She slipped into her hideaway cottage to take a refreshing shower before dressing in a skirt and fresh top. Adding laundry soap to her mental list of grocery items, she made her way to Dan and Irene’s back door, cutting through the garden. The sun had climbed higher in the sky, and the air was noticeably warmer. The trade winds definitely were missed. Even the birds had gone silent.
Carissa tapped on the side of the sliding screen door, trying to see inside. Even though Dan and Irene had insisted yesterday that she come to this door, it felt awkward. She didn’t have neighbors nearby at home, and she wasn’t used to this sort of community connectedness.
“Come in, Carissa. It’s okay. Come on in. You don’t need to knock.” Irene’s sweet voice sounded close even though Carissa couldn’t see her through the screen.
Sliding the darkened screen door to the side, Carissa stepped into the house for the first time. The decor surprised her. All the furniture was made of a dark, highly polished wood. The floors were covered with deep green shag carpeting, and on nearly every space of available wall hung large, framed paintings. The effect was lovely and calming.
Carissa spotted Irene seated at a long dining room table that was covered with papers and open books. But Carissa’s eyes immediately went back to the walls and all the paintings, displayed like a folksy art gallery.
“What beautiful pictures.” She stepped closer to a rectangular painting of the ocean with an immense, imposing wave. Inside the curl, an intrepid surfer on an orange surfboard bent just right, as if he were determined to ride the screaming silver-blue monster all the way to shore. To the side an intricate palm tree leaned in at an angle of agreement with the spray of water off the top of the wave.
Irene came to stand beside her. “That one is from Sunset Beach. On Oahu. Dan went over there a few years ago to take pictures of the big waves. He liked that one surfer. Doesn’t remember his name. He was from California, and he told Dan that wave was the ride of his life. Dan still talks about watching him. Are you thirsty? I have some guava juice. Fresh, of course. Have you had breakfast?”
“Yes, I had breakfast earlier.” Carissa realized all she had consumed was the coffee, but she wasn’t hungry. “Thanks for the coffee. It was delicious. You said Dan took the photo of this wave. Who painted it for you?”
“Dan.”
“He painted this?”
Irene gave a general sweeping gesture with her hand of the open dining, kitchen, and living room space. “He’s been painting for so long, I’m afraid we’ve run out of wall space. If you find one you like, be sure to tell him. Make sure you truly love it because he’ll want to send it home with you.”
“I’m so impressed. I’ve never met a painter before.”
Carissa moved over to a display of three smaller paintings hung one above the other. All of them were close-up paintings of tropical flowers against a black background.
“These are beautiful.”
“You’re an artist, aren’t you?”
“Me? No. Not at all.”
“But you have such a poetic spirit.”
Carissa turned and looked at Irene, surprised at her comment.
“Well, wouldn’t you agree? You have a genuine appreciation for everything you’ve observed since you’ve been here. Yesterday, when you asked about the heliconia growing along the side of the cottage, you said the flowers looked like origami birds on a tall stick. I would say those are words that spring from an artist’s heart.”
Carissa felt deeply touched. No one had ever likened her to an artist before. She didn’t know what to do with the affirming words, so she quickly changed the subject. “Dan said you had a grocery list?”
“I do. It’s right here along with some money in this envelope.” She gave Carissa directions, handed her a stack of neatly folded, reusable cloth grocery bags, and told her where the keys to the car were hung by the back door.
Carissa was just about to be on her way when Irene said, “Did Dan tell you that he’s leaving?”
“No.” She turned to give Irene her full attention.
“He’s going to the mainland on Wednesday to settle some business with a piece of property we used to own there. Our son, Kai, was planning to take him to the airport for his afternoon flight, but we might need to call upon you for the favor, if Kai can’t get here in time. He’s on the Big Island at the moment and might not be back by then.”
“Sure, I’d be happy to take Dan to the airport.”
“Good. I’ll let him know. Mano is working that morning. Otherwise we would ask him, of course.”
