Red Sky Over Hawaii

by Sara Ackerman

  “Hmm. Let me think on it.”

  They worked some more, Grant and Benji easily hoisting posts that Lana couldn’t even budge. Grant had rolled up his sleeves, and veins snaked up his forearms. He was a different breed altogether than the men in Honolulu, who spent most of their time pushing paper. Grant was the kind of man you wanted by your side during trouble.

  After the final post was in, and the barbed wire nailed on, Lana finally looked around. Coco was no longer with her horse, but on the far side of the pasture crouching beside a large rock. A smooth and shiny rock. Lana looked closer, confused as to what she was seeing.

  She pointed. “Is that ‘Ohelo lying down?”

  Grant spun around. They watched. Coco was walking along the horse, stroking the length of her body, and then starting again at her head. “Well, I’ll be...” he said.

  “You hardly ever see horses lying down. Is ‘Ohelo all right?” Benji said.

  “She looks fine. My old horse was a sucker for a sun bath. Just put her in a grassy field and she was down, lolling about and lazy as a fat baby.”

  They approached Marie, who was now leaning against a small eucalyptus tree, catching some shade. Sailor was stretched out next to her. “As you can see, Coco’s at it again, making friends with the animals,” she said.

  Coco spotted them and waved.

  Grant said, “I made a liniment for ‘Ohelo’s knee. And if that doesn’t work, I’ll try to wrap it once she’s more used to me. You two hang back here.”

  He walked slowly toward Coco and ‘Ohelo, talking in a soothing voice the whole way. Lana admired his mix of toughness and tenderness. An ache ran through her.

  She and Marie and Benji watched while man and girl and horse bonded over sunshine and tall grass and alfalfa cubes. Grant eventually leaned down and rubbed his hands along ‘Ohelo’s knee, while Coco stood by her head. It looked like she was saying things into the horse’s ear.

  “My sister would bring that horse into her bed if she could,” Marie said.

  “I would have done the same as a kid.”

  Marie turned her lovely blue eyes to Lana. “Thank you for being good to Coco, Aunt Lana. Kids made fun of her at school. Even her teachers thought she was odd and ran out of patience with her.”

  Lana considered Coco a blessing. “It’s all about finding your kind. Being with people who let you be your wonderful, peculiar, unique self.”

  “Our mom was good at that. Papa not so much.”

  “Tell you what—when he gets out, I bet he’ll have a change of heart,” Lana said.

  Marie was teary. “I feel the same way. I want to be the best daughter in the world.”

  Lana hugged her. “Oh, sweetie, you already are.”

  When all was said and done, ‘Ohelo got a good rubdown and a knee full of liniment, both girls were burned pink from the sun, and Grant and Benji looked as though they’d taken a dust bath. Lana figured she probably looked the same.

  Marie said she wanted to walk back and set off with Sailor. Once the rest were mounted, Grant said, “Race you back!” He kicked Boss, who took off like a bullet.

  All the other horses lurched forward without any prodding. Lana leaned down and hung on. At first she was tense as a fiddle string, but she soon loosened. Her horse, Hoku, carried her along smoothly, wind pressing against her cheeks and the thunder of hooves running up her center. Nothing else mattered, not Grant or the Wagners, not even the war.

  Coco’s horse was one body length ahead, but Hoku was gaining. Grant and Boss were nowhere to be seen. They tore through the trees and up the driveway when a loud whistle rang out. Out of the side of her eye, she saw Grant standing in the yard. Lana pulled back on the reins. Hoku came to a stop, but Coco kept on going.

  Grant wore a huge smile. “See what I mean? These horses keep me sane.”

  The intoxication was undeniable.

  “What about Coco? She’s gone again.”

  He laughed. “That look on her face. Half-mad with delight. I say you’ve got a true cowgirl on your hands.”

  “Shouldn’t you go after her?”

  “Nah, she’ll be back.”

  Benji and Lady soon trotted up, followed by Marie with Sailor trailing not too far behind. Sailor’s tongue hung out to the side and she was panting. A few minutes later Coco appeared. They all circled up near an old whiskey barrel that the horses drank from. Even the two geese joined them. Grant appointed Coco as the keeper of the newly fenced-in herd, and she beamed at her new responsibility, asking ninety-nine questions.

