20. 20 - Anne
One quiet weekday, Dawn found Anne alone in the kitchen – and immediately cornered her.
Anne was washing dishes, and she kept up the steady movement of plates through soapy water as her mother closed in.
Before losing her husband, Dawn had always kept her golden hair long. Now her silver hair was cropped short in a pixie cut. A new pair of glasses completed the look, stylish and oversized with pink-and-purple plastic frames.
Kimo’s death had destroyed her – very nearly killed her. But in the wake of that devastating loss, she had reinvented herself.
Anne admired that, and she was glad that Dawn had found a new lease on life.
At the same time, it was disorienting to see her mother so drastically changed.
Often it felt like she had lost both of her parents.
Her mother was still there – still in the same house, even – but they drifted past each other like orbiting bodies, never making contact.
Kimo had been the warm and effusive parent. He was the one Anne always ran to when she skinned her knee or when someone hurt her feelings. Without him there to soften his wife, she seemed almost frigid – and Anne never had the warmest relationship with her mother to begin with.
“We need to talk,” Dawn said.
Anne took a deep, deliberate breath.
Her mother was breaking up with her.
“You and the kids are always welcome here,” Dawn began, and Anne finished the thought for her.
“But no more house guests.”
“I’m tired of my house being a hotel.” Her voice was preemptively defensive.
“I know,” Anne said quietly. “I’ve shut it all down. No new reservations, and I’ve canceled the ones that were really far out. I didn’t want to cancel on anyone last minute, so we’ll still have people coming through for another month or so. Is that acceptable?”
“Sure.” Dawn blinked in surprise, pale eyes owlish behind her new glasses.
“I appreciate you letting me rent out the spare rooms for so long.” Anne looked down at the plates that she was washing; she was still up to her elbows in soapy water. “I know it was only meant to be for a summer, and you let me keep going for two.”
“I’m ready to have my house back.”
“I get it. I’ve been looking for a place to rent.”
“That’s not what I meant. You and the kids can stay as long as you’d like.”
“Well, I’m glad you feel that way, because the rental market is grim.” Anne offered her mother a tired smile. “I’m not in such a rush to get out of here that I’m going to move my kids into a moldy shack, and all of the nice places available right now are way out of my price range.”
“What are you going to do for work?”
“I don’t know. But I have some time to figure that out, thanks to you. This bed and breakfast has given me a healthy savings account. I’ll figure something else out… but I wouldn’t mind a rest first. I’d like to spend some more time with the kids. They’re growing up so fast.”
“It’s not easy, letting go of your kids.”
Anne nodded, her eyes back on the breakfast dishes as she rinsed the suds off of one plate after another. Dawn had never had much trouble letting her go, as far as she could tell. But she’d had so many other children to occupy her time and attention.
“Well,” Dawn said, still looking a bit off balance, “I’m glad it wasn’t a fight.”
Anne just nodded.
“You’re good at this, Annie. I can see that. I just… need you to do it someplace that isn’t my house.”
“I know. I get it.”
“Okay then.” Dawn stood there a moment longer, peering at her. “Are we okay?”
Anne wiped her hands dry and then turned to hug her mom.
Dawn froze for a moment, surprised. Then, slowly, she put her arms around Anne. They stood like that for a long moment, and Anne felt some of the grief and tension that she carried ebb away.
It humbled Anne to realize how much she still craved a hug from her mom – how badly her inner child still needed that.
Even when she was a child, Dawn rarely stayed still long enough for a proper hug. She never sat and cuddled. She wasn’t that kind of mom. Maybe she would have been, if her attention hadn’t been fractured in a dozen different directions.
Maybe not.
Anne had learned not to reach out, because being rebuffed by her own mother was far more painful than keeping her distance. There was a pain in that too, but it was a low ache, easier to endure than the sharp stab of rejection.
Maybe once she had settled a healthier distance away – not in the same house, and not on the mainland, but the easy middle ground of living in her own house somewhere on the island – they would be able to mend things.
Or maybe it would always be this way between them.
In that moment, Anne didn’t have energy to waste on wishing that things were different. Any energy that she had for shoring up relationships, she intended to direct towards her children.
