been a jerk. I’ll just go to the swim meet, he told Rae, since it means so much to her.
“He’s not a bad kid,” Rae concludes. “Just in over his head.”
I swirl the juice in my glass and take note of the gray sky. The clouds have moved in, hinting at an evening rain. “They’re a weird couple,” I say. “Kind of mismatched, aren’t they?”
“Kai’s mom sounds like a deadbeat. Maybe he likes having Jocelyn to boss him around.” Rae shrugs. “Did you get anything from her? She seems like a pretty tough nut to crack.”
“She knows something,” I say. “Something about Lise. I think she’s trying to keep it under wraps for the sake of her parents. But I got the sense—” My hypothesis comes to an abrupt halt when I spot a familiar figure emerging from the trees of Wakea Ranch. “Rae.” My voice drops. “I think we have a visitor.”
Naomi Yoon surges into the yard, her chest and her long red braid bouncing. The purpose in her stride doesn’t exactly communicate warmth.
“Uh-oh,” Rae says. “What did we do this time? Did Naomi find out Victor gave you flowers?” She settles back in her chair as if preparing to enjoy a smutty TV show, which, come to think of it, is sort of how this day has been playing out.
I search for what to say if she flies at me with accusations about Victor. When the woman does arrive, however, Victor’s not the one she wants to talk about.
“Are they here?”
Rae lifts her head. This is not what she was expecting. “Your boys?” she says. “I thought they weren’t allowed over here. Why? Are they missing?”
Naomi’s jaw sets, and I can see her weighing her options, reluctant to involve outsiders in her affairs, but anxious about her sons. Fear gets the best of her. “Adam was supposed to be watching Raph, but he left him with his brother this morning,” she says. “Now I can’t find Elijah or Raph anywhere. I don’t know where they went.”
Seeing a mother worry over her child softens me somewhat. “Maybe Elijah went to see one of his friends?”
“He doesn’t have friends,” Naomi says, as if the notion were ridiculous.
“What about Jocelyn and Kai?”
She eyes me with displeasure. For a woman who’s spent less than a week on the island, I know way too much. “Kai threatened to kill my son the other day,” she says. “He isn’t a friend.”
“Kill him? Why?”
“You know why. This business with Lise. We’ve been getting threatening notes, too.” She touches her throat, and her voice turns faint. “What if someone hurt him? What if Raph got caught in the middle of all this?”
It’s not an irrational fear, given what I saw of Elijah and those boys in town, but I try to calm her. “No,” I say. “I’m sure he’s gone off somewhere with Raph, and they’re both fine. What is he, fifteen?”
Naomi nods.
“Kids do that at his age. They go off sometimes, and they don’t tell you. But you could call the police if you’re really worried.”
“No!” Her voice turns harsh. “No police.”
I can understand why Naomi would be ill disposed to trust law enforcement, given the way they’ve been gunning for her son. And David mentioned that the religious settlement at Wakea Ranch, the one Naomi grew up with, ran into its own trouble with the law a few decades back.
“Did you search the woods?” Rae asks.
“Of course I did.” Naomi
glowers. “I couldn’t cover every inch, but Adam and I went calling for them. We’ve been looking for hours.” She bites her lip. “I’m just so angry at him! Why would Adam leave that child with Elijah? He knows better!”
Because he’s nineteen, I think. Because he wants a life. But Naomi is too distressed for me to quibble with her parenting. Besides, I have a better idea.
“Can we help you look for them?” I ask. “More eyes couldn’t hurt.”
“I don’t even know where to start,” she says helplessly. “I don’t know where young people go.”
“Why don’t you and Naomi try the square?” I tell Rae. “We saw Elijah there the other day. Maybe one of the students has seen him around.” I turn to Naomi, trying to sound sure of myself. “The kids like Rae. They’ll talk to her. And I can help Adam check the woods. Two people will cover more ground.”
