by Piper Lennox
They gave me a pill. I didn’t know what it was, even though they handed me a small stack of literature on it, but I took it like it could undo everything. The wave that took him down. The sun and liquor, putting me to sleep. Andrea.
By the time my family arrived, I’d stopped shouting. The staff put me in a windowless room with a table and four chairs—the room where they put you so you won’t make a scene. Where they tell you the person is dying, or already dead.
I still hadn’t let them stop. Not once.
“Mom,” I said, reaching for her as she turned away, hiding her face in Dad’s chest, “I—I tried to save him.” It was only then that I realized I was crying. How long had I been doing it?
“Dad, I got him.” I looked at him, stuttering through the words. “I saved him and—and they wanted to stop CPR and I told them no, Dad...Dad, tell them to try again—”
“Stop,” he said. It was quiet, but still knocked the air out of me. I had no idea if it was meant for me, or the staff in front of us, waiting for my parents’ verdict. The only one that would matter more than mine.
“But—but they can get that...thing, the crash cart, or—”
“Kai,” he barked, and hugged my mother tighter, like I was some wild animal and he needed to protect her. “Stop. He’s gone. You didn’t get him in time.”
Mom looked at him, like she wanted to yell and defend me. But she didn’t.
They went in without me. I couldn’t trust myself—between the pill and my denial, I probably would have grabbed the crash cart myself.
I could hear Mom crying, all the way from the elevator. Only it wasn’t the usual hush of her sobs; that, I could have handled. It was just one sharp, high noise, quickly muffled. I punched the elevator button again and again, until it opened and took me downstairs.
Even though I wasn’t there, I know exactly how it played out. Mom prayed over him, tears pouring. Dad probably had tears, but set his jaw hard to keep them at bay. Luka did something in-between: uncontrollable tears, but a face like stone through it all. They took turns saying goodbye to someone who couldn’t hear them anymore.
The only part I didn’t predict was Luka taking the broken board leash off his ankle, that the paramedics missed or ignored. But I saw it in his hand when they came out to the courtyard, where I was waiting. He balled it up inside his fist and looked away.
The funeral’s turnout was huge. A lot of people loved Noe. Old classmates, hotel staff, family, friends. Andrea showed up and watched from the road. She waved goodbye to me with her plane ticket when I dared make eye contact. I didn’t wave back.
The next week, Dad started cleaning. I’d wake up in the middle of the night with my heart in overdrive, sure that was Noe I was hearing, bumping around in the room behind mine. Then Dad would clear his throat or gripe about his back as he lifted another box, packed and ready for his daily trips to the charity drop-off.
Within a month, every trace of Noe was gone from our house, even the family portraits in the living room. Instead of just culling out his photos, though, Dad got rid of them all: my baby photo, Luka’s third grade portrait, the dried and pressed flowers in gold frames we gave our mom every year on Mother’s Day. As if seeing our photos—knowing we’d get so many more, and Noe wouldn’t—was too much for him.
Piece by piece, Noe’s things dropped out of our lives, just like his name dropped out of everyone’s vocabulary but mine. Dad even removed the mounts in Noe’s wall, where our grandpa’s longboard used to be. I’d put the board in my room the day before, worried it would make Dad’s clean-out list.
Trophies, clothes, paystubs—even his television. Dad hauled every scrap of it away.
The only reminder he couldn’t get rid of, in the end, was me.
Twenty-One
Mollie
“Kai...I don’t know what to say.”
Even though his voice was steeled while he spoke, I’m not surprised when I hear him crying. It starts so quietly, I think it’s just a few tears, until it builds and then he’s weeping, all at once, rolling away from me when I try to hug him.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, hugging his back instead. His spine stiffens; he tries to pull away. “You can cry in front of me.”
“I don’t want to cry at all,” he seethes, and jerks his arm away when I search for his hand to hold it. “I don’t deserve to.”
“To what? Cry?”
