Chris suddenly stiffened as he realized what all this was leading towards and declared with alarm, “Oh my God! No way! I know what you're really doing! You’re trying to set me up with Evangeline again! This whole thing is actually just a ruse for some twisted type of arranged marriage!”
Abigail answered defensively, “But- Evie's a lovely girl!”
Chris countered sarcastically, “The best that money can buy.”
“Christopher!” Abigail replied tersely, clearly offended at Chris’ callous comment. And then she continued, almost cajolingly, “We just thought you… got along. Nothing more…” She smiled thoughtfully and then added, “Though I must admit, you do look good together!”
Chris rolled his eyes toward the ceiling in exasperation, “God! Mother! Are you serious? That is so- medieval. And here I thought family empires were so last century!” Chris slowly turned to Walter and declared, “Dad, I am not spending my final summer of freedom aboard a stupid boat 'making the rounds'!” He glanced sidelong toward the globe, which he had now taken in both hands and was spinning idly, grimly contemplating the future that it held. His gaze rose slowly to the window and then focused outward on the vast blue sky beyond.
Walter was apparently caught off-guard by his failure to win Chris’ approval for his machinations and sputtered, “But- plans have been made, people are expecting-!”
Chris interrupted flatly, a single word resonating in the room.
“No.”
Out in the main hall, the music suddenly skipped- as if the musicians had collectively missed a note, and a crashing tinkle of sound, a wineglass breaking, punctuated Chris’ monosyllabic word of denial.
Walter, his face reddening alarmingly, said sharply, “No?! What the hell do you mean-‘no’?”
Chris released his hands from the globe and raised them imploringly to the sky. He whirled on his father and cried, “Which part of-? God dammit, I just mean 'NO'!”
Walter took a long moment to calm his ire with a sip of his drink and a slow intake of breath and then countered, “’No' is really not an option, son. I decided- Uh...” he looked to Abigail for backup, received none, and continued, “...we decided this quite a while ago. Arrangements have been made-”
Chris interrupted explosively, a storm of emotion rising on every word, “Oh-My-God! You haven't heard a single fucking word I said. It never changes. It never has. Do you know, for as long as I can remember, you have never once listened to me, to what I wanted? Ever?! Do you know that my earliest memories are of all the things I couldn't do? Not the things I did, oh no, not the happy memories of childhood. Nope, my memories consist of all the times you denied me a life of my own.” He held up a hand and shook his head, interrupting the anticipated rebuttal from his father and continued, “And now, I'm done! I've had it! After everything I've done, after all the things I went through to become all that you wanted me to be- All I want, all I want, is to be able to make one simple choice for the rest of my miserable life!” Chris paused in his tirade, unable to continue- he just didn’t have it in himself to be mean. He looked to his father for a reaction, but Walter merely stared back, his face a mask of stone, so he continued, his demeanor changing softly from angry to conciliatory. “Look, Dad- I'll make a deal with you... You give me this one thing- just one- and I promise I will love, honor and obey whatever future you have planned for me- deal?”
Walter’s silence was his response.
Chris hesitated, trying to outlast his father’s stubbornness, and then he sighed in defeat and conceded, “Okay, fine, I'll take that as a 'yes'.” He turned back to the globe and began to slowly turn it about its’ axis, inspecting its dazzlingly bejeweled surface with a look of determined consideration. After a moment he abruptly stilled the glittering sphere, his gaze hovering over the islands of the Caribbean, and he was suddenly struck with an idea. “Okay, Dad, I’ll tell you what. I'll even make this a little more interesting. Let's play a variation of 'Russian roulette'...” Chris quickly untied and snatched the regimental tie from around his neck and re-tied it over his eyes like a blindfold. He lifted his chin into the afternoon light as he began to blindly spin the antique globe and continued, “If I pick the Caribbean, or...” he shrugged, “Oh, hey, what the hell, I'm feeling generous- I'll even give you the entire Mediterranean- either one of those, you get your way. But if I choose anything else- anything- Macchu Picchu, Bora Bora, whatever, wherever, that's it, that’s where we're going! Okay?”