Naomi hesitates, and I can see she doesn’t want me alone with her eldest. But why? What’s she afraid he’ll say?
“Do you have a phone?” I ask her.
“Yes, I have a phone.” Insulted, she produces a flip phone that is at least ten years old. Rae lends me her phone, and I promise to call Naomi if Adam and I discover something. She doesn’t seem thrilled with the arrangement, but her concern for Raph overrides her reservations.
Rae herds her over to our rental car and, as Naomi steps into the passenger seat, casts me a backward look that is unmistakable in its meaning. This is your chance, she tells me with her eyes. Don’t screw it up.
* * *
• • •
THE WOODS ARE beautiful and strangely terrifying. I plunge into the brush and follow the winding paths much deeper, much farther than I did that day I first met Raph. I don’t call for the boys. If they’re out here, maybe they don’t want to be found. Instead, I let my legs guide me.
I don’t know if I’m approaching the place I dreamed of or if it’s something else that I sense, something bad that happened out here, but soon my skin is prickling, my fingers and toes beginning to tingle. I jog through the leaves, searching for that clearing, the hammock wedged between two trees.
Don’t let me find her body, I think. Please not that.
I sniff the air gingerly but detect only plants. A good sign. Six weeks of decomposition would be hard to mask in this climate, especially when the layer of volcanic rock prevents deep digging. Still, a disturbing sensation of wrongness buzzes through me, stronger with every step.
I pause by a tree, no longer sure which way to go, the feeling of unease now too pervasive to track in a single direction. Ahead of me, the trees begin to thin. A well-worn path leads me toward the light. I spot a large field, a chicken house with several birds scrambling around the pen outside, and a dilapidated old wooden building. This must be Wakea Ranch.
I move through grass as tall as my thighs, misgivings mounting. Something happened here, I think. The land is steeped in ugly secrets—not surprising, given its history as a repressive religious compound. Nausea grips me in the gut, and it’s not just the chicken stink. The birds cluck in agitation as I pass, feathers rustling, their wild eyes a warning. But I can’t turn back. Not when Naomi is safely gone with Rae, when I have the shadow of an excuse to be here.
A raindrop strikes my ear. Another lands on my hair. I continue on toward the old wooden building, jogging now. I want to see where the Yoon boys have been living, and the stormy sky and impending rain provide additional incentive. Yet as I approach the sagging building, I realize it’s not a house but a barn—probably for the horses they once owned, the horses whose sale so broke Adam. I spot the actual Yoon dwelling a few hundred yards back, half-hidden by trees: a boxy home with chipped white paint and a rusty metal roof that looks rustic but habitable.
The rain begins to fall more steadily, surprisingly chilly. I stare at the house, hesitating. When I look at the structure, I smell curdled milk, have the impression of being clasped too tightly to someone’s chest, ribs squeezed in slow suffocation. I draw back into the barn, shivering.
Though worn and damp from the tropical air, the stalls remain intact, if empty. The pungent odor of horses lingers, a mixture of straw and droppings with a hint of leather. It would’ve been something, to awake each morning and feed these creatures. To saddle up and set loose across the fields. I peer in through the bars of a stall, imagining the animals who once occupied this space, and the grief the family must have felt in giving them up.
I flinch when someone touches my shoulder.
Too startled to scream, I whirl around and find myself face-to-face with Adam Yoon. He must’ve seen me come up from the woods.
“Hi.” He pushes some hair from his eyes, smiling but self-conscious. He wears a white collared shirt and dark pants, like a Mormon preparing to knock on doors. “Are you looking for me?”
I don’t know where he came from, how he came up on me so silently, but I try to laugh it off. “Wow. I about had a heart attack right there.”
“Sorry.”
“I was just trying to check in about your brothers. Any sign of them? Your mother’s worried sick.”
Adam wrinkles his brow. “My mother sent you out here?” He knows her better than that.
“She didn’t send me. I volunteered. So, no sign of them?”