Silence greets me. I sit up.
“Kai. You didn’t kill him.”
“Noe wouldn’t have gone surfing that day if I hadn’t hooked up with Andrea. He wouldn’t have been out there so long, getting tired....”
“It was an accident. You tried to save him.”
“Yeah,” he says, his breath ragged as he inhales. I hear him sit up, his voice aimed at the wall instead of me. “But I couldn’t.”
I’m not sure what to say to this. Like the coffee tour, when he first told me about Noe, all I can think of is, “I’m sorry.” But it seems even more inadequate now, even if I do feel sorry for him.
Actually, it’s more than that: I’m devastated for him. For how lonely he must have felt the last two years, carrying this guilt, not even allowing himself to cry.
So, for now, I don’t say anything. We lie back down and watch the room come into view as the clouds clear outside. He holds my hand and turns it in one of the moonbeams. Our shadow falls on the wall behind us, magnified and gray.
“What now?” he whispers.
“I don’t know.”
From the corner of my eye, I see him nod. Maybe it’s okay that we don’t know yet—even though, come tomorrow, we’ll have less than three days left to find out.
Kai
When I wake up, I smell coffee and fried ham.
“Morning,” I mutter, shielding Mollie from my morning breath as I roll over, but the bed is empty. Then I hear her laugh, floating to me from across the house.
“It’s about time!” Mom sets a plate of ham and eggs in front of me, followed by a mug of coffee with extra creamer. I actually prefer my coffee black or with just a little sugar; she’s thinking of Noe, who took so much creamer his coffee looked off-white. But I’ve never corrected her.
I take a sip and cringe at it when she’s turned away. “So, uh...how’d you sleep?” I ask Mollie. I notice she’s wearing one of my sweatshirts, the sleeves baggy and covering her fingers, wrapped around her mug.
“Good.” She blushes. And this, among other reasons, is why I never bring girls home: Noe and his summer romances taught me that mornings after are awkward as hell. No matter how hospitable my mother is, or how naïve she pretends to be.
“Mollie and I were talking about what she wants to do, now that school’s over.” Mom refills her own mug and sits across from us. The air feels strangely still, without her hummingbird level of activity.
“And I,” Mollie sighs, “was telling your mom that I have absolutely no clue.”
“You don’t need to get a job in the field you studied. The important part is the degree itself, not necessarily what it’s in,” Mom tells her. “Look at me: I got into the hospitality business, but you know what I studied?”
Thank God she isn’t asking me. I should know; she’s told me this story at least fifty times during my life, but I always forget the answer.
“Geology.”
“Geology?” Mollie and I repeat at the same time, which earns me a soft glare from Mom.
“I guess I just feel like a failure,” Mollie says, tracing the edge of her plate, “walking around with all this debt, but nothing to show for it.”
“An architecture degree is impressive,” I offer.
“Not without a master’s to follow it up. I’m not licensed to be an architect.”
“Do you even like architecture?” Mom asks. “From what you told me, it sounds like you hate it.”
“I don’t hate it,” Mollie says thoughtfully. “I think I picked it too fast. The only thing I like about it is how it fits into interior
design. But that’s such a hard field to break into, and it tanks when the economy’s bad....”
Mom scoffs and waves her hand. “Do what you love,” she assures her, “and the money will follow. And if it doesn’t...well, you won’t care as much, because at least you’ll like what you’re waking up to, every morning.”
Mollie considers this, quiet.
“Besides—it’s not like you have to decide right now.”
I look down at my food, but feel Mollie’s eyes cut at me. She’s probably thinking the exact same thing: that we’re already putting off one big decision. No wonder she feels pressured to erase any other question marks in her life.
After breakfast, Mom shoos Mollie away from loading the dishwasher and shows her how to operate the shower down the hall, passing me the dish sponge instead.
“Sweet girl.” She watches me scour a pan before deciding I’m doing it wrong and jumping in herself. “Things getting serious? You’ve never brought one home before.”
