Chapter 42
Chapter Forty-Two
“D on’t stick that in your mouth!” I shout.
Makoa pauses with a butter knife full of peanut butter halfway to his mouth. We’re standing in Kimo’s kitchen, making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, which I thought would be easy enough to do with two children, but...it is not. When Kimo called about an hour ago, with effusive apologies for being late, I was already at his house, so it seemed just basic manners to offer to help the kids with dinner.
Kimo’s pause spoke volumes. “Are you...sure?”
I was a little affronted by his lack of faith, honestly. “It will be fine. We’ll keep it simple.” At Kimo’s continued pause, I remind him, “I basically raised my younger sisters when we were kids. I think I can handle watching two children just fine now that I’m an adult.”
“I can pick something up on the way home. Why don’t the three of you just relax and watch TV?”
“Kimo,” I snapped. “We’re making dinner. It’s settled. Now just hurry and get here.”
I hadn’t even wanted to make dinner with the kids. I should have just let him pick up the fast food. When I’ve made dinner with them and Kimo before, it was fun, but I’m not much of a cook on my own, and I’m used to working on quiet, highly organized tasks I do independently.
There is nothing quiet or organized about the state of the kitchen right now. I thought peanut butter and jelly would be simple, but Nalani wants the creamy peanut butter and Makoa wants the chunky, and Makoa needs his crusts cut off but Nalani wants her sandwich cut in a triangle, not in two rectangles—and that’s not even mentioning all the varieties of jellies in the fridge, and the children fighting over who gets the last of the strawberry.
Still, I shouldn’t have shouted at Makoa. Even though he was attempting to put a knife in his mouth—the same butter knife we’ve been using on all the sandwiches, mind you.
But the volume I used to shout is too much, I realize it right away by the wide-eyed looks Makoa and Nalani are giving me. I do my best to soften my tone with a smile, because I can be fun and easygoing and flexible! “You don’t want to spoil your dinner...” I search for some term of endearment that won’t sound too baby-ish. Makoa is very sensitive about being treated like a baby. “You...silly goose!”
Aunty Kapono pops her head into the kitchen. She seemed more than fine with letting me take on the task of making dinner with the children on my own. Thrilled , even. Like Kimo, she seems to think I’m bound to fail. “Everything okay in here?” She gives me a look that lets me know there’s no way she will be convinced things are okay .
“Great!” I will sail right past okay and into great . Why not? Things are fine in here. Everything is under control! “Aren’t we having fun, kids?”
To my relief, the kids agree with this readily. “Yeah!”
Either they intuitively sense that I need them to be on my side for this, or they somehow find it fun to have a frazzled Russian lady shouting at them. Either way, I plaster my most reassuring smile on my face and give Aunty Kapono a thumbs-up. “Awesome!”
The “awesome ” was too much; I sense it right away. Aunty Kapono frowns at me distrustfully but goes back to her show in the other room.
I turn back to the kids, feeling a surge of camaraderie with them after they didn’t blow my cover with Aunty Kapono. “Okay, we have our sandwiches. Should we go eat?”
Makoa frowns. “What about drinks?”
“And side dishes?” Nalani asks. “We’re not just going to eat sandwiches for dinner, are we?”
I do my best to keep smiling, though I can feel my expression getting a bit manic. “No. Right. Of course. We’ll have drinks. And side dishes. Obviously.”
“What kind?” Makoa wants to know.
What do kids drink? “Juice?” I try. That seems to work fine, since Nalani goes straight to the fridge to grab a few pouches. My shoulders relax a little. That wasn’t so hard.
“What about the side dishes?” she presses again when she comes back out.
I flounder. “Fruit?”
Makoa makes a face at me. “I want chips!”
“Sure, great, chips,” I agree.
Nalani and Makoa exchange a glance I intuitively don’t like. “And Oreos,” Nalani adds.
I frown. I’m not an idiot—I know she’s pressing her luck, but just how much, is the question. If it would be normal for them to have an Oreo with dinner, I don’t want to be the kind of ogre that says no just because I don’t know what I’m doing. I fold my arms. “Does your uncle let you have Oreos with dinner?”