Walter sputtered, “But- DAMMIT! I can't just…” His shoulders sagged with defeat, and he replied with angry resignation, “…fine. Whatever.”
“All righty then, here we go…” Chris gave the globe a savage spin, whirling the glittering surface in an almost dizzying flash of color. He held his right index finger above it apprehensively- hesitating, tentative, waiting for just the right moment to choose his destiny, muttering softly, “'Round and 'round she goes- and where she stops…” And then he jabbed his finger decisively at the whirling sphere and brought it to a screeching halt.
Walter gazed down obliquely at Chris' finger on the globe and then began to chuckle as he looked away with a derisive snort of victory. “Ha! Hope you brought your swim trunks.”
Chris slowly peeled the impromptu blindfold from one eye and looked with trepidation at the glittering sphere, where to his heart-sinking dismay he saw his fingertip resting in the middle of an immense ocean of turquoise, the inlaid brass cross-hairs isolating a section of uninterrupted blue. Slowly, almost fearfully, he lifted his hand away, only to reveal to his delight the deep green and blood-flecked hues of Jasper that were the Hawaiian Islands, the tiny gems glittering in the shaft of sunlight that streamed from the window. Chris straightened and turned triumphantly to confront his father- only to see his back, for Walter was already on his way out the door.
Walter brushed brusquely past Abigail and addressed her with almost callous dismissal as he departed, “Abby, I wash my hands of this- you make the arrangements... I'll be in the car.” And with that he stormed through the archway, angrily snapping open a cell phone as he bulled his way through the crowded room.
Abigail gaped in stunned silence at the back of Walter as he disappeared into the crowd. And then she slowly turned back to Chris, a wry smile slowly spreading across her face like the rising of the sun, a barely suppressed giggle issuing from her lips. Chris’ face twisted into a bemused smirk of his own, a singular dimple appearing on one cheek, and then he slowly turned from his mother and swung his gaze back out the window, basking in the glow of the late afternoon sun, contemplating his fate in the periwinkle light.
The Boeing ‘Triple-seven’ descended almost silently through the pink-and gold-tinged clouds, bits and pieces of vivid viridian, intensely blue cobalt, vibrant turquoise and bright amber gold teasing magical glimpses of the island of O’ahu below.
From his window seat in the front of the lushly appointed first class cabin, Chris brought his gaze back into the plane with a look of smug satisfaction and shot a sidelong wink of acknowledgement to his mother. Abigail returned his wink with one of her own, grateful that through his random act of rebellion she had been serendipitously handed the reins of planning the trip of her dreams, a lavish voyage reminiscent of another time, to an exotic place she had always dreamed of, in a luxurious conveyance of her choosing, one decidedly more enjoyable than the cold, sterile confines of the Walter’s ‘strictly business’ corporate jet.
Chris sighed serenely and turned his attentions back to the jumble of pamphlets, travel brochures and in-flight magazines sprawled on the table before him. As he idly twiddled the glittering golden card he had so recently liberated from his cousin, he scanned the smorgasbord of action and adventure that he had in front of him and grinned broadly with anticipation of the coming days; Surfing, Glider flights, Mountain Biking, Scuba- the works. He smiled crookedly at the irony of his own interpretation of his father’s words and casually flipped a page of the magazine that lay to his right. A splashy
ad for a car rental company showed a bright red Mustang convertible flying down a coastal highway. With another satisfied sigh and a contented smile, Chris closed his eyes and tapped the button that transformed his generous seat into a lush chaise, folding his hands behind his head as he imagined himself behind the wheel, the warm sun on his face and a fragrant breeze in his hair.
From her own seat just adjacent to Chris, Abigail watched her son with a combination of warm affection and a hint of wry amusement as she reclined herself, closing her eyes and nodding her head gently to the sweet tenor voice of the island singer Iz crooning 'Over the Rainbow’ in her ears, envisioning herself luxuriating in glorious sunshine mere hours from now, a Mai-tai in her hand and the tang of ocean breeze on her cheeks. As she became absorbed in the daydream and immersed in the music she wondered absently if there wasn’t perhaps some kernel of universal truth to the lyrics- that maybe she was indeed travelling to a truly magical place; a place where dreams really do come true, and again she pondered the truly miraculous events that had culminated in this, an actual dream come true.