“Sure, I have.”
“Prom dates don’t count,” she teases, elbowing me. “I mean someone who’s more than just a friend.”
“Well, Mollie is just a friend.” I lean back against the counter, folding my arms. “She has to be.”
“Why?”
“She’s a tourist, Mom.” My voice softens. I stare at the doorway and listen to the shower. It reminds me of the rain on the roof last night. “Tourists leave.”
“Then you have a long-distance relationship.”
“Long-distance relationships almost never work.”
“Which means,” she says, flicking some suds at me, “they sometimes do.”
My sigh and sarcasm amplify each other. “That’s such a mom thing to say.”
“Mom things are usually right, aren’t they?”
“Which means they sometimes aren’t.” I duck out of the way just in time to dodge her shot with the spray nozzle.
I shower after Mollie gets done, then follow her out to the garden. The rain last night probably should have drowned the plants, but it actually seemed to do them good: everything is lush and upright, the air smelling like fresh soil.
“What are your plans for the day?” Mollie asks, watching me fix the seed packet signs that fell over. She shakes out her hair, still wet. Our dandruff shampoo somehow smells a lot better on her.
“I don’t know.” Craning my neck at the sky—cloudless, bright blue, and a perfect day for surfing—I sigh, “Guess I should visit my dad and...you know. Tell him what’s going on.”
“I think that’s a good idea. You’ll feel better when it’s over with.”
We walk around the house to the road. She shields her eyes and looks into the distance, and suddenly the thought of her leaving in one direction while I take the other depresses me beyond belief.
“Could you...come with me?” I ask. “If you aren’t doing anything today, I mean.” I fidget and brace for the no. It’s her vacation—why would she want to be stuck at a hospital?
She smiles, though, like she was waiting all along for me to ask her. “Of course.”
We opt for the bikes. I say it’s to admire the weather, but she seems to know I’m just procrastinating. Our ride is almost silent.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” I confess, after we’ve chained our bikes to a lamppost and walked halfway up the hospital’s sidewalk. I turn, but Mollie puts both hands against my chest and turns me back.
“You have to. Getting something like this over with, out in the open as fast as possible, is better for you and the other person. Trust me on this.”
“Well, not to sound insensitive, but getting told your crush is gay and telling your dad you don’t want his greatest legacy? Not exactly the same thing.”
She loops her arm through mine and somehow makes me fall in step beside her, the glare on the hospital windows more intense the closer we get. “In light of your circumstances, I’ll ignore that.”
“Seriously.” I pull my arm from hers and press my palms to my temples. There’s a massive headache brewing, and I feel the coffee-flavored creamer Mom gave me fighting to make a second appearance. “This is freaking me out.”
“Why?” she asks, not in a judgmental way, but like she really wants to know. She takes a seat on a bench by the entrance and pats it.
“My dad worked himself stupid to build this business.” I sit beside her and close my eyes. The sun is brutal as it sinks into my clothes, but also calms me. “How can I just waltz in there and tell him I don’t want it?”
“Don’t focus on how much you don’t want it. Focus on how much Luka does.”
I glance at her. “That’s actually pretty good advice.” She smiles. “But he’s still going to freak.”
“I think he’ll surprise you.”
“You,” I sigh, kicking her foot with mine, “have been talking to my mom too much.”
Dad’s awake when I go in. Mollie waits in the hall, her thumbs-up the last thing I see as I shut the door behind me.
“Hey,” he says, turning off the television with one remote, sitting his bed upright with the other.
“Hey. How are you liking the new room?”
“Better than the ICU, that’s for sure.” He motions to the plastic chair beside his bed. Mom was probably here last; it’s pulled up way closer than I want it to be. I hope he doesn’t notice how far I scoot it back before I sit.
“You look a lot better,” I offer.
He laughs. “Thanks.”
