Diving In

by Galway, Gretchen

  When they passed the road to Kihei, where he said he was buying an office building, the car fell quiet. He didn’t say another word until about twenty minutes later, when, as they were passing the airport in Kahului, he pulled into a strip mall and parked in front of a surf shop.

  “What do you think?” he asked.

  “I don’t know that I’m ready for surfing just yet,” Nicki said. “I think I need to master the hotel pool first.”

  Ansel pointed to the row of new buildings in the neighboring lot. “My business partner wants us to buy one of those next. After we close the deal we’re working on now.”

  She peered over at the small calligraphed sign on the wall. “Medical offices?”

  He bent over to rest his forehead on the steering wheel. “Dental,” he muttered into the plastic.

  “Sounds practical,” she said. “Everyone has teeth.”

  “If they go to the dentist.”

  “Exactly. Very motivating,” she replied. “But you don’t want to buy it?”

  “Look at it.” He rolled his head back, yawned. “I’m falling into a coma just looking at it.”

  “So don’t buy it.”

  “I have to.”

  “No, you don’t,” she said. “Why should you have to do what your friend wants?”

  “Because I twisted his arm to work with me, and if I’m difficult…”

  “Yeah?”

  He shot her a sad puppy look. “He’ll dump me.”

  She hesitated. He was only sort of kidding. “But aren’t you the one with the cash?”

  Shaking his head, he played with the buttons on the aftermarket GPS attached to the window with a suction cup. “You don’t understand.”

  “All right, explain. What’s so great about this guy?”

  He sighed. “Brand Henry Warren, Jr. is really, really good at making money.”

  “So?”

  “So I want to make money too. To date, I’ve only shown an aptitude for spending it.”

  For the first time since she’d arrived in Hawaii, she studied him dispassionately, as she would if she’d never seen him before. His well-worn sandals were high quality but old. His khaki shorts were pale from many washings, and his San Francisco Giant’s T-shirt was a popular commodity garment sold across the Bay Area. Even the car was at least eight years old, not the type a swinging playboy would choose; zero to sixty… eventually.

  “It looks like you only spend money on other people, not yourself,” she said. “Your friend’s restaurant, those other businesses…”

  “Don’t remind me. Brand is trying to break me of that habit.”

  “I don’t like the sound of Brand,” she said. “Even his name is corporate. He’ll name his kids ‘Proctor’ and ‘Gamble.’”

  “It’s easy to give money to friends. I’m trying to learn how to find successful businesses. It’ll be better for everyone in the long run,” he said. “They can hire employees, support their families, and contribute to the tax base of their community.”

  She made a retching sound. “Let me guess. Brand told you that?”

  “Bank commercial. But it was very touching.” He restarted the car and maneuvered the city streets of Kahului, past the airport, then out along the country highway. Both of them slipped into silence. When they reached Paia, a small artsy town on the coast that reminded her of gourmet ghettos around San Francisco, he pulled over and they went into a cute little place to order a picnic lunch, along with a line of two dozen other tourists, and then they were on their way again. So far, she agreed the drive was pretty, but she wasn’t sure she would enjoy six more hours of the same, even with Ansel’s company.

  Especially with his company.

  Soon the forest thickened, the air grew moist, cooler, and the long highway behind them became narrow and twisted.

  “Here we are,” Ansel said. “The famous Hana Highway.” Braking, he drove off the road and parked in a turnout of gravel under a lush overhang of flora. The movie set of Jurassic Park, ferns and humid air and chirping exotic birds, surrounded them. Then, to her surprise, he got out of the car, walked around, and opened her door, smiling.

  Her heart had understood what he was doing before her mind processed it. Pounding wildly, it bounced off her lungs, restricting airflow. “No,” she said, gazing up at him.

  “Your turn.” He opened the door wider and held out a hand.

  “You didn’t warn me.”

  “You would’ve said no.”

