I was all for it but hoped we weren’t overstepping our boundaries or appearing too much like tourists.
No one was around when Laurie snapped pictures at the gate into the graveyard. I was glad she was taking some shots of the plumeria trees.
“Gabe would love this place,” she murmured. “It’s such a peaceful hideaway.”
I stood beside Juliette’s grave marker, my hand resting on the lei as Laurie moved around looking for the best angle. She took several shots, and I told her I definitely wanted copies. Then I felt convicted.
“Laurie, I have a confession to make.”
She lowered the camera and looked at me, surprised, as if I should have done all my confessing while I was inside the church.
“I sent your film out to be developed because I didn’t want to have to wait until we got home to see all the pictures.”
“Where did you send it?” The look on her face was not one I had hoped to ever see again. It was the same look she gave me our freshman year, when I confessed that I’d tossed her white silk blouse into the wash with my undies and a stray red sock. She forgave me admirably that time because it was a genuine accident. This time it was premeditated.
“I asked the concierge to send it to a reliable place.”
“A reliable place?”
“A professional film developing service.”
Laurie pulled out her cell phone and tapped in some numbers. “Why didn’t you ask me?” She still looked relatively calm.
“It was supposed to be a surprise. But I didn’t think it through all the way. I should have talked with you about it. It is your film.”
“Hello, I’d like the concierge, please.”
I walked over to a bench by the front gate and sat down while Laurie asked about her film.
“It all started with that rainbow coming out of her nose,” I muttered with a sigh.
Laurie walked toward me while she listened to the concierge. She appeared satisfied with the information she was getting and said, “Thanks” before closing her phone.
“Sorry,” I said.
“It’s okay. Come on. I’m parked a couple of blocks away.”
We walked in silence. Just as we got to the car, Laurie said, “This reminds me of what happened our second semester, when I sold back your literature textbook two days before you took your final. I was trying to get a running start.”
“I’d forgotten about that.”
“Are we even now?”
“I wasn’t trying to get even!” I climbed in the car, and we flipped a couple of levers, pushed a button, and the top of our car slowly retracted.
“I know. I’m just trying to say don’t worry about it, Hope. It should be fine. It’ll be fun to have the pictures to look at together. They won’t be done until Tuesday. Now I have something to ask you.” She flipped on her sunglasses and handed me a map of the island. “Would you mind if we drove out to Waimanalo Beach? It’s by the blowhole at Halona.”
“Never heard of either of them, but it’s fine with me.”
“The tour book said that Waimanalo is the beach where From Here to Eternity was filmed.”
“Ah. Why didn’t I know that?”
Laurie grinned at my sarcasm. “You mind being the navigator? The beach is right about here.” She pointed to a spot on the map.
I leaned back, studying what route we should take, while she pulled our red-hot set of wheels away from the curb.
“I wanted to find the beach where they filmed the nurses’ scene in South Pacific,” Laurie said. “But that beach is on a different island. Kauai, I think.”
“ ‘Gonna wash that man right outa my hair,’ ” I responded.
“Hey, I’m impressed! A classic movie that you know. A musical, even.”
“Don’t be impressed. My high school did South Pacific my senior year, and I was the class treasurer so I ended up at a lot of the performances selling tickets.”
“Do you remember this one?” Laurie launched into one of the songs from South Pacific. I knew all the lyrics and sang along with her. We were having a grand time of it until we stopped at a red light. With the top down, there was no hiding that we were a couple of middle-aged tourists in an obnoxiously red convertible, singing a selection of Broadway hits at the top of our lungs.
Laurie reached over and pretended to turn off the radio, as if all the singing had been coming from a random sound wave that hit a freakish sunspot and ended up on our FM, easy-listening station.
The light turned green, and we exchanged chuckle-smirks.
“Which way?” Laurie asked.
“You need to get in the left lane so you can turn left at this next street.”
“I can’t. The next street is one way.”
“You’re kidding.” I looked at the map and at the name of the street we were on.
“I’m turning right,” Laurie said.
“Okay, but then turn left as soon as you can.”
We drove in circles for several minutes before Laurie spotted the on-ramp for H-1. “Is this it?”
“Yes, get in the right lane. Quick.”
Laurie whipped over into the right lane and with a heavy foot on the gas, we roared onto the freeway. Or maybe I should say, we roared onto the parking lot.
“Where are all these people going?” Laurie spouted.
“The beach?”
“This is worse than traffic in San Francisco.” She turned on the radio. No freakish, sunspot-induced musicals belted out. Only the mellow twang of a slack key guitar playing a lulling, tropical tune.
“I need something a little more lively.” Laurie punched a button and evoked a pounding, rhythmic number, complete with vulgarities. We both quickly pushed the next button and listened to the surf report for the North Shore, as if we actually understood all the terms used to describe the conditions.
“I don’t want to move,” Laurie said all of a sudden.
“We aren’t moving.” I pointed to the traffic ahead of us. “At least we’re not moving very fast.”