He shrugs. “It isn’t a big deal. They’ll be back. This is just what Elijah does. He disappears all day, sometimes all night, too. But he always comes back, and my mother knows that. She’s only upset because Raph is with him.”
“You trust Elijah to watch him, then?”
Adam looks uncomfortable, and I gather “trust” is not the right word. “Well, he’s not going to kill him.”
“Your mom wasn’t too happy about you sharing babysitting duties. Where did you go?”
“I just . . . had things to do.” Adam’s not a good liar, and his attempts at evasion are anything but subtle. I let it go, though I file away the question for future consideration. No sense badgering the kid and making an enemy of him. I want him to tell me things, whatever secrets his mother fears his spilling.
“So these are the stables, huh? Where you used to keep your horses?”
“Solomon and Malachai.” He runs his hand along the rim of the stall. “I was just a little kid when we got Solomon. He was a present from my dad.”
“What was he like, your dad?”
“Nice. Quiet, but nice.” Outside, the rain has transformed into a downpour. Sheets of water beat at the roof above us. Adam leans against a wooden beam, head tilted as if he likes the sound of it. “My dad was a lot older than my mother, and he never yelled. Even when my mother would scream and scream, he always stayed calm with her.” He gives me a lopsided smile. “I try to be like that, too. It’s hard, though.”
“You must miss him a lot.”
“Sometimes,” Adam says. “Sometimes I’m just mad at him.” He glances at me, and seems encouraged by my nod. “He was supposed to take care of my mother, you know? That was his job, that’s why she married him. But he died, so now I have to.”
I shouldn’t intervene, I know I shouldn’t, and yet I can’t keep my mouth shut. “Your mother is not your responsibility, Adam. She’s a grown woman. You deserve a life of your own.”
The boy falls silent. For a second I think that I’ve offended him, come down too hard on the person he’s been trained to love and respect.
When he turns to me, though, I see I’ve erred in the other direction. His shining young face isn’t upset—it’s hopeful. “Please,” he says, “I need your help.”
“Help? What kind of help?”
“I want to leave the island.”
My eyes widen. “That’s not . . . I can’t make that happen.”
“Why? I’m nineteen. My mother can’t do anything if I go. I’m an adult.”
He looks so unconvincing, so pale and fragile as he stands there, light-ye
ars away from the adult he claims to be.
“You need a job,” I tell him. “If you really want to leave, you need a way to financially support yourself.”
“Can you get me one?”
“No, honey. I’m leaving in three days.”
“I could go with you. To Arizona. I could work for your family. Do chores and take care of your children. I would be good at that.”
“Oh, Adam.” It’s painful to watch, those bright eyes fixed on me as if I might save him. “How would that be any better than the life you have now? Besides, you’d miss Raph.”
At the mention of his little brother, he sinks down to the ground, deflated. “Yeah,” he says. “It would be hard to leave Raph.” He flicks at an old piece of straw. “Why do you have to go? You said you liked it here.”
Is he for real? Is this kid really so oblivious?
“I have to get home to my children,” I remind him. “This is just a visit. My life is in Arizona.”
“But you want to help me,” he says. “I know you want to help me.”
He’s right, of course. From the moment I laid eyes on this sad little mess, I’ve wanted to free him, to give him more than the life of servitude and guilt his mother has provided. It bothers me in some deeply visceral way to see a boy so warped by his upbringing, a boy who has borne the burdens of childhood far too long without ever enjoying any of its pleasures. But where does one even begin to help a kid so intellectually and emotionally stunted?
Before I can answer him, the sound of far-off whooping draws our attention.
“Raph.” I hurry out of the barn, trying to catch a glimpse of the little boy. The rain streams down my hair and soaks the fabric of my shirt. I scan the tree line, listening, trying to trace the noise.
Adam trudges reluctantly behind me. “They’re in the woods,” he says without enthusiasm. “I’m sure Elijah’s with him. I told you they’d be fine.”