  Licking her lips, she glanced around in a panic. “Maybe I’ve never driven a hybrid before.”

  “It’s not a spaceship. I think you can figure it out.”

  She had to close her eyes and focus on breathing. He was trying to be helpful, but the surprise made it worse. If she’d had a few hours to get used to the idea, she wouldn’t be suffocating right now.

  Deep breath.

  Just a car.

  She could do it.

  His eyes softened. “Hey, Nicki, I’m sorry. Never mind. I was just kidding.” He started to close the door.

  “No!” She thrust her leg out. “I’ll do it.”

  “No, really, it’s a crazy drive. Windy one-lane bridges, traffic, distracting views…”

  Seatbelt unbuckled, lungs pumping, she climbed out of the car, hand gripping the metal roof, slick with mist, and swatted away the tendrils of panic rising up from her toes. “I’m thirty years old. I’ve been driving a car half my life in urban California. I’m capable, sensible, and totally fucking insane because I’m about to puke.” Folding over, she braced her hands on her knees.

  “I’ll drive,” she heard him say from a foggy distance. “It’s okay. Can I get you anything?”

  “A spine,” she said through her teeth, straightening. She drew lush rainforest air into her lungs, which reminded her where she was, how lucky she was to be there. A tree with peeling red-and-purple bark over a lime-green trunk rose up in front of her, straight as a redwood. She focused her attention on it to calm herself. “What is that?”

  He turned. “Painted bark eucalyptus. Pretty cool, isn’t it?”

  She saw now that the river of rental cars was slowing down to stare at them, not just at the trees. Faces peered out at her from the windows. “Fantastic.” She took a clumsy step, then another, until she was walking behind the trunk of the car and reaching for the driver’s-side door. “But we’re making a traffic jam. Let’s go.”

  After hesitating only a moment, he flashed a smile and jumped into the passenger seat. “Hybrids have a few quirks you need to learn…”

  She took hold of the wheel with the iron grip of a cliff-hanging villain in an action flick, signaled, and eased out into the row of slow-moving cars. “I have the same car at home.”

  His eyes widened. “But you said you’d never driven one before.”

  “I said, ‘maybe I haven’t.’ But I have.”

  “Sneaky,” he said. “Some might even call that lying.”

  “Some people are a pain in the ass.”

  He laughed. “You’re doing great.”

  “Don’t patronize me, old man.”

  “Damn, you’re grouchy.”

  “Quit your blabbing,” she said. “I need to concentrate.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him grinning at her.

  Chapter 9

  WITHIN TEN MINUTES, HER ANXIETY had faded to a sour memory, the way an early morning nightmare weakens by breakfast time. If it had been an unfamiliar car, perhaps she wouldn’t have managed it so well, but it was the same year, even the same common slate-blue as hers back in Berkeley, and she had to focus only on the wiggly road and the brake lights on the rented silver compact twenty feet ahead. Her pulse slowed to normal levels, and although she couldn’t spare any energy to appreciate the view, she managed to maintain consciousness.

  When the traffic came to a stop, her nerves calmed, and she became aware of Ansel’s gaze on her. He wasn’t saying anything, just watching.

  Was he str
uggling to place her face? Or was he just wondering why she was so screwed up?

  She wished that night had never happened. In the days and months afterward, she’d been secretly happy to have had as much fun as they did, even if she’d wanted so much more. The taste of his skin, the feel of his tongue in her mouth, the smell of his body on her sheets the next day—she nurtured them as the most delicious memories she’d had from college.

  Now she’d give them up in exchange for meeting him fresh and spending the day with him as a stranger in this beautiful, magical place. She was glad she hadn’t reminded him about that night in college. They’d been kids, still teenagers, what did it matter now?

  “Try to find a parking spot along the side of the road,” he said. “There, behind that one. There’s a waterfall here you’d like.”

  “Are there other ones ahead?”

  “Oh, yeah,” he said. “A bunch. Bigger and better ones. But this one is nice, too.”