Another glance exchanged. “Sometimes,” Nalani hedges.
I narrow my eyes at her. “One Oreo each,” I agree finally. I feel like I’m probably being taken for a ride, but one cookie can’t hurt that much, and hey, if it earns me a few brownie points with the kids, what’s the harm?
“And ice cream!” Makoa tags on.
I give him my sternest face. “Don’t push your luck.”
Both kids scramble to the pantry to get their add-ons. By the time we’re sitting down to eat, I’m already exhausted from the effort it took to produce even the simplest of meals. How does Kimo do this every single day?
Thinking of Kimo, I check my phone. It’s been an hour since he last checked in with me, and I haven’t heard anything else from him. I wonder what could be holding him up for so long? Everything ok? I text him before taking my seat with the kids.
But I don’t hear anything back—not while we’re eating, not after we’ve cleaned up, not even after Aunty Kapono has strong-armed the kids into bathing and putting on their pajamas.
I try calling him, to no avail. The call isn’t declined, just rings out several times until it goes to voicemail. “Let me know you’re okay as soon as you get this—please?” I don’t bother to hide the anxiety in my voice, my stomach roiling as I hang up the phone.
Turning, I see Aunty Kapono standing in the doorway to the kitchen, watching me with a frown. “Still no answer?”
I can tell she doesn't like being on the same side as me in all of this. But I’m too worried about Kimo to care. “No. Have you tried calling him?”
“A few times,” she allows, but she shrugs. “Maybe something came up.” The look on her face suggests she doesn’t believe it, though.
Reluctantly, she pulls out her phone. “I can look up his location.”
“Great!” I move to stand behind her, trying to peer over her shoulder, but the glare she gives me has me retreating a few paces back. “Just, uh, tell me what you find...”
After glowering at me one more time for infringing on her space, Aunty Kapono gets lost in looking at whatever’s on her screen. Her frown is not encouraging. “His phone is by the dockyard, near Calumet River.”
My stomach sinks. “Why would Kimo be there? Something’s not right.”
“Maybe he had something to do there.” Aunty Kapono sounds like she’s trying to convince herself as much as she’s trying to convince me. “Or he’s just passing through.”
“Refresh it in a few minutes,” I suggest. “See if he’s still there.”
We wait in silence for a few tense minutes. I’m glad the kids are upstairs in their rooms, oblivious to what’s going on. When Aunty Kapono refreshes the location, I can see by the look on her face that it isn’t good. “Still there.”
I begin pacing the room, biting my thumbnail worriedly, as my mind races over the possibilities. No, don’t go there, Matilda . I need to be practical, think through solutions, things we can actually do. But it’s easier said than done. When I think of what could have happened to Kimo, all the people out there who have a vendetta against him...There are people out there who want to hurt him, who have already tried kidnapping him. Maybe this time they won’t just stop at that. Maybe...
“We need to call the police,” I snap, not sure where my anger is directed—at myself, or maybe the situation in general? And a little bit at Kimo, too, if I’m being honest. If anything has happened to him, I’ll never forgive him. And I know that doesn’t make sense, but that’s how I feel.
“And what will that help?” Aunty Kapono challenges. “I’ve seen all those cop shows. They won’t do anything about a grown man going missing until at least forty-eight hours have passed.”
She’s right. черт возьми . Still, I protest, “Well, we have to do something!”
“ We,” Aunty Kapono gestures back and forth between us, “don’t have to do anything. I’m his mother. I’ll take care of it. You’re ‘ not the girlfriend ,’ remember?”
I’ve been trying my best these past couple weeks to get Aunty Kapono on my side. I like her. I respect her. I want her to like and accept me, too, so I’ve been treading carefully, giving her my brightest smiles, putting forward my most easygoing personality, being on my very best behavior.
