Chapter 11 Anne
Anne
“Mom!” Pete shouted. The urgency in his voice made her drop her mop and sprint to the second floor, taking the stairs two at a time.
“Pete? What is it?”
“What are those?” he exclaimed, pointing to the ceiling.
To Claire’s dismay, they were all bunking in one room. And in the corner, camouflaged against the white paint, were two tiny white spheres. They were flat at one end, glued to the solid surface of the wall before they hardened.
Anne relaxed and smiled. “Those are gecko eggs.”
“Wow.” Pete stared up, slack-jawed. “She just left them on the ceiling? Will she come back? What happens when they hatch? Do the babies fall? Can we move them?”
Anne winced, remembering a long-ago day when she had tried to do just that. “No. The shells would break. But don’t worry; the babies will be fine. Just leave them alone until they hatch.”
“Cool,” he breathed. “When will they hatch?”
“Sometime this summer. I don’t know how long they’ve been there.”
“But they’ll definitely hatch before we leave?”
Anne frowned at that, worried that both of her kids still seemed to regard a return to the mainland as inevitable. But she let it lie for the moment.
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Awesome.” He stared up like he might watch the spot for days on end until there was movement. But he wasn’t a kid who could sit still for long. A moment later, he was running out the door. “I’m gonna show Mia!”
Laurie and her daughter had arrived with Halia the day before. It felt good to have a full house; it dulled the constant ache of their father’s absence.
Just being there, knowing that his booming laughter would never fill the rooms again, was difficult for Anne to bear.
Living there day after day must be torture for Dawn. And yet she had dug herself in deeper than ever. She didn’t leave the house anymore; she hardly even left her room.
Anne had practically begged her to come to San Diego for a visit in the months after the memorial service, but Dawn had refused. It was like she couldn’t bear to be there in that house without her husband… but she couldn’t bear to leave, either. Instead, she had retreated from life entirely.
What could they do to bring her back?
Akemi’s news had been like a spark on damp wood. It had seemed to take for a moment… and then the light and warmth had gone out again.
Anne hoped that bringing more people into the house, visiting families who would be in awe of the beauty all around them and help Dawn to see the place with fresh eyes, might help to cheer her. But it was a faint hope, barely burning.
When Anne went back downstairs, she was surprised to find her mother in the kitchen. She froze, as if Dawn were a wild animal who might be spooked by a sudden movement.
Dawn gave her an exasperated glance, then went back to rummaging through the cupboards.
“Hi.” Anne picked up the mop that she’d discarded before. “Whatcha doin?”
“I’m making a coconut cake for Halia’s birthday.” For the first time since Anne arrived, Dawn looked put together: linen slacks, flowing top, hair clean and braided. “Zoe made fresh coconut milk.”
“Can I help?” she asked tentatively.
Dawn waved her away. Not fully herself, then, but determined to make an effort for her eldest daughter’s birthday. And well she should; Halia was turning fifty. Anne felt a fresh pang of grief for her dad, who had only been sixty-four himself.
Heart failure, they called it.
It felt absurd; Kimo Kalama had the biggest heart of anyone she’d ever known.
“Don’t just stand there,” Dawn snapped.
She flinched, startled out of her thoughts.
“Find something to do. You’re making me nervous.”
Blinking hard, Anne put the mop away and walked outside.
The sunshine was harsh and bright, making her squint.
Anne’s dad had always been the one to comfort her. He was her biggest supporter and greatest admirer, her soft space to land. Dawn’s grief was so all-consuming that it left no room for her own, and Anne was beginning to resent that.
Dawn’s presence in her life had never been reliable. She was always there, of course. But Anne never knew what sort of mood she would find her mother in.
At her best, Dawn had been a wonderful mother: playful, engaged, affectionate.
But often she was overwhelmed and withdrawn – or, more often than that, distracted by other children whose needs she believed to be greater than Anne’s.
And she had been right, Anne supposed – but it’s hard for a child to cope with their own mother ignoring them to dry a stranger’s tears.
Kimo’s mother had been the steady maternal force in Anne’s early life. Tutu was the original foster parent of the household, both through the official state system and in more traditional ways, taking in people who needed a helping hand.
Kimo was one of the first babies that Tutu ever took in. And Oakley was one of the last, transforming Anne’s life forever. When it became possible to adopt Oakley out of the foster system, Tutu declared herself to be too old: she would leave that decision to her children.
And so Dawn and Kimo had adopted their first child, even though they were barely past their teen years themselves.
And they had kept taking in children, just as Tutu had, carrying on the tradition long after she passed away.