  A crisscross pattern formed on the grass the minute the sun dipped behind the trees. The sky began to buzz, faintly at first, and then the sound hummed through her body. Lana shivered. Not as strong as the days preceding the last disaster, but too strong to ignore. She tried to shake it off, but the feeling stuck.

  On a regular afternoon, she would have invited Grant in for dinner, warmed up in front of the fireplace with logs crackling, offered him cider and a hot meal. Maybe she would have even kissed him. None of that was about to happen anytime soon. She was about to tell the girls to go inside so she could speak with Grant alone, when Coco said, “Wanna come in and see our tree? We started decorating it this morning.”

  “Sure, but—”

  Lana jumped in. “I’m sure you have to get back to camp, right?”

  He shrugged. “I can spare a few minutes. I’d love to.”

  If Mochi had any sense about him, he would be making himself scarce. Lana took mental inventory of what was out in the house.

  Benji turned toward the house and hurried away, calling over his shoulder, “I have to use the bathroom. Excuse me.”

  “Shall we tie up the horses, then?” she asked Grant, dragging her heels over to Lady and rubbing her rump.

  “They won’t go anywhere,” he said.

  Attempting to slow time, Lana sat on the bottom step and began to unlace her shoes. Some people on the mainland never understood why people in Hawaii took off their shoes before entering a home, but Grant followed suit without a word. He sat next to her, hip touching hers. The air felt thick and syrupy as she walked up the stairs. Coco was waiting at the top with a guilty look on her face, as though she had just realized her error. Marie stood in front of the door as though blocking it but slowly opened it when they approached.

  Inside, the fire was roaring. Benji hunched in front of it with the bellows, pumping away. There was an indentation in the air where Mochi had just been. Lana could feel it.

  If Grant noticed the mature fire, he didn’t let on. Instead he went to the tree with Coco and admired the handmade ornaments. Lana stole away into the kitchen. The pantry door was shut, thank heavens. She pulled out the pitcher of lemonade they’d made earlier and brought it out to the table by the fire. Sweetened with honey instead of sugar, it was tart enough to make you pucker, but still drinkable. Refreshing after a hot and sweaty afternoon.

  Coco was telling Grant, “Did you know that Sailor really likes you?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Did she tell you that?”

  “I just know.”

  He reached down and scratched Sailor’s ears. “I like her a lot, too. She’s an exceptional dog with a lot of spunk. Will you tell her I said so?”

  Coco smiled up at him and then said in the most nonchalant way, “Do you think we could bring her to camp one day soon?”

  Lana gave her a harsh look. “Coco, it’s not that kind of camp, remember?”

  Grant guzzled down his lemonade. No one else had had a sip yet. A few seconds later, he was yawning and blinking and rubbing his eyes. He sunk down on the bench, leaning on his elbows. “Gosh, I’m wiped out all of a sudden.”

  “Must be the fire,” Lana said.

  His eyes were closed. “And a long day.”

  “Do you want me to drive you back?” Lana said.


  “No, I have to return the horses. The foreman was irked I left Lady overnight last time.”

  Grant leaned all the way down and rested his head on the table. He looked so peaceful, as though he could have stayed there the whole night. Lana’s palms started sweating. Her mind went to the lemonade. She and Marie had squeezed the lemons and Coco had stirred in the honey, a batch of dark red that turned the lemonade almost brown.

  A twitch of his leg and he bolted to standing. “Look at me, falling asleep at your table. Ladies, I’m sorry, but I should go while I can still see,” he said.

  Lana ushered him outside and was surprised to see sheet lightning flashing above Mauna Loa. It was hard to tell approaching night from the storm clouds stacking up—ash, charcoal and inky black. Grant moved like an eighty-year-old man. She thought she may have to help him onto Boss, but he managed.

  Even in his condition, he had all the horses rounded up in less than thirty seconds. He then swung past her again, swooping down and kissing her on the top of her head. “Good night, my beautiful dream,” he slurred.