  She wasn’t ready to stop; she could feel the old fear lurking under her skin, waiting to take over if she let it. “I’m going to keep driving if you don’t mind. Stopping now would break my mojo.”

  He reached into the backseat for the bag from the deli. “No problem. Mojo onward.” He pulled out a package and unfolded it. “Banana bread?”

  The traffic was creeping onto a one-lane bridge ahead of them. She shook her head, eyes locked on the road and not on the rushing white water beneath it.

  “It’s really good. Best in Maui.” He waved it under her nose.

  “Do you want to die on your birthday?”

  He withdrew his hand and took a bite. “There are worse ways to go,” he said with his mouth full. “Damn, this is good. You sure?” He pushed it at her again.

  The traffic forced her to stop in the middle of the narrow bridge. She heard the roar of water tumbling beneath them and imagined it was the old stone itself collapsing. Surely the original engineers hadn’t anticipated this level of congestion when they designed the bridge, or it would be two lanes. One day the overburdened structure would crack and tumble into the rapids, and the media would broadcast the disaster across the globe: Tragedy in the Tropics!

  That day could easily be today. It would happen to some poor people, why not them?

  “It’s still warm,” he continued, pushing the bread against her cheek. “Feel it.”

  The sweat on her hands made the wheel slippery. “I hate you,” she whispered.

  He drew back. Folding the wrapper back around the bread, he said, his voice wounded, “Just trying to help you relax.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I wasn’t talking to you.” Traffic started moving again. She eased her foot off the brake, sighing as she pulled the car up to solid ground. The rapids and the bridge were behind them.

  It was the fear she hated. The senseless, irrational anxiety.

  She released one hand at a time to wipe her hands on her pants so she didn’t lose control of the car. The wheel was as slippery as a well-lubed erection.

  No, no, no. She was not thinking about penises.

  “What’s so funny?” Ansel asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “You have to tell me. You were freaked out a second ago, but now you’re smiling.”

  She glanced at him—no, not his crotch, oh damn, how could she not look down there just for a second?—and imagined his penis as the primary control device of their energy-efficient automobile.

  Punchy laughter bubbled out of her. Unfortunately, anxiety and hysterical laughter were old friends.

  “What?” he said.

  That night in the dorm, it was when she’d reached down his pants that he’d jumped up and ran away. How inconvenient that would be if it was your only way to steer a car.

  “What?” he repeated, more loudly.

  She swallowed her laughter, sucked in a breath. “Nothing. Really, it’s nothing. Just—nothing.”

  Making a sour face, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Not fair of you to keep it to yourself.”

  “Really,” she said.

  “Long, boring drive, my birthday—you have an obligation to share any and all entertainment.”

  If she didn’t think of something, he wouldn’t drop it. “I’m just glad to be over that bridge.”

  He looked skeptical. After a second he said, “Seriously?”

  “Very, very glad,” she said. “Got an adrenaline rush.”

  After a minute he said, “Why not let me drive? I really don’t mind. There are tons of other bridges ahead.”

  “I have to do this. If I give up now, I might never do it.”

  “But you don’t have to do it,” he said. “It’s supposed to be fun.”

  The urge to laugh drained out of her. She checked all her mirrors, wiped her hands again, braked to give the car ahead of them extra room. “It’s no fun being afraid,” she said quietly.

  He seemed to accept that. She thought he’d dropped it until, after five minutes of driving through the trees and across another narrow bridge, which was blessedly short, he asked, “Are you afraid of all bridges?”

  “I’m not afraid of bridges.”

  “Weren’t you just having a panic attack?” he asked.

  “I’m not afraid of bridges.”

  He jerked his thumb. “Then what was that back there? An allergy?”

  “I’m afraid of the water under the bridge,” she said. “There’s a big difference.”

  “It’s all just water under the bridge,” he said, then, “Sorry,” when she glared at him.