“Of course.”
Carissa backed the red compact Saturn out of the garage and easily found the grocery store. As she strolled down the aisles, trying to find the items on Irene’s list, she noted the prices were shocking, as Betty had warned her. But everything else about the store felt familiar.
Since Carissa didn’t have a list, she took to filling her cart with anything that caught her eye. Anything she wouldn’t normally buy or prepare at home sounded good, for some reason. The vacation foods in her cart included fettuccini, corn dogs, and fresh coconut cream pie.
About halfway down the soft drink aisle, her empty stomach protested, and she broke into a bag of peanut butter cookies she had added to her cart. The cookies were on Irene’s list, but Carissa had picked up two bags since they sounded good. She knew it was a bad idea to shop for groceries when she hadn’t had anything to eat. She also knew that addressing the hunger with three peanut butter cookies was an equally bad idea.
But she didn’t care. This was her vacation. She figured she should do whatever made her feel like she was relaxing and getting what she needed out of this time. If that meant going for a fourth peanut butter cookie, then so be it.
Instead of loading the grocery bags into the car’s trunk, where she was concerned the milk might get too warm on its way home, Carissa lined up the bags on the backseat like a group of toddlers off on a field trip.
In a way, she was taking them on a field trip. She wanted to drive around a little before going back to the house so she could see how far away the beach was and what other interesting spots were within walking distance.
She had to drive only a few blocks from the grocery store before the vast Pacific Ocean spread out before her. A road just below her paralleled the ocean and several impressive stretches of long, pale gold, sandy beaches. On the other side of the road, though, for miles, all that appeared were closely built apartments and condos. Interspersed between the old-style vacation rentals were several flat-roofed strip malls loaded with shops that catered to tourists.
And this area definitely had tourists. The vacationers were in the cars all around her, inching their way to the next stoplight. Tourists were on foot, clogging the pedestrian walkways. They were at the beach, stretched out in beach chairs, bobbing in the low-curling waves, and sitting under the palm trees in the public park areas.
None of the mayhem appealed to her, but the water looked inviting.
Carissa turned the car around and headed back to Dan and Irene’s home. She formulated a plan. She was used to her life having a lot of structure; no wonder she had felt flustered this morning. She didn’t know how to float around in oblivion. Having a schedule would help her to feel secure. That was important right now.
Her plan was to deposit Irene’s groceries with her and Carissa’s purchases in the refrigerator in her bungalow. Then she would make a big bowl of pasta with shrimp sautéed in butter. She would sit out on the back patio of the cottage and read until she dozed off. Then she would go inside and watch one of the many DVDs on the shelf next to the flat-screen TV. If she wasn’t too tired, she might watch two movies. And she would eat another something wonderful from her shopping trip. Such a plan sounded sweetly decadent and just what she needed to relax. But there was more to her plan.
In the morning she would put on her bathing suit, walk down to the beach, and have the ocean to herself before the swarm of tourists showed up w
ith their boogie boards and umbrellas. Then she would walk back, make some of the delicious Maui coffee, and decide if she wanted to spend another day reading, or if she wanted to drive into Wailea to visit the shopping center.
Carissa breathed in and breathed out. She loved having a plan. And an open bag of Nutter Butters within reach.
7
“He hemolele ‘Oe! Iehova ke Akua!
Mele makou mai ke a lau la a pau kala.”
“Holy, holy, holy! Lord God Almighty!
Early in the morning our song shall rise to thee.”
CARISSA’S CLEVER PLAN PLAYED itself out nicely. At least in the beginning. She returned to the hideaway cottage, read, rested, ate heartily, watched two DVDs, and went to bed with a slice of coconut cream pie filling her up just above the top of her comfort level.
At 2:15 A.M. the coconut cream pie came back up, bringing a good portion of the sautéed shrimp and fettuccine with it.
