Here Today, Gone to Maui (30 page)

Tiara was sitting cross-legged on her unmade bed, wearing her heart-patterned jammie bottoms with the Angels T-shirt. Her hair was in a ponytail, her face clean and clear. She looked like the sorority girl every guy liked and every girl hated.

“I was just wondering if you had any interest in sharing a shuttle to the airport,” I said. I couldn’t imagine that Michael would still want to drive me. “My flight’s not till late, but I wouldn’t mind getting there early.”

“Thanks, but I changed my flight to Saturday,” she told me. That was the day Michael was leaving, too: so nice that they’d have a little alone time. “Because tomorrow?” she said. “My agent got me this gig opening this fun new restaurant in Kihei. It’s called Cheese the Day.”

“Seize the Day,” I corrected.

“No,
Cheese
the Day. It’s a fondue place. He said fondue is the next big thing.” And then, after a beat: “I’m not stupid.”

“I know you’re not.” I sighed.

“So, anyways,” Tiara said, getting excited and doing her flayed-nails thing. “It’s, like,
Hawaiian
fondue—isn’t that wild?’Cause they’re going to have all these Hawaiian fruits for dipping. So it’s, like, fusion, you know? And I’m sort of fusion, too—that’s what my agent said, that’s my angle—so he thought it was a good fit. And the restaurant thinks I’ll bring in a lot of press.”

“I’m sure you will,” I admitted.

“And today?” she said. “I’m having lunch in Lahaina with some reporter. I think he’s from the Honolulu paper. I should probably check.”

She glanced at the digital clock on her nightstand. “I better start getting ready. Because outside the gates? If it’s anything like last night, it’ll be packed with photographers. So I gotta look my best.” She straightened her legs and slid off the bed.

“Have you seen Michael this morning?” I asked. I’d been avoiding the main room, but I really wanted a cup of coffee and some breakfast.

She shook her head. “He said he had a bunch of appointments scheduled today. I think he’ll be gone for a while.”

My phone rang: the office. “I’ve got to get this,” I told Tiara.

My first thought was that it might be Mr. Wills apologizing for his memo and begging me to come back to work. I pressed the answer button, contemplating whether to accept his apology, when I realized it was Lena.

“How you doing?” she asked.

“Pretty crappy.” I paused before asking, “Does everybody know I’ve been fired?”

“Mr. Wills hasn’t announced it yet,” she said. “But . . . news travels through the grapevine.” The Wills Rubber grapevine is otherwise known as
Lena
. “Everyone thinks it’s really unfair,” she assured me.

“Not entirely,” I said. “I should have come clean when I first interviewed.”

“But then you wouldn’t have gotten the job.”

“There’s that.” And now, I thought, it’ll be hard to get
any
job.

“I just called to let you know we’re all pulling for you.”

“Thanks,” I said. “That means a lot.” I was surprised to realize how much it did.

Since I’d already spent at least an hour that morning on my own personal lanai, I took my coffee and breakfast (toast and a banana: my standards had really fallen) out to the teak table on the deck. I squinted at the water, looking for whales, but all I saw was a kayaker, paddling lazily by.

I’d felt so happy the day before, being in this beautiful house, like it was magic or something. It was exactly how I’d felt the day I’d first arrived in California. While my friend cried on the phone to her boyfriend, I’d run down to the nearest beach and made straight for Pacific, only stopping when the surf splashed the edge of my shorts. I remember the stinging on my legs, the sun on my face, the lightness in my chest. From now on, things were going to be
different
.

The kayaker reached the rock outcropping and pivoted.

I could have stayed in New Jersey all those years ago. It wouldn’t have made any difference. Of course it wasn’t too late: I could always go back. At least I’d have Katie and Beth to hang out with. And I could make dinner for my mother every Sunday. She’d praise my cooking and my independence in equal measures and assure me that I didn’t need a man. Plus, she could get me a bitchin’ discount on bathroom hardware.

But moving back to New Jersey wouldn’t really change anything. I was leaving Jimmy behind in Hawaii, but I’d never find a way to unload myself.

Beyond the rocks, the water changed from silver to bright blue, and the usual clouds snuggled the top of Lanai. The kayaker was still out there, coming closer to shore now, bobbing in the waves. Something glinted in the sunlight: a camera lens.

Shit. Now I was stuck in the house.

 

 

I figured I should let Sergeant Hosozawa know I was leaving town. “You want my contact information in California?” I asked, sitting on my bed. Even though the kayaker had finally left, I felt safer inside.

“Not especially.” Irritated sigh. “But I guess we should have it.”

My cell phone rang just as I was organizing my carry-on bag: paperback, magazine, sweater, wallet, comb, lip balm, itinerary, mints, Jimmy’s car keys, and, of course, my planner. At the airport, I’d buy one of those U-shaped neck pillows on the off chance that I managed to sleep on the plane.

I didn’t recognize the number on my phone’s display, and I almost didn’t answer. But I figured, if someone in the press had gotten hold of my number, I’d rather find out now.

I hit the answer button. “Yes?”

“Janie?” It took me a second to recognize the voice.

“Dad?” I thought:
Wait—is it my birthday?

“I’ve been worried about you,” he said.