  “I’m going to keep driving now,” she said.

  “Okay.”

  “And you’re going to be quiet.”

  He slumped in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “Thank you,” she said, accelerating a little.

  The road snaked through the rainforest, a beautiful, calming wonder of the world. As her anxiety ebbed, her guilt surfaced. She hated herself for snapping at him, losing her manners, being a freak—but this place was so beautiful, even those feelings waned, and she lowered the window all the way and breathed the pseudo-prehistoric loveliness deep into her lungs. Even when she had to cross bridges over rushing rapids, she kept her head. It was just too gorgeous to live trapped inside her own neurosis for long.

  “We might want to stop at this place ahead.” Ansel pointed at the cluster of parked cars at a sharp bend in the road. “We can hike up and see the waterfall. It’s a big one, if I’m remembering it right.”

  But the other cars had taken all the spaces on the side of the road, and because so many other cars had stopped, the road ahead was clear. She found herself driving on. Rain spattered the windshield, but it was light, barely enough to merit using the wipers. “We can stop at the next one.”

  “Are you afraid if you stop you won’t be able to start up again?”

  She didn’t look at him. “Maybe a little.”

  “You’re doing great.”

  It should’ve felt patronizing, but somehow, coming from him, it didn’t. “Thanks.” She let out her breath. “Sorry to snap at you earlier.”

  “I’m used to it. Twin sister, you know.”

  “Well, I’ll try harder to behave.”

  Another hour passed in slow, winding silence through the trees. Her anxiety fluctuated with the challenge of the turns, the bridges, the traffic, but she had conquered the worst of her phobia, at least for the day. She had the lifting, cheerful sensation of personal accomplishment.

  “You ever going to eat this banana bread?” He unwrapped it in his lap, not pushing it at her, just admiring the golden slices. “I’m not sure I can wait any longer.”

  “You were waiting for me?”

  “Like I’m going to snarf down the treats while you’re slaying your dragons,” he said. “How’s that going, by the way? You look good.”

  She smiled. “I think the dragon’s sleeping.”

  “Hungry?”

  Nodding, she braked and pulled the car
onto the shoulder behind several other parked cars. “Is this a good place?”

  He frowned out the window. “I think so. Might not be a waterfall, just a tree or flowers or something. I’m not sure I’ve stopped here before.”

  “I like trees and flowers.”

  “I’ve pretty much only got eyes for lunch,” he said.

  But when she glanced over, it was her he was looking at. His gray eyes, heavy-lidded and intelligent, were watching her with an intensity that startled her. Heart lurching, she engaged the parking brake and busied herself with getting out of the car without getting run over. A row of sedans with only several feet between each bumper rolled past at about six miles an hour. By the time she climbed out and walked over to the shoulder, he had their picnic lunch under one arm and his attention on the sky.

  With eye contact broken, the butterflies in her stomach folded their wings.

  He wasn’t starved for anything but lunch. She was imagining things.

  “Would you rather eat in the car?” he asked. “It’s about to rain.”

  “It’s been drizzling for a while.” She pulled her hood up. “I read in the guidebook it’s often like that here.”

  “Pretty much.”

  “I don’t mind eating my sandwich under an umbrella,” she said. “Do you?”

  “Nope. Only takes me a second anyway. Rachel says I have the table manners of a shop vac.”

  Smiling, she got the umbrellas out of the trunk and tiptoed down the muddy path to where she could leap over a ditch to reach the trail into the forest, letting him follow. The rain was only a light mist, barely enough to merit pulling up her hood, but it protected her from sharing lingering glances with the birthday boy.

  She stepped off the side of the path to let a family of six pass, the youngest one in a baby sling on Dad’s chest, the rest of them in flip-flops. They were heading back to the road.

  “The hike is harder than it looks,” the mother said to Nicki as she passed. Wearing a transparent plastic poncho over shorts and a tank top, she carried a small dark-haired boy on one hip.