“No, I mean I don’t want to move to San Francisco. We’d be in traffic like this all the time. I don’t want to start all over again. I don’t care if the house is a great price or the entry has Italian marble or even if it had a dozen bathrooms. I don’t want a different house.”
“Have you told Gabe any of this?”
“No. I hadn’t even told myself until this minute.”
“You should tell him.”
She held both arms out straight in a rigid ten and two position on the steering wheel. “I don’t want to tell him.” Then she tossed me a playful look. “You tell him.”
“I’m not going to tell him. He’s your husband. Why don’t you want to tell him?”
“Because …”
I waited for more words to tumble out of her heart.
The traffic began to open up. It appeared that a lot of the motorists were getting off on the exit that led to Waikiki Beach. Perhaps we would have clear sailing as soon as we got out of the touristy pocket of town.
“I don’t want to tell Gabe because what if this is his big dream, and I snatch it away from him? What if he listens to me, and we stay where we are but both regret it later? What if I really regret it because every time I think of what we could have had if we moved, I’ll know we didn’t take the leap because of me?”
“It’s a huge decision,” I said.
“It is.”
“It’s a mutual decision. For all you know, Gabe might be thinking these same things, but he hasn’t had a chance to tell you.”
“Doubtful.” Laurie picked up a little speed and switched to the fast lane. “I wish all this could have waited until next week. I’m trying to be on vacation here.”
She passed the car in front of us with a quick lane-change maneuver that I never would have attempted due to the minimum amount of space. We bobbed smoothly back into the fast lane and she spouted, “You know, actually, if I allowed myself to be perfectly honest, I would hav
e to say that I’m pretty angry about the timing on this.”
I was all for honesty but dearly wished Laurie had made her confession back at the church. Or at least at the graveyard, like I had. The only thing that was keeping her from coaxing our little Mustang past forty miles per hour was the congestion on the road.
“Laurie,” I said, using my best soothing voice. “You know what? You don’t have to decide about the house today. You haven’t signed anything. There’s plenty of time to call Gabe and talk it through with him. Just pretend you really are on vacation.”
Her arms relaxed. “You’re right. And I don’t have to pretend. I am on vacation. We’re in Hawai’i.”
“Yes, we are.”
Laurie paused a moment and then turned on the radio again. She pushed the first button and returned to the station with the palm-tree-swaying island melodies. Raising the volume, she leaned back and with a drippy Southern accent said, “For the remainder of our vacation, Miss Laurinda Sue will be playing the role of Scarlett O’Hara on the nurses’ beach in Hawai’i.”
“I have no idea what that means, but if it’s some sort of anger management technique, I’m all for it.”
She started to sing her own words to the lulling tropical tune on the radio. “I’m going to wash that man right out of my hair because after all, tomorrow is another day.”
The dark lava rocks that formed the tall encasement around the Waimanalo Beach appeared treacherous as Laurie and I stood on the edge looking over the side at the famous “Eternity Beach.”
“It looked so different in the movie,” Laurie said wistfully. “So majestic.”
“I imagine it is more majestic when you’re down there on the beach, tucked in by those protective cliffs.”
“How did they ever get the film crew down there fifty years ago? The lighting would have been tricky, don’t you think? And the sound would have been a challenge, too, because of the echo of the waves.”
I studied Laurie. “You are just a little cinema-head, aren’t you?”
“Why do you say that?” Laurie looked at me over the top of her sunglasses.
“Who else would come to a place like this and evaluate lighting and sound?”
“I guess you’re right. So? Do you want to chance it, or should we drive on?”
“Why don’t you go on down,” I said, motioning to the From Here to Eternity beach. “I’ll wait in the car. I wanted to have another look at the tour book, so take your time.”
Laurie tossed me the car keys and reached into the open car for her camera. “I won’t be long.”
I made myself busy organizing the stuff in the trunk and covering my exposed skin with sunscreen. The sun felt intense. We had raided our little refrigerator in the hotel room and brought several bottles of water and juice with us. They were ice cold when we had stuck them in the trunk that morning. Now they were so hot I could have managed to make a respectable cup of tea out of one of them.
Fortunately, Laurie wasn’t gone long, so I didn’t get fried while sitting in the car reading through the tour book and snacking on a bag of trail mix.
“It was much more appealing in the movie,” she said. “I mean, it’s a nice little spot, but those film guys definitely found just the right angle.”
I offered her a bottle of warm water, and we were back on the narrow highway, heading around the perimeter of Oahu.
“The tour book says that one of the beaches we passed a little ways back is good for snorkeling. Are you interested?” I asked.
“Sure. That sounds fun. They probably have a place to rent masks and snorkels, right?”
“Yep. And they even have public rest rooms.”
Laurie flashed me a wry grin. “Then we definitely should stop, right?”
I nodded. “One bottle of water, and I’m a goner.”
The parking was a challenge on this busy Sunday afternoon, as was the hike down to the ocean. We were rewarded with pristine waters, a sandy beach, and a grove of graceful palm trees—every amenity the tour book had promised. Laurie and I found the rest rooms and changed into our bathing suits.