Walter glared across the aisle at the two relaxed souls beside him, agitated and busy with his laptop and the in-seat phone simultaneously, and then continued the heated discussion he was having with an unseen individual, “Dammit Carl, I don't care what it takes, just get it done! Fine! I'll sign them when I get back, just have it ready and a notary on hand.” He paused as he listened and then exploded with anger, “No, I will not change my mind! That episode at the Club was the last straw. He can earn himself back into my good graces, but until he does- not a dime, not a penny, not a sheckle! He humiliated me with that outburst and nearly destroyed-!”
Walter’s rant was rudely interrupted by the crackling voice of the plane’s pilot over the speakers. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are about to begin our descent into Honolulu International. At this time, I would like to thank you for flying with Aloha airlines, and request that all electronic equipment be turned off for landing.” Walter halted in his tirade, his lips pursing whitely in consternation until the pilot finished his announcement, and then he returned to his conversation with a snarl, “Dammit! Okay, Carl. I gotta go, we're about to- I'll call you back after we land! Yes, Carl, I know! It can wait for thirty minutes! Okay? Carl…?” Walter stared malevolently at the phone, the conversation now dead in his hands and he slammed it into the receiver with a terse and pointless, “Goodbye!”
The lush green Hawaiian landscape carpeted the hills receding into the distance, the view overlaid with the reflection of multi-hued tourists in the floor-to-ceiling windows of the tropical airport, a colorful mélange of shapes in motion. A trio of lovely Hawaiian wahine greeted the Matthews clan as they emerged from the gate, smiling serenely and delicately placing colorful leis on their shoulders in the ancient tradition.
Abigail sniffed hers with rapturous delight, Chris’ adorned him perfectly, and Walter- well, Walter just looked grumpy. And curiously, as if it had never left off, the lilting strains of ‘Over the Rainbow’ now danced through the air in the terminal, picking up on almost the exact same note they had left from Abigail’s headphones on the plane.
The burly native limo driver, his brightly colored Aloha shirt a vibrant accent to his all-black suit, silently loaded the baggage cart, his powerful arms straining with unexpected effort as he hoisted Abigail’s voluminous wardrobe, filling the tiny cart nearly to overflowing. After hoisting the final ridiculously heavy bag, his exertions complete, he then led the Matthews leisurely down an open-air ramp, the ever-present island breeze warm and fragrant in the late Hawaiian afternoon, carrying with it the soft sounds of nature juxtaposed with the riotous sounds of excited children and overlaid with the distant crackle of the Public Address.
As they meandered down the ramp, a single incongruous note marred this idyllic vision of heaven. It was a construction zone, cordoned off by a limp and sagging orange safety fence. The sole ornament to the fence was a dirty, tilted sign- the only fly in the ointment of what otherwise was a typical day in Paradise. The sign was simple- it contained the images of two short, large-eared construction workers, white hard-hats on their over-sized heads, who smiled and waved at the oblivious passers-by. Just below them was a single line of cracked and faded text, a peculiarly local touch to an otherwise mundane placard.
It read, quite simply- ‘Menehune at Work’.
As the Matthews family reached the absurdly long vehicle waiting for them at the curb, the limo driver gallantly opened the paired doors of the luxurious conveyance. Walter immediately dove onto the wide seat and huddled in the corner, completely ignoring Abigail and Chris, fumbling to turn on his computer while simultaneously trying to hold his phone tucked beneath one ear, obviously anxious to resume his previous conversation. Frowning slightly and shaking his head at his father’s callous behavior, Chris gently ushered Abigail in next, and then entered himself after taking a final satisfied glance at this new and exotic world.
The driver softly closed the doors, his charges secure, and shook his head with a slight roll of the eyes to the heavens as he finished loading the cavernous trunk with the piles of luggage, and then finally boarded the car himself. As the charcoal-gray limousine glided silently away from the curb, the Matthews logo, a three-masted ship riding the wave of an ‘M’, sailed off into the afternoon sun.
