"For the sheer pleasure of making it," he said. "We can take that with us." He nuzzled his face into Camille's neck, and Mom gave me a quick wink.
It's only now that I understand what he meant.
"Let's take a picture," Mom says, returning to the car to retrieve her camera.
I watch Hana and Cate, but neither of them makes a move or says anything. All the photos I've seen of Hana were taken when she was very young. None of them shows her recently.
When Laura walks back with her camera, I quickly say, "Maybe we can take one later." Unlike Empress Josephine, Hana doesn't have any roses here to protect her from the world.
"A snapshot right here would be nice," Mom says, not listening to a word I'm saying. Maybe she can't imagine that Hana might not want her picture taken. "Girls, stand on either side of Hana and Cate," she instructs.
I take my place by Hana as Camille stands on the other side of Cate. I wish I could protect Hana from an image she may not want to see. "I'm sorry," I whisper to her. "She gets like this."
Hana smiles. "It's all right. It'll remind me you were here," she says.
"Okay, everyone, smile," Laura says, taking a step back.
Then, just before the camera clicks, Hana takes my hand in hers.
CATE
Seascape
While Laura and the girls get the blankets from the car, I wrap my arms around Hana and feel her lightness against me as we stand at the lookout. She leans her head back, and I cradle her gently. The rush of the waves hums through our bodies, and for the longest time there's no need for any words. I hold her tighter, and we watch hypnotized as the waves rush in, then recede, leaving a white, milky foam behind. The air is cool and salty, and I leave Hana for a moment braced against the railing while I return to the car for our jackets. Walking away from her, I glance back once to make sure she's all right. For an instant I imagine again the beautiful Hana in my dreams, but there instead stands a Hana so small and frail against the endless sky and ocean she looks like a child in a painting or a photograph. The child Max and I wished for and received.
* * *
Hana reaches for her jacket; her face is flushed pink from the sharp salt air. When she lifts her sunglasses, I can see by the gleam in her eyes that she's happy.
"I could stay here forever," she says> holding on to the rail.
I only wish we could. Forever would mean that Hana would still have countless years ahead of her. And, for just a moment, I too am ecstatic with the thought. "You'd miss Daring," I tease.
"I'd miss the sea more. It's in my blood."
I smile, hearing in her voice the words Max spoke when we were here so many years ago. And in that moment I can feel him watching over us.
"I believe it is," I say.
HANA
Stopping Time
I love watching the ocean, the rough, demanding waves that pound the shore, carving out the magnificent mountainsides that dominate the coastline. The waves roar forward, then recede, leaving behind a white, frothy streak on the sand. Seagulls squawk and fly overhead. But it's a different world beneath the surface, a calm I've never considered before. I try to imagine what it must feel like hundreds of feet under the water, in the slow, relentless currents of the deep, wrapping itself around me like a blanket. In a world so dark and cold and quiet that all time stops.
JOSEPHINE
Soon Enough
"Josie, come help Hana down the path," Mom calls. I turn around and see Hana moving slowly toward the beach path between Mom and Cate. When I reach them, it's Cate who steps aside. Camille is already halfway down the path, waving and yelling for us to follow.
"Aren't you coming?" I ask Cate.
"I'll be right there," she says. "Just need a minute by myself."
Hana turns and watches Cate for a moment before her gaze returns to me. "Care to help an old lady cross the street?" she asks.
"Glad to," I say, taking her arm.
Mom nods and smiles at me, and I feel something warm move through my body.
"Mom says we can come back and visit again this summer," I say, tentatively.
"That's the plan," Mom chimes in. Her arm is wrapped around Hana possessively.
Hana looks up at Laura and then at me. "Don't I get a say in this?"
"No!" Mom and I say simultaneously.
Hana laughs, high and squeaky.
We move slowly and carefully down the path to the beach. There's no hurry, I say to myself. I like this pace, the sheer pleasure of knowing we'll get there soon enough.