Clambering toward the water with all our gear, we agreed on a nice, open spot in the hot sand and settled in like two birds feathering their spring nest. Laurie got a call from Gabe, so I moseyed over to the rental shack to see about acquiring two masks and snorkels.
“Ready?” I asked Laurie, holding up the masks and snorkels.
“Ready for what?”
“Ready to jump in the water and spy on the fish.”
By the scowl on Laurie’s face, I could tell she already had jumped. But it was into a deep blue funk instead of the deep blue sea.
“You’ve been thinking about the move, haven’t you?”
“How could you tell?”
“Your Southern accent is gone. I’m guessing you’re not playing the role of Scarlett anymore.”
“Not when I get a call like that.”
“What did Gabe say?”
“He’s really excited about the house. He’s already asked an architect friend of ours to draw up plans for a new studio.”
“Did you tell him how you’re feeling about the move?”
“I mostly listened to him, but then I told him some of the reasons I’m hesitant.”
“What did he say?”
“He said a lot of things, including how he would walk away from the whole deal if I don’t have peace about it.”
“I knew I always liked that guy.”
“But Hope, don’t you see the pressure that puts on me? It’s all up to me to make the decision now. As far as he’s concerned, it’s all green lights.”
I pulled a bottle of extremely warm water from my beach bag and sipped it slowly, contemplating Laurie’s dilemma.
“You know what I think?” I said after a minute.
“What?”
“I think you should put on this mask and snorkel and go out there and soak your head.”
Laurie didn’t laugh the way I’d hoped she would.
“I’m serious, Laurie. Go for a swim. Wash this stuff right outa your hair. Get your mind off it. Pray about it. Relax. Enjoy the day.”
“Go soak my head, huh?”
“I meant that in the nicest, sweetest way, you understand.”
“Of course.” I saw the hint of a grin as she reached for the mask and snorkel.
Turning to an older couple settled on the beach a few feet from our towels, I said, “Would you mind keeping an eye on our stuff while we’re in the water?”
“Sure. No worries. You can bring us back some sushi.”
“That sounds like a great idea for dinner,” Laurie said.
I gave her a long glare to see if she was joking. She wasn’t.
“What? You’re not a sushi fan yet?”
“No.”
“Well, now I have a challenge before me.”
“No you don’t,” I said. “I’m not going to try sushi on this trip.”
“Try sushi? You mean you’ve never tried it?”
We were at the water now, ankle deep, swishing out our masks and adjusting the straps.
“No, I have never tried sushi, and I think it would be just fine with me if I never did.” Then, to further make my point, I added, “On such a perfect afternoon as this, when we are about to pay a friendly visit to the fish in this bay, I’d prefer we didn’t talk about eating them. Raw.”
“Hope?”
“What?”
“Go soak your head.” Laurie grinned. “I mean that in the sweetest way possible, of course.”
“Of course.”
What I didn’t expect when I eased into the warm water and soaked my head was that I was about to be introduced to an entire world of spectacular fish. The variety, shapes, and colors astounded me. Dozens and dozens of amazing little creatures darted about the coral, seemingly unbothered by our intrusion in their watery ecosystem.
Laurie tapped me on the leg. We surfaced and removed our snorkels.
“This is amazing!” she said. “Did you see those bright yellow ones with the tall fin and the black stripes?”
“They’re beautiful! All I can hope is that they didn’t hear you talking about you-know-what before we got in the water.”
Laurie laughed, and we went back under.
The gentle rhythm of the tide in this large lagoon rocked me as I easily floated along. I was captured, drawn into this liquid fairyland where fronds of green seaweed rose in forestlike clumps and swayed back and forth to music my mortal ear couldn’t hear.
In and out of the dancing forest, the eager fish swam. My favorites were the schools of iridescent silver and blue fish that were about the size of a large safety pin, only more narrow and sleek. They zipped to and fro as a group. Each time they banked to the right or left, my eye caught a glimmer of the luminous rainbow colors hidden in their silvery scales.
A young girl came up beside us in our gigantic aquarium and released a handful of green peas into the water. From every direction the fish came toward her, gobbling the peas in one bite.
I let out a squeal through the snorkel. The girl released another handful, and the fish rushed toward her again.
“Did you see that?” I asked, as Laurie and I simultaneously surfaced.
She said something unintelligible because she hadn’t taken the snorkel out of her mouth. She laughed, took it out, and repeated, “Feeding frenzy! Did you see how they came from all directions? And for green peas, too. My kids never came running for peas.”
“You didn’t have boys,” I said. “All I have to do is say food, and they come storming in, just like those fish.”
“Do you miss them?” Laurie asked, as we treaded water.
“A little.”
“I miss mine a little, too.”
We looked at each other, looked at the shore where the elderly couple sat watching our gear, and looked at the water as if we had choreographed the move.
“But I don’t wish they were here,” Laurie said.
“Me, neither.”
“This would be a different trip with husbands or children.”
“Definitely.”
“I like it just the way it is.”
“Me, too. A little head soaking is good for the soul.”
Laurie laughed before saying one simple word, “More.” With that, we went back under into the alternate universe of motion and color and calm.