The rift between Anne and Zoe had been a constant source of pain for decades, much worse than anything her mother had inflicted with her near-indiference. Though she had no evidence, she believed that her eldest daughter craved her love just as much as she had always wanted Dawn’s.
Anne had made good progress in repairing their relationship, and she intended to keep working on it. She wanted to spend more time with her other two children as well, and focus on shoring up those relationships while they were still at home with her.
Dawn went back upstairs, and Anne finished cleaning the kitchen.
The house was quiet and still. Zoe was off harvesting avocados on a friend’s farm. Akemi and Kaleo were at the café, putting the finishing touches on the playroom there. Pete was at the community center, and Claire was off hiking with friends.
When they first moved to Pualena, Anne was so deep in survival mode that all of her focus had been on how she would keep them afloat.
She had done her best to help her children adjust to life in Hawaii, but beyond that, her priority had been bringing money in so that she could build a stable life for them there.
She had accomplished that, to some degree. She had no steady work, but she had built them a lifeboat.
Now she wanted to turn her focus to her kids… but at the same time, fear nipped at her heels. Her savings wouldn’t sustain them forever.
Once she moved out of her mother’s house, the cost of living in Hawaii would drain her bank account quickly. It was a funny kind of drowning, watching money flow away – but she knew it well, and she didn’t want to go back there again.
A sudden crash sounded from the carport, making Anne jump. She stepped outside to find Halia sorting through stacks and boxes of stuff, all the accumulated junk of a house that’s held the same family for fifty-plus years.
“What are you looking for?” she asked.
Halia looked up with a start. There were dark circles beneath her eyes, and Anne felt a sudden stab of worry.
“Are you okay?”
Halia nodded curtly. “I’m fine. Just looking for some stuff I’ll need for the fundraiser.”
“Which fundraiser?”
“The yearly fundraiser for A Place of Refuge. You came last year, remember? The family fun fair at the community center?”
“Of course I remember. But wow, I can’t believe that was a year ago.”
“They go by quick.”
“What are you looking for?”
“There’s a keiki pool I always use for one of the games.”
“Oh, that’s over by the catchment tank. Akemi’s been using it for Kaleo.”
“Right.” Halia straightened up and rubbed her eyes.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine. Just tired. I had to go to the shelter last night to break up a fight between two of the residents.”
“Yikes.”
“Yeah. And then I walked them through a whole ho‘oponopono. It was a long night.”
“Do you want a cup of coffee?”
“I’d love one. Thanks.”
“I’ll make a fresh pot.”
“Okay, I’ll be there in a minute.”
Anne went inside and brewed a small pot of coffee. When Halia failed to appear, she carried two mugs out onto the back porch and peered down at her sister from the railing.
“Come sit down for a minute.”
“Okay.” Halia trudged up the back steps and dropped into a chair. She accepted a cup of coffee, held it under her nose, and took a deep breath.
“You don’t look great,” Anne said frankly.
Halia gave her a flat look. “Thanks.”
“I mean it. When’s the last time you took a day off?”
She thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. “I can’t remember.”
“You can’t just work seven days a week with no break.”
Halia leaned back and gave her a fond, big-sister smile. “You do.”
“Well… yeah, okay, sometimes I do. But that’s just making breakfast and washing sheets. You work long hours.”
“Sometimes,” she conceded. “Sometimes not. I’ll have more time to rest once we get past the fundraiser.”
“Okay. How can I help?”
“It’s fine. You have enough on your plate.”
“Don’t be that way.” Anne leaned forward and waited for Halia to meet her eyes. “You show up for all of us. Every day. You have to let us show up for you too sometimes.”
Halia blinked slowly, meeting her gaze. Finally she said, “Yeah, all right.”
“So. How can I help?”
She pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket and unfolded it… then kept unfolding it, revealing a task list the length of her arm. Anne’s eyebrows rose, and she leaned back.
“Who are you, Santa Claus?”
“Pretty much,” Halia said with a grin. “But I work year round. You should see the Christmas list; that’s even longer.”
“All right, come on.” Anne reached for the list. “Where do we start?”