As the long, dark car wove its way about the hustle and bustle of downtown Honolulu, Abigail took in the sights with a child-like wonder, her face leaning out of the side window like a dog sampling the breeze as the driver pointed out various points of interest. The iconic statue of King Kamehameha; the famous slip where the ‘Minnow’ embarked on its fateful voyage; and the bronze guardian of Waikiki, Duke Kahanamoku, his well-muscled arms extended in welcome and tirelessly holding a horde of multi-colored leis as he posed before a vintage surfboard.
The bustling seaport gradually gave way to lush and crowding vegetation of the surrounding hills as they wound their way steadily up the Pali highway. Abigail looked around in puzzled curiosity as she inquired of the driver through the open privacy window, “So exactly how long does it take to drive around to the other side of the island?”
The man replied with a wry chuckle and a soft shake of the head, “Oh, we not going around- That'd take forevah... we goin' through,” he said, nodding his head toward the front window, where the grim gray façade of a tunnel was now towering in front of them- the dark, gaping hole in the lush green hillside emitting a wan, sodium-yellow glow.
Walter, his consternation with the drawn-out journey finally boiling over, addressed the incessant chattering’s of his wife with irritation, “Honey, please- can you hold it down? I'm right in the middle of- Yes, Carl, put him on... Alfred! How's Barbara? Good, good! I'm glad to hear it- Anyway, the reason I wanted to talk to you…” Walter paused, looking up abruptly as they approached the tunnel, placing a hand over his phone as he grumbled in consternation, “Good God! Aren't we there yet?” He looked to his wife and inquired accusingly, “Abigail?”
Abigail retorted sharply, “You told me to make arrangements- I made arrangements...”
“Then where in the hell are we going?”
Abigail replied almost- mystically, a mischievous grin spreading slowly across her face, “To the 'other' side of the island...”
As they entered the tunnel the world abruptly went dark, the late afternoon sunshine being replaced with the odd glow of the tunnel, the only sound a buzzing hum of the tires echoing in the hollow cylinder. Walter's phone abruptly cut out, immediately bringing forth a new rant, “Alfred? Hello? Dammit! You can't even make a simple fucking phone call on this God-forsaken island!” Walter angrily flung his phone into his briefcase, where it clattered among the debris of his daily battle and fell silent.
A moment later the limo burst from the other side of the tunnel, the blue sky and bright sunshine now replaced with dark clouds and a crashing splatter of rain. In the distance, the low-slanting rays of afternoon sunlight slic
ed the distant landscape into bright patches of green and gold, painting the verdant hills with a variegated, translucent glow.
As the car clung to the cliff-side, Chris leaned past Abigail to see the sloping terrain spreading out far below, the sides of the mountain steep and invisible from his vantage, almost as if the car were flying, silently gliding above the pastoral landscape, and he exclaimed with amazement, “Whoa! Cooool!”
Abigail looked with puzzlement at the unexpected change of scene and replied with a note of curiosity in her voice, “What on earth happened? Are we still on the same island?”
As they both stared at this new spectacle in silence, both she and Chris simultaneously paused, slowly turning and looking at each other with a dawning realization that something was not quite- right. Abigail looked over to Walter and gasped in surprise as she immediately grasped what was different.
His phone perched precariously on his shoulder, his laptop dark and silent, Walter was inexplicably sound asleep, a gentle snoring rasp emanating from his mouth as his head tilted awkwardly back onto the headrest.
“Oh my goodness!” Abigail whispered, whirling and nudging her son. “Chris! Honey- look.”
Chris silently took in the unexpected vision of his father and then exclaimed softly, his words now muted in a whisper so as not to break the spell, “Oh-My-God! No way!” His hands frantically dug around in his jacket, finally producing his phone and quickly enabling his camera. He placed a finger across his lips and admonished a smirking and bemused Abigail, “Shhhhh- don’t- breathe…” Quickly snapping off several silent images, he smiled with contentment and continued, conspiratorially, “We really ought to take advantage of this you know. How about-? How about if he woke up in a grass skirt? With maybe a coconut bra thrown in for good measure? It would make a great slide show at the next board meeting…”
Over the Rainbow - Book One - 'The Gathering Place' Page 3