  She sprinted back inside, oblivious to the cold on her bare feet. Coco and Marie were sitting at the table across from each other. Neither had touched the pitcher.

  “Did you do something to the lemonade?” Lana demanded.

  Coco shrunk back. “No.”

  Marie came to her sister’s defense. “Coco hasn’t been sleeping well. Neither of us have, really. Half the time she wakes up crying from her dreams and then I wake up and neither of us can sleep. Could you have been thinking about that when we mixed it? Wishing for a good sleep?” she asked Coco.

  “I might have been,” Coco said.

  Lana called into the secret room that the coast was clear, then returned to the table. Frustration boiled up. “That’s the second time poor Grant has been oddly affected by what we’ve given him. Pretty soon, he’s going to start thinking we’re doing it intentionally. And inviting him in here with Mochi? What were you thinking?”

  Coco sat there with her shoulders slumped, staring at the flames. The sudden rise in humidity caused her ringlets to coil. “I want him to be our friend. That way he’ll be nicer to our parents.”

  Lana’s stomach did a slow flip.

  “When are you going to tell him?” Marie asked.

  “I was about to tell him when Coco invited him in. I’ll go tomorrow and clear things up once and for all.”

  From out of nowhere, a clap of thunder ripped through the house. They all jumped a foot off their seats and Sailor slid under the table. The air tasted metallic and highly uncertain. Lana thought of Grant riding back with the horses. In her experience, thunderstorms brought on change. Changes in mood, changes in circumstance, changes in heart.

  THE HOUSEGUESTS

  “Whatever you do, don’t drink the lemonade,” Lana had advised everyone. But after tossing and turning for an hour straight, she snuck into the kitchen and poured herself a tall glass. It seemed tarter than she remembered, with hints of honey and heartache. When she tucked herself back in, she saw one flash of lightning and was out cold. The sleep was absolute.

  In the morning she peeked out the window. The sky was plump with water, streams rushed from the downspouts, and trees were heavy and drooping. So much moisture you could wring out your bones. The whole world was underwater. Lana dove back under the covers, snuggled with a still-snoring Sailor for a few minutes, then dressed and tiptoed out to the truck.

  Yesterday Mrs. Kano told her they’d have homemade sweet bread in the morning, and Lana planned on surprising the gang with French toast and ‘o¯helo berry syrup. But the bread had a reputation, and you had to get there early to nab a loaf. When Lana arrived, there was only one left. She returned the ink pad, carefully typed out Mochi’s and Benji’s ID cards in the store’s back room, and bought the loaf, fresh eggs and butter.

  “A Japanese submarine opened fire on Hilo last night, did you hear?” Mrs. Kano said in her squeaky-door-hinge voice. She was sitting at the counter cracking mac nuts.

  “Was anyone hurt?”

  “Just a chicken. Ten rounds they say. Damaged a seaplane tender and burned up some land near the airport. Good thing you folks came up here.”

  “You’re right about that. Any other news?”

  “Maui and Kaua‘i got hit, too. The pineapple cannery, a gas storage tank and Nawiliwili Harbor.”

  None of this sat well with Lana. Knowing those subs were still in Hawaiian waters raised all kinds of questions. Her stomach churned. Were they planning another all-out attack? Where next? Even though the islands were crawling with military and civilians on high alert, the Japanese navy could not be underestimated. Lana felt sure of that.

  When she ran back to the truck, avoiding puddles, she noticed a black Ford Super Deluxe parked in front. Two figures sat inside blurred by rain sheets on the windshield. The car smelled of government. Soaked and suddenly ravenous, she shivered the whole way home.

  Everyone was up, and in Lana’s absence, Coco had felt the need to construct a shelter for the geese on the porch. She had rounded up two crates and a scratchy, moth-eaten blanket no one wanted to use.

  “They’re geese. They’re designed for water,” Lana told her.

  As if that made any difference. Coco’s mind was set, and no amount of reasoning could sway her.

  “Not this kind of ice-water rain. They’d rather be inside with us,” Coco said.

  “Your nest will be perfect for them.”