CATE
A Gift
From the ridge above Falcon Beach, I watch a seagull circle overhead, turn, and swoop down low in a perfect arc against the sand. In the next moment, the gull is up in the air again, clutching something tightly in its beak as it circles once more and flies out toward the sea. I watch until my eyes water, until the gull becomes a dark speck and I blink to find it has disappeared into the immense blue sky.
I can see Hana in the distance, her wisps of white hair blowing in the wind. Laura's arm is protectively around her as they walk slowly down the beach, flanked by Josie and Camille, who run in circles around them, chasing each other. They remind me of a small band of gypsies. I smile at the sight of my daughter so surrounded by life — by the love of people whose lives she's touched. Hana won't be forgotten — she's the child Max and I loved and adored, the friend Laura has never abandoned, the godmother of two fine young girls who will always remember her. Each day Hana has been with me is a gift.
"I'm not going far, not anytime soon," Hana said to me when she was fifteen years old. Her words came out of nowhere, most likely because she saw me sitting in the kitchen, staring off into space, my eyes red and moist.
"That's good." I looked up and smiled, my hands folding and unfolding a piece of Kleenex. She'd had three bouts of flu that winter and was just beginning to get some color back in her cheeks, but she still looked pale and gaunt as she hesitated at the back door. "And even when I'm gone, I'll still be here," she said.
I was astounded that Hana would be consoling me. "I know," I whispered.
She waved and in the next moment was out the door to meet up with Laura and her friends. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine Hana still before me, her spirit lingering, but all I felt was a cool breeze that made me shiver in the empty kitchen.
Now, as I watch Hana down on the beach, I'm reminded of that young girl, who even then tried to comfort me. With my hand I shield my eyes from the afternoon sun, and just then Hana turns around and looks for me. She lifts her arm and waves. From the distance, in that moment I can't tell if she's waving hello or good-bye. I wave back, then call out Hana, once, twice, three times, but her name is lost in the roar of the waves and carried out to sea. HelloGoodbye. Only then do I make my way down the sandy path to her.
HANA
Starlight, Starbright
My grandfather Henry died when I was twenty-eight. He was eighty-two and extremely frail the last time I saw him. We had flown down to Pasadena, and I remember how happy he was to see the three of us. He had shrunk a great deal and walked slowly with a cane. He looked at me and smiled, even though my face had aged and my hair had started to gray. I knew he still saw me as that young girl who used to sit beside him outside his greenhouses watching the night sky.
"Shall we meet tonight under the stars?" he asked me when we arrived.
"Yes," I answered, thrilled that we would have the chance to talk together again beside the greenhouses.
But after dinner my ojī-san sat down in his chair and fell asleep, even as all our voices buzzed around him. I waited a little while for him to wake up, but before the sun had
set I knew we would never again watch the stars together.
After dark, I walked alone out to the greenhouses, where hazy yellow lights glowed through the glass. The smell of damp earth and blooming flowers filled my head, along with the soft sounds of crickets. If we couldn't meet under the stars as planned, then I would stil
l be there for the both of us. I pulled out two wooden chairs, just as he had done so many years ago, and sat down in the smaller one, gazing up at the night sky. The stars glistened, and I could feel my ojī-san right there with me, hear his voice telling me again, No need to be afraid, ever.
When the time comes, I'll tell Cate the same thing. But when I look up and watch her walking down the path to the beach toward us — so tall and straight — I can see that it's something she already knows. Something she has learned over time.
JOSEPHINE
God shall add...
My name is Josephine, which means God shall add, and for the first time, my name makes sense to me — Hana and Cate have been added to my life. After less than two days with them, the life I knew back in New York seems flat and ordinary. I try to remember everything, Hana's eyes, Cate's Josephine rose, the roar of the ocean, the sea-salt smell of the cool air, the damp spray against my face. I'll take it all back home with me. I'll never forget.
Gail Tsukiyama, Dreaming Water
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