But you know what? Not tonight. “Of course I have to do something!” I explode at her. There’s no hiding behind any artifice tonight. I’m too scared and worried to care what she thinks of me. “Kimo’s been kidnapped three times already. The last time they were trying to take us to some abandoned island. If it’s the same people, they aren’t just taking him somewhere to talk. They might be trying to hurt him or, God, even worse. We have to do something!”
I see in her weary expression that Aunty Kapono is just as worried as I am. “What, though?” she asks, and I can hear her helplessness.
“I don’t know!” I start pacing again. “But we have to do something.”
A sudden idea strikes me, and before I can second-guess myself, I whip out my phone, dialing a number I haven’t had to use until now. “It’s Matilda. I need your help...”
* * *
Thad shows up even quicker than I’d hoped, and he’s brought reinforcements with him—Helen and Nina and Grady, of course, but also some people I don’t recognize.
“Celia and Joaquim are private detectives—the non-asshole variety,” he introduces us briskly. “Woodruff is former CIA. And you know Stan.”
I blink in surprise at the sight of Stan, my sometimes bodyguard. Apparently he and Thad are friends now.
Under any other circumstance, I’d want to know more details: How did this happen? What do they do together? Do they engage in law enforcement–adjacent activities, or do they just go to lunch together? But for now all I can think about is finding Kimo. “What do you need from us?” I ask.
Woodruff takes Aunty Kapono’s phone so he can try to narrow down Kimo’s last locations before his phone went dormant. Celia and Joaquim go over Kimo’s daily activities with Aunty Kapono to retrace his steps. Nina and Helen go upstairs to look after Nalani and Makoa, making sure they stay calm and oblivious to what’s going on downstairs. Grady makes a pot of coffee, which for the first time feels appropriate at this time of night.
Thad takes me out on the front stoop to ask me some questions away from everyone else. “When was the last time you heard from him?”
“It was about 5:00, 5:15.” I anxiously pull up my call log, eager to help in any way I can. “5:17, to be exact.”
“Do you know where he was?”
I shake my head in frustration. “No. Just that he was going to be running late. Maybe he was meeting with Jay? I can try texting him to see?—”
“Mattie!”
I look up at the sound of the voice shouting my name, heart pounding with fear and hope at the sound of the nickname that no one else in the entire world would be allowed to call me. “Kimo?” I look around wildly, searching for him.
Then I spot him—Kimo, running down the sidewalk toward the house. In the dark, it takes me a moment to fully process what I’m seeing. Kimo is barefoot, his clothes torn and dirty, his hands tied behind his back. Still, he’s running toward me as fast as he can. “Mattie!”
“Oh my God!” I hurry down the steps to get to him, Thad close on my heels. He helps steady Kimo as he makes it to the front path, stumbling in his haste and falling forward, nearly landing on his knees before Thad catches him.
I grab the front of Kimo’s shirt as Thad helps steady him on his feet—not because Thad needs my help, or because I could possibly lift Kimo on my own, but because I need to be touching him, reassuring myself he’s here, here’s okay. I can feel his heart thrumming wildly beneath his shirt. I want to bury my face against it, sob out all of my worry and fear and relief, but instead I just keep gripping his shirtfront, searching his face to reassure myself I’m not imagining things, he’s really back, and he’s all right.
All the while, Kimo doesn’t take his eyes off me. He is panting, struggling to catch his breath. “I didn’t stand you up... or forget to call.”
“Kimo...” It breaks my heart that this was the thing he was most concerned about, even as he was being held captive somewhere. Then I notice the gash on the side of his forehead, weeping out blood. Looking down, I see blood crusting his bare feet, too. “You’re hurt!” I say stupidly. Somebody hurt him, intentionally, maliciously. This beautiful man with his beautiful heart, and someone beat him over the head and tied him up like an animal.
I look to Thad helplessly, at a complete loss of what to do. Pure adrenaline has driven me through this whole night until now, and suddenly Kimo is here in front of me and bleeding, and I don’t know what to do.
“It’s okay, Matilda,” Thad reassures me, his voice calm and steady. “Get out your phone and call 9-1-1.”
With trembling hands, I do.