Laurie and Halia and Akemi all become part of the Kalama household, surrounding Anne with sisters.
The house had sheltered dozens of children each year – sometimes for months, sometimes just for a night or two.
They had kept going as long as Kimo’s health allowed them to.
And then they had stopped – just a break, they said, until he recovered from the heart attack.
Only he never did recover, not really. He seemed to rally a bit when Anne visited, but he never regained his full strength.
And then he was gone.
Anne felt sick when she thought of how much time she had missed out on, living on the mainland, trying to shore up her business or save a failing marriage.
Even after his health scare, her dad’s presence in the world had felt as steady as the sun.
It had been impossible to imagine Pualena without him.
It still felt impossible. Even now, she half expected to turn the corner and see him striding towards her with outstretched arms and a wholehearted smile.
“Hey.” Laurie came to stand beside her. You OK?
I miss Dad, she answered honestly.
Same, Laurie signed. “Me too.”
“Being here with him gone just feels wrong,” Anne said and signed. “The house isn’t the same. Mom’s not the same.”
“Mom’s making a cake,” Laurie said, trying to lighten the mood. “That’s good, isn’t it?”
Anne nodded, but she couldn’t muster up any genuine enthusiasm for their mom’s incremental improvements just then. She tried to shake off her grief and focus on her sister.
“It’s good to have you here,” she said, touching Laurie’s shoulder.
“It’s good to be home. It was kind of Halia to come get us.”
“You must feel pretty isolated up there in Hawi.”
“It’s a long drive. Chris needs the van for work.”
“What happened to your car? Can’t you guys buy another one?”
Laurie didn’t answer. She turned to look out at the ocean with a distant expression. Anne tapped her shoulder to get her attention back.
“I’ll come pick you up soon. My car will be here next week.”
Laurie smiled, but her eyes were still sad.
“Have you had breakfast yet?”
“No, not yet. I was waiting for Mia to wake up.”
“I’ll make you something.”
Laurie went to check on her daughter, and Anne set about making breakfast. She pulled out the old electric griddle and started some bacon, careful to give Dawn and her cake batter a wide berth. She was just getting out the waffle iron when Noah walked right in through the front door.
The man was so beautiful that it hurt to look at him.
He had always been handsome – to the point that his disastrously good looks had just about derailed Anne’s entire life – and he had only gotten better looking with age.
His shoulders were broader, the muscles in his arms more developed.
His hair was as thick and dark as ever, and there was a persistent shadow of stubble on his strong jaw.
It wasn’t fair.
“What are you doing here?” Anne blurted the question out without thinking.
Instead of being offended, Noah smiled.
And wasn’t that just like him?
Anne narrowed her eyes and gave him her best glare, but his smile didn’t move an inch.
“I’m here for Zoe,” he said, and her stomach plummeted. “She’s helping me with a job today.”
“I haven’t seen her,” Dawn said without looking up from her recipe book. “She must be out back.”
“I’m right here.” Zoe came banging through the screen door that led from the kitchen to the carport.
She wore heavy work boots, thick pants, and an oversized t-shirt.
A stripe of her dark auburn hair was visible at the roots, streaking down the middle of the fading green dye.
She and Dawn made a strange pair – striped heads, strikingly similar faces, and two utterly different color palettes.
Zoe’s skin was a gorgeous golden brown, just like her father’s; Dawn was as white as paper. She tanned better than Anne did, but months of hiding indoors had turned her into a ghost of her former self.
“Do you want some breakfast?” Anne asked. “I’m making waffles.”
“No. Thanks.” Zoe cast a disparaging look at the flour container on the counter. “I don’t eat wheat.”
Since when? Anne wanted to ask, but she pressed her teeth together. Her ignorance would only reap more disdain from her daughter… even though it was Zoe who refused to share any details of her life in the first place.
“I’ll be back in time for the party,” she told her grandmother.
And then they headed for the front door – Zoe without a backward glance, and Noah with a wink that made Anne want to fling the waffle iron at his head.
“Just marching right in like he owns the place,” she muttered under her breath.
“He’s around more than most of my kids,” Dawn said mildly.
“He’s not one of your kids!”
Dawn glared at her. “They’re all my kids.”
The last thread of Anne’s patience snapped. She stormed outside, letting the screen door slam behind her. The bacon could burn for all she cared.
She made it about a mile down the cliffs before she finally cooled down – and by then, the morning sun was starting to scorch her nose and shoulders. She walked back towards the house, feeling utterly foolish.
What was it about being home that turned her into an angry teenager?