  Lana rather enjoyed the geese; they reminded her of Jack, but didn’t need them in the house pooping everywhere. She found Mochi and Benji at the kitchen table, sipping honey with tea in it. She liked to tease them about that when she saw them filling their glasses with more honey than tea. A small voice also told her that the honey had something to do with Mochi’s improving health, and she made sure to always give him the red honey—she thought of the old wives’ tale again—the volcano-season honey. Having them around somehow made her feel more at home and that everything would turn out fine, even though the odds seemed slim.

  “Am I going crazy, or have you put on weight?” she asked, noticing a new layer on his face.

  “I was just telling him that,” said Benji.

  “Could be your cooking. I haven’t had a woman cook for me since Mari died.”

  Mochi had lost his wife when Lana was young. And that was that. He never sought another woman again. The only memory she had of Mari was a mirage—a waif of a woman with jet-black hair and a laugh like sunshine. And always the powdery scent of fresh mochi brought her to mind.

  She told them about the Japanese submarine as she whisked the eggs. News that no one wanted to hear, but they deserved to know. Marie came in and volunteered to slice sweet bread. Benji turned on the radio and was scanning the stations when Sailor erupted in barking. A car door slammed.

  “Are you expecting someone?” Mochi said.

  Lana shook her head.

  Benji stood and took Mochi’s hand. “We’ll go downstairs.”

  Jack had built the place as a refuge from Japanese soldiers, not a place to hide his friend from his own countrymen. He’d be somersaulting in his grave about now. Lana hurried to the front door, hoping it was Grant. Coco and Marie stood by the window, peering out, and the look on their faces said it wasn’t. A stone formed in her throat when she opened the door and saw the large black truck right in front of the house, and two men in suits coming up the steps. Another car had pulled up, too.

  Sailor stood beside Lana, growling. Lana stepped forward and shut the door behind her, holding her hand on Sailor’s neck.

  “Ma’am, is the dog friendly?” one man said.

  Her hair was on end. “That depends on who’s asking.”

  They stopped just under the eaves. The tall one flipped open his badge. “FBI, ma’am. I’m agent Williams and this is agent Franklin. We�
�re looking for a Mrs. Lana Hitchcock. Are you her?”

  “I am.” For the first time since Lana had known her, Sailor bared her teeth. “It’s okay, Sailor.”

  Sideways rain pelted them all.

  “Would you mind if we step inside? We have some questions for you, Mrs. Hitchcock,” Williams said.

  “Can we do this out here?” Lana said flatly.

  Franklin, whose mother might have been a pit bull, said, “Let me rephrase that. We need to come inside and have a word with you.”

  Her mind ran through alternate reasons of why they might be here, but the obvious answer caused her knees to wobble. The girls. Mr. Dick reported them. She steadied herself as she turned to let them in. Coco and Marie were sitting at the table playing cards.

  “Girls, we have visitors.”

  Coco had gone white, while Marie gave a lackluster smile. “Good morning, gentlemen,” she said.

  “These your girls?” Franklin said.

  Lana hesitated. She had a hunch they knew the truth. Why else would they be here? And then the sudden thought arose that maybe something had happened to Grant on his way home the other day. “Does this have anything to do with Major Bailey?” she asked, hands trembling.

  Franklin and Williams exchanged glances. “No, ma’am.”

  Lana looked over at Coco and Marie and felt protective. They might not be her own flesh and blood, but in the past weeks, their hearts had been stitched together like an old quilt. And in that moment, Lana understood a fraction of what the Wagners had endured when they were hauled off. An explosion of helplessness went off inside her.

  “Girls, how about you go in the kitchen?” she said.

  They did as told, eyes on the floor. Whoever had been in the other car tapped on the door and then walked in.

  “Would ya look who it is,” Dutch London said with a smug look on his ruddy face.

  Williams set his hat on the table and started in. “Mrs. Hitchcock, word on the street is those are not your girls and you have kidnapped them. Would you say that’s accurate?”

  Her skin bristled. She refused to look at Dutch. “I would say that is one-hundred-percent false. The part about me kidnapping them, at least.”