For several hours Carissa twisted around in the queenly bed feeling miserable. She wanted to blame the pie for her aching gut. Or the shrimp. Maybe the shrimp were tainted when she bought them. Or that corn dog she popped in the microwave around nine-thirty before she started the second DVD. Perhaps that was the culprit.
No, her instincts told her that her body wasn’t able to handle so much rich and heavy food on the heels of so much emotional stress. She knew food had never been an effective medication for her in times of anguish. Why she thought it would comfort her this time she had no idea.
The digestion aid she found in the sparsely stocked bathroom medicine cabinet seemed to be doing its work, but she couldn’t sleep. Putting in another DVD, Carissa turned the television screen so she could watch it in bed and finally fell asleep to the sight of Mr. Darcy coming across a golden meadow at sunrise.
All plans for her own sunrise march to the beach were scrapped along with plans to read her way through at least one of the five novels she had selected. Carissa’s second day in paradise was spent in bed and in shock.
Her life wasn’t supposed to be like this. She couldn’t stop thinking about her Mr. Darcy, who was just as valiant and infuriating as the one Jane Austen imagined. Yet, unlike in Ms. Austen’s novel, Carissa’s Mr. Darcy wouldn’t come trouncing across a meadow or the ocean to be with her. He wouldn’t even walk across the hallway of their own home last week when he had the chance.
The depth of Carissa’s anguish frightened her. If there had been any liquor in the kitchen cupboards, she was pretty sure she would have given it a try. If she had found any painkillers in the bathroom cupboard, she wouldn’t have hesitated to take enough of them to transport her out of her private torture.
As it was, all she had to take the edge off her fearful foreboding about the future were romantic comedy DVDs and coconut cream pie. She already knew how things turned out for Tom and Meg in all three of the unwatched DVDs on the shelf. She also already knew the disappointing abilities of the coconut cream pie to produce mood-elevating results.
Aside from more sleep, the only option Carissa could think of for comfort was the Bible she had seen on the shelf in the living room. She chose sleep.
By early evening, after much internal turmoil, Carissa was convinced that the next season of her life would be marked by change. Resolved, she decided her only route for survival was to bolster herself and be prepared for whatever was to come next. She wanted to be prepared for a new job, a new place to live, and possibly a completely different life, a single life.
If she and Richard continued on their current destructive course, she could very well be a divorced woman before her next birthday.
The onslaught of such an ominous future exhausted her, and so she sank back under the covers to dwell alone in her private cave. Some time long after the day was spent and the sun had set, Carissa got up.
She made herself a cup of tea, wrapped a throw blanket around her sagging shoulders, and padded out to the private, small back patio behind the cottage. From just above the roofline, a glow caught her eye. A streetlight?
No. She moved to the side and saw it was the moon. More accurately, it was a little more than half a moon.
“Cut in half,” she whispered. “Just like me.”
For a long while she stood, cradling the cup of tea with both hands and gazing at the moon. It felt to her as if she were having a stare-out with the One who could have prevented so much hurt in the world, including hers, if he wanted to. But there he was, looking on with only one eye, and even that eye was half open.
She knew her analogy was a stretch. But somehow it helped her to believe the reason things were going the way they were was because God had curtailed his care for her ever since she had withdrawn her trust in him.
Funny, that’s what Richard said was the problem with our marriage, that I don’t trust him. Well, maybe I don’t. And maybe I don’t trust God like I used to, either.
Carissa blinked at the unflinching moon. An ache of deep longing made her groan quietly in the night.
When did I become this person? I used to love God. I used to feel something wonderful when I heard his name. How did I get like this?
She sat on the padded lounge chair, her legs crossed, her back to the house, the roofline, and the peering moon. With slow sips, she felt the tea soothing her raw insides. The breeze was with her, shuffling the dried fronds on the palm trees, whispering in low utterings through the banana leaves.
