A Matter of Heart (23 page)

I cannot count the times
that Jonah and I have discussed my desire to travel. That I’ve rhapsodized over
dreams of tropical beaches, European cities and antiquities, and African
safaris. I comb my memory for any instance he might’ve said something about
this—having a house near a tropical beach, but no. There is nothing. Nothing
more than, “We’ll have to go there someday together,” and “Let’s plan some trips
after the wedding.”

I nearly died recently, and
this thought slays me: the one that reminds me that I could’ve died without
ever travelling to Hawaii. Or anywhere that wasn’t for work. I stand up, facing
Kellan. “Let’s go.”

He stays where he is. “Go
where?”

“Hawaii. This house of
yours. Now.”

A slow blink proceeds, “I’m
sorry?”

Sand. Tropical flowers. Salt
water. Ocean breezes. I want these things, and I want them now. “Is there a
portal by your house?”

“Yeah, but—”

“You said you’d take me to
lunch. Let’s go.”

Now he stands up; a look of
intense relief sweeps across his face. “Wanna hit up that hot dog stand you
were talking about?”

Poor, deluded man. “
Hawaii
,
Kellan. We’ll eat there.”

“Chloe,” he murmurs, the
cuff practically spinning against his wrist, “I highly doubt this is what Jonah
wanted when he suggested me taking you out to lunch.”

He’s kidding, right? And,
honestly, Jonah’s opinion on the matter is the least of my concerns right now.
I mean, if he can keep this from me, what’s me going to lunch in Hawaii?
Nothing
,
that’s what. “What’s the problem with eating in Hawaii? You said there’s a
portal near your house. It’ll take us, what? Half an hour at most to get there?
How’s that any different than eating downtown?”

His lips press together;
he’s mercifully let the cuff go and has now stuffed his hands into his pockets.
I cannot let him dissuade me.
Hawaii
. I’ve always wanted to go there, go
anywhere
.

“Please, Kellan.” I move
closer and look up into his eyes. “Just for a couple of hours. I’ve never been anywhere.
You know that. I used to complain to you all the time about that in high
school. You said you and Callie went there together. You two are just friends.
Why can’t we go?”

He studies me, but I do not
back down. Finally, “Okay. But, I won’t keep it from Jonah, no matter how angry
you are with him right now.”

I heave a sigh in relief.
That was surprisingly easier to do than I thought, convincing him to go and
all. “I’m not asking you to hide it. Unlike him.”

My face is searched
intently, like I have hidden secrets ready to be discovered within my pores.
“Are you trying to pick a fight with J? Because I’m not down with that. Not
after we all agreed . . .” He trails off, a hand running through his hair.

But I know what he means. I
move closer, not close enough to touch, but enough to highlight the
Connection’s pull between us. “I just want to go to Hawaii, Kellan.”

“You know, house or no
house, you’re capable of going whenever you like, right?” And it’s funny, as
often as I use portals, I’ve never considered using them like this. To just
escape. To just go and see things, experience what I’ve never known, even just
for an hour. “Please,” is all I have to say, and he gives in. I write Jonah a
note, and then I close and lock the door behind us.

Our flip-flops are somewhere
behind us, no doubt half-buried in the sand, and our feet are in the water. It
isn’t lunchtime here; rather, it’s closer to sunset, so there are a thousand
shades of yellow and pink and red spilled across the blues and the greens of the
water, and it’s mesmerizing, absolutely overwhelming. The air is warm and
heavy, salty, too, and it smells like enchantment personified, like there are
flowers growing on top of the water.

“I love it here,” I tell
Kellan, and he nods, because he understands.

Chez Whitecomb is on the
beach, about a half-mile away from the portal. Compared to the house in
California, it’s small—single story, recessed slightly from the beach and
painted white and weathered from years and salty air.

Later, as I stand on the wide,
wrap-around porch, I tell him, “I love this house, too.” And he nods once more,
because it’s obvious he loves it, too.

I lean back against the
railing when he drags an Adirondack chair over to stand on. Even on the chair,
he’s on his tiptoes to reach up under one of the eaves. “Whatcha looking for?”
I ask, trying my best not to ogle his long, well-toned limbs.

“This.” He brandishes a
small, tarnished key.

I laugh. “You just leave
your key here, for anyone to use?”

He chuckles and unlocks the
door. The house is sparsely decorated, with just a few well-worn pieces of
furniture in each space. I move from room to room, dragging my fingers across
various objects reverently, feeling like I’m being shown a great secret.

Once back into the living
room, I ask, “How is it that Callie hasn’t already put her stamp on this
place?” He’s silent, so I add, “You know. Like your apartment.”

He turns away to open up a
window. “Well, this place isn’t solely mine. It’s Jonah’s, too.” Another window
is opened before he says quietly, “I suppose you’ll be the one to pick out how
this place gets decorated, if you want it changed. Since it’ll be yours, too,
when you two get married.”

I
stare at the hardwood floors, because I cannot meet his eyes.

We’re sitting at a tiny
beach shack, ten minutes away from his house, one where you order at a window
and eat at weathered white tables overlooking the ocean. The fish tacos, as
Kellan guaranteed on the walk over, are the best I’ll ever taste. He’s right.
And as we eat, we talk some more. It’s now Q & A time, with me trying my
luck at asking the most ridiculous questions ever.

“Favorite comfort food.”

He thinks about this. “Boxed
macaroni and cheese.”

I nearly spit out the bite
I’d just chewed. “No!”