I relax a bit. Dad and I used to joke around a lot, actually, before Noe died. It’s like just these few days off work, even if it wasn’t by choice, have already undone some of the damage the resort caused him.
“So,” he says, “how’s everything at headquarters? You settling into the routine okay? I told Parker to get started on the paperwork next week—it’ll all be official soon.”
I draw in a breath and try to ignore the way he instantly bristles, preparing himself. Like he’s thinking, Should have known he’d screw things up, somehow.
“Kai,” he says sternly, to make me look him in the eye. It works. “What’s going on?”
“Luka’s been, uh…been handling things, actually. And he’s doing a really good job.” I can’t help it; I have to glance away. The tiles under my feet are so much easier to tell this to. “That’s why I’m here. I need to talk to you about all this.”
He adjusts the bed again. “‘All this,’” he repeats.
I take another breath. “I’m not sure I’m the best person to replace you.” Now, because I know I should, not because I want to, I look up at him from under my brow. “You should hand the reins over to Luka.”
“Luka? He’s never had any interest in taking over.” His words are clipped, like what he’s saying is a carved-in-stone fact he’s appalled I’ve forgotten.
“He didn’t, before. I mean, back when it was just the B&B kind of setup. But he likes everything the way it is now, with the resort, and the corporate stuff…. He’s really good at it.”
He spits out a laugh. “Luka can’t even make it through an inventory on his own.”
“He’s not like that anymore, Dad.” I hear how insistent I’m getting—almost desperate—and hate it. But even more than that, I hate how easily Dad doesn’t believe me. “He implemented that drink ticker system, remember? And he’s never missed a shift since the contract started, and—”
“Stop.” He holds up his hand. I try not to notice the IV jammed into it, the skin around the tape bruised deep. “What you’re really telling me,” he says, “is that you don’t want the business.” His eyes don’t even blink as he stares me down. “Is that it?”
The coffee bobs into my throat again. “Yeah. That’s...that’s what I’m saying.”
Dad doesn’t say anything, just stares, his face unreadable.
Then, finally, he explodes.
“You’re kidding me,” he spits, sitting up even more, even though I know he doesn’t have the energy for it. He
’s fueled by anger, pure and powerful. “You’re telling me you just ‘don’t want’ the business I’ve poured my blood, sweat, and tears into for the last three decades. You’re telling me that I’m lying here after a stroke because of that damn business, because of all the work I put into it so you boys would have a decent future—and you just don’t want it.”
“Dad,” I sputter, standing, “calm—”
“Don’t you dare tell me to calm down,” he seethes, but, thank God, leans back against his pillows when he notices the monitor beside him going crazy. I look at it instead of him: his pulse line is still hitting high peaks, rapid and hard, but better than before.
“I can’t believe you.” Right on cue, there’s the Done with Kai move, complete with an eye-roll towards the ceiling. Like he’s asking God why on earth he had to have a kid like me.
“It’s not that I don’t appreciate everything you’ve done for us. I know how hard you’ve worked. And—and believe me, I didn’t want it to happen like this, either, but—”
“I think you’d better leave.” He interrupts me so quietly that I keep talking, my brain not getting the message for several seconds. When it hits, I just stand there.
“But I need to talk to you about this,” I whisper. I can feel tears at the back of my throat. This moment, finally telling him the truth, was supposed to feel like a weight getting lifted off my back. Instead, it feels like an even bigger one getting added. Pushing down.
“Leave, Kai.” He turns on the television again, cranking the volume to drown me out. He’d rather listen to a commercial about class action lawsuits for bad hip replacements, than me.
As soon as I step out into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind me, Mollie reaches for me. She heard. Judging from the small army of nurses assembled nearby— probably ready to rush in the second Dad’s monitor goes off again—everyone did.
I tear my arm out of her grasp and stalk towards the elevator. She follows me, asking a million questions, offering a million stupid platitudes about these things taking time and people coming around.