Carissa lowered the teacup to her lap and lifted her chin to the stars. Adding her own whisper to the dark night sounds, she said, “Okay, come and get me. If you still want me, you know where to find me.”
The intent of her challenge was that her whisper would find its way across the sea to the ears of her petulant husband. If he was so convinced that she had turned her back on him by going to Maui, then fine. But if he still wanted her and was willing to make the effort to pursue reconciliation, then her words would find their way to him on the trade winds, and he could make the first move. She wasn’t going to call him again.
Downing the last sip of tea, Carissa pulled herself up from the lounge chair and caught sight of the lazy-eyed moon once again. She stared at it some more. The golden light against the velvet sky was unchanging.
If I were a poet, I’d try to write about you, O mysterious moon.
Carissa wondered if Irene was right about Carissa having an artist’s spirit. It would explain her joy in spending lunch breaks at Powell’s in search of books of unheralded poetry. More likely it was the influence of all of the romantic DVDs she had stuffed herself with during her waking hours that day. She had swallowed so much beauty, hope, and sweetness, it was bound to overload her system and find its way back out.
Somewhat calmed and strangely resolved, Carissa went inside and thought again about trying to write a poem. It would be a therapeutic way to express the intense feelings she had been processing all day. She only thought about it, though. She didn’t search for paper or pen.
Instead, she decided to put her plan back into effect. Day two, take two. When the sun got up, so would she. It was time to introduce herself to the ocean and to the long sandy beach. This was Maui, after all. She was on vacation. In the morning she would start to act like it.
Leaving the bedroom windows open, Carissa anticipated that the morning song of the birds would be her alarm clock.
And they were.
Rolling out of bed, she still didn’t feel well. Her head hurt.
Too bad. You’re not staying in bed all day. Come on.
With renewed determination, she pulled on her bathing suit and shorts, slipped a T-shirt over her head, and reached for one of the plush beach towels she had brought in her suitcase. Her flip-flops were waiting at the front door where she had left them. Out into the freshness of the new day she went.
The shortest route to the sidewalk that led to the beach was through the garden. Carissa trekked past the banana trees and headed for the opening that would take her through Dan and Irene’s backyard.
But some movement made her stop and pull back.
There, in a long nightgown, was Irene. She stood barefoot in the dewy green grass. Her face was turned toward the east. Her eyes were closed. Both her arms were raised in a gesture of worship.
Carissa hung back, staying concealed behind the wide trunk of the banana tree. After Dan’s comment the day before about “loving the land,” she wondered if that was what Irene was expressing. Why else would someone rise at dawn and stand barefoot in the grass with her arms lifted to the heavens?
Then Irene’s voice rose in harmony with the enthusiastic birds. “Ke Akua Hemolele, ua piha ka honua i kou nani a ke ho’omaika’i nei ia ‘oe.” Irene repeated the same words a second time.
Carissa watched, too intrigued to step away. The early morning light shed a soft glow on Irene’s face, revealing an expression of loveliness, peace, and deep delight. She chanted the opening words one more time. And then again, the words rolling off her tongue like a softly sung lullaby. “Ke Akua Hemolele. Ke Akua Hemolele.”
Carissa felt her soul stir at the sight and at the words. What did they mean? What was this little woman doing, standing there in her nightie, calling forth the new day?
Irene opened her eyes. She lowered her arms. Still smiling, she reached for her cane, which was propped up against a supporting pillar of the patio. Apparently unaware of Carissa’s presence behind the banana tree, Irene hobbled back into the house, leaving the birds alone to finish the morning song.
For a few more minutes Carissa didn’t move. If she cut through the garden, would Irene see her from the house? And if Irene saw her, would she wonder if Carissa had been watching her in her private actions there in the garden?
A disturbing thought settled on Carissa. I’m a Peeping Tom!
Not on purpose. And not in a way that was intended to compromise Irene’s privacy. Yet, the facts couldn’t be argued. She technically was standing on Dan and Irene’s private property, watching Irene.