“I’m afraid so.” He grins
ruefully. “Let me guess. Yours is hot dogs?” I laugh and he adds, “It’s so
weird I never knew that about you, although, I guess maybe I should have. You
used to eat more hot dogs on our dates than anyone I’d ever met before.”

“You say it like it’s a bad
thing,” I grin, “but I refuse to take offense. Actually—my true guilty pleasure
are churros.”

He visibly shudders, which
only makes me laugh all the more. “Alright, Mr. Food Snob,” I tease, picking a
piece of lettuce from my taco. “How about this: favorite number?”

“I don’t have a lucky
number.”

Interesting. “I do. It’s
thirty-one.”

His head cocks to the side
as he sips his soda. “Why thirty-one?”

“When I was little, I always
assumed that when I was thirty-one, I would be so worldly, so independent that
I would no longer have to do anything my parents ever told me again. Honestly,
I think I saw someone on TV who was that age, and their life seemed ideal. So
it stuck.”

“Huh.” His little half-grin
slides across his face, and my heart lurches so strongly that I lose my breath.

I rush to continue talking.
“If you don’t have a favorite number, then what’s your favorite nail polish
color?”

He stares at me
incredulously before I break out in more giggles. “Just kidding. What about
your favorite dessert? And don’t tell me churros, because I know you’ll be
lying to me, mister.”

“How about I show you,
rather than tell?”

After we finish eating, we
walk up the street a little ways, and he explains that what we’re about to have
is quintessential Hawaiian. My mind entertains a wealth of exotic desserts, all
built around some kind of tropical fruit, so when we stop in front of a tiny,
orange shack with bright yellow rimmed windows, I’m momentarily taken aback.
Because one of the boys walking out of the shack is carrying a snow cone. “Um,”
I murmur, turning towards Kellan. “Are you kidding me? Snow cones?”

Someone in the rather long
line snaking out of the door shoots me a look dripping with derision, like I’m
a moron or something. Amusement glitters in Kellan’s eyes, despite the dark
around us. “They’re not really snow cones. It’s shave ice.” A quick glance at
the sign above the door confirms this.
Shave Ice,
it reads.

“It’s spelled wrong,” I tell
him, but Kellan only chuckles, shaking his head.

“No more talking,” he says,
and there’s this fantastic smile to go along with his words. “You wanted
Hawaiian, didn’t you? I’m giving you exactly what you want.”

But we do talk, all the way
until we get our cups and then all the way back to his house. And I’m feeling
so happy, so content with this afternoon, or rather evening in Hawaii—with the
water, and the beach, and my fish tacos, and shave ice, and most importantly,
time with Kellan—that I choose to ignore my phone when it rings.

We’re sitting in the sand
finishing up our shave ice when it rings again. “You should answer that,” he
says, pointing to me with his spoon.

“That’s what voicemail is
for.” I’m smiling so much my cheeks hurt. “You know, I’m glad we came here
today.”

He looks out at the water.
His answer is soft but sure as he sets his cup and spoon down in the sand. “Me
too.”

“I like this.” I wave my
spoon back and forth between us.

“Shave ice?”

“That too. But what I mean
is
this
. You and me. Hanging out together, like old times.” His smile
droops a bit, so I rush to correct, “Not exactly like
old
times, but . .
. you know . . .”

“I know what you mean,” he
says.

“I’ve missed you.” I’m no
longer smiling. Neither of us are. I watch him in the moonlight, hair so black
it’s blue, and my heart squeezes tight, because he and this place are
wonderful, and I’m so lucky to have him sitting next to me, especially since
I’d thought, just weeks ago, I’d never be able to do so again.

It
takes him a few heartbeats, but he tells me, “Me too.”

When my cell phone rings
again, Kellan says, “You need to answer, C.”

The moon is shining down on
the waves, making them glitter like diamonds come in with each pull. “Why?”

“Because it’s been more than
four hours.”

He doesn’t need to explain
further. I pull the phone out of my pocket, and sure enough, Jonah’s face
graces the screen. “Quick,” I mutter, clutching it in my hand. “Happy, sad, or
mad?”

“Let’s say he isn’t very
happy right now.”

Crap.

I answer with the cheeriest
greeting I can muster, only to be met with silence on the other end. So I try,
“Jonah? Is that you?” Even though, obviously, I know it’s him as the Caller ID
told me so.

More silence. Caleb
oh-so-helpfully urges me to proceed yet again with caution.

One of my hyena laughs
emerges. “Remember, we can’t talk in our minds like you and your brother. So
words would be helpful.”

Continued silence, which
leads to panic, because I can hear him breathing. And it’s angry breathing,
which is really uncomfortable to listen to, because Jonah has never left me
dangling like this on the phone before. I’m just about to hang up when he
finally speaks. “Hawaii.”

Oh, this is rich. Because,
yes—that clipped voice tells me he’s pissed off. I could lay down money steam
is emitting from his ears, and honestly? I’m thinking he doesn’t really have a
single leg to stand on with this misplaced feeling. I, however, decide to match
his pissiness. “Yep! We’re sitting outside
your house
right now.”

The silence returns.

Now I’m outright angry,
because I know what he’s doing. What he’s thinking. He’s assuming that
something’s happening between Kellan and me. And while I’ll admit my track
record with Kellan is not the best, today was good, and part of that was
because Jonah told me earlier that he trusted me to make the right choices. And
I
did,
so it stings that he’s just assumed so easily that nothing we
talked about mattered. That somehow or other, when it comes to his brother, I
absolutely cannot control myself. So I add belligerently, “You know. The one
you never told me about?”