So strange: with all the news reports swirling around, I’d wondered how everyone who knew me would react. I’d thought about my mom and my sister, of course, plus people from work, condo neighbors, college friends, old roommates and boyfriends, MySpace Geoffrey, the checkers at Trader Joe’s, the people I worked out with at L.A. Fitness, even my Korean dry cleaner who barely speaks English. But I had never once wondered how my father was taking the news.

“I’m fine,” I said.

Never let him see you sweat. Or cry. Never let him think you need him or love him.

“This must be really tough on you,” he said. “I didn’t even know you were seeing someone.”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s over now.” I wasn’t trying to be funny—just nonchalant. Strong. Independent. Unemotional.

“You’ll find someone else,” he said.

“I really can’t talk,” I said. “I’m leaving for the airport in a couple of hours and I haven’t started packing yet.” If he knew me at all, he’d know I was lying.

“Have to get back to work, huh?”

I swallowed. “Right.”

“You always were a hard worker . . . I remember when you were in fifth grade and you did that report about the Revolutionary War. You got a big stack of books out of the library and made piles of notes on index cards.”

I didn’t have the vaguest idea what he was talking about, but the index cards sounded like me.

“I’m around if you ever want to talk,” he said. “You have this number?”

“I do now.”

“Say hello to your mother for me. And your sister.”

“Sure.”

“And Janie?”

“Yeah?” “year?”

 

“I love you.”

For the umpteenth time that day, tears sprang into my eyes. Fortunately, no one was there to see them.

“Thanks for calling, Dad. But I really gotta go.”

 

I ran into Michael while hauling my suitcase and Jimmy’s duffel bag to the front door. I’d considered leaving the duffel behind, but I thought his brother, Scott, might want it.

“Hi,” I said. “I didn’t think you’d be here.”

Michael grinned wryly. “Good to see you, too.” He was wearing yet another black polo shirt, this one threaded with faint beige stripes.

I was too worn out to be embarrassed, so I just shrugged. “My airport shuttle’s coming in a few hours.”

I’d called Mary for the number. She’d wished me luck and told me to call her if I ever came to Maui again: “I’ll show you what a real luau looks like.” I was touched but couldn’t imagine that I’d ever come back.

Michael shook his head. “I’m driving you, remember?”

“You don’t have to,” I said. “It’s nice of you to offer, but—”

“I want to. Besides, there are still a couple of photographers out there. You don’t need them swarming a shuttle.”

That settled it. I nodded my acceptance.

“What time is the flight?” he asked.

“Nine-fifteen. But I want to get there early because of security and all. I was thinking of leaving at around six.”

“That’ll give you over two hours at the airport,” he said.

“You think we should leave at five-thirty?”

He almost laughed—it was kind of a “huh” sound. “No, I think six is fine.”

“You sure?” I said. “I mean, you never know what can go wrong.”

 

 

By five o’clock, my stomach was raw with hunger.

Michael knocked on my door. “Good news coming over the Internet,” he said.

I raised my eyebrows. “
People
magazine has named me one of their fifty most beautiful people?”

He leaned against the door frame. “Even better. A dog in St. Louis called 911 after his owner had a heart attack. And in Hollywood, some blond actress—or maybe she’s a singer—just left her husband for her personal trainer.”

“Really? Who?”

He shrugged. “I don’t remember—I don’t follow that crap. The point is, our story isn’t the best one out there anymore. I’m thinking our fifteen minutes are up.”

“Thank God,” I said. My stomach grumbled noisily. On impulse, I said, “Have you had anything to eat? Because if we leave now, we could grab a quick bite on the way to the airport. I can personally vouch for the Taco Bell.”

“I think we can do better than that.”

Twenty minutes later, we were in an outdoor courtyard in downtown Lahaina, sitting in white plastic chairs and waiting for our dinners from a funky little kabob place. Around us, kiosks displayed shell necklaces, beach hats, and polyester leis, but I wasn’t in the mood for shopping. I’d ordered a blackened mahimahi kabob because Michael said it was the best thing on the menu, even though he got a plain fish one for himself. He insisted on paying for the whole thing, and I let him because I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. And because—oh, yeah—I was unemployed.

“Was this your first trip to Maui?” Michael asked. “I never asked.”

I nodded, sucking iced tea through a straw.

“How did you like it?”

I raised my eyebrows and put down my paper cup. “About as much as Mrs. Lincoln liked the play.”

“Sorry. Stupid question.”

I shook my head. “Actually, it’s as beautiful as I expected. I just don’t think I could ever come here without thinking about Jimmy. Not with him dead.”

Next to us, an abandoned open-air nightclub cast long shadows over the courtyard. The only sign of life was a painted board that read PLEASE DO NOT FEED BIRDS OR CATS. The building was two stories high, with a peaked roof, railings, and balconies reminiscent of New Orleans or the Caribbean. I thought of all the people who had spent rum-soaked evenings there, laughing and joking, never worrying about tomorrow. The ghosts of lost happiness floated along the warped floorboards and over the rickety railings.

A white cat crawled out from under the building and slunk over to us.

“Look,” I said.

“That building is full of stray cats,” Michael told me. “There’s another one.” A gray-and-white tabby with a bent ear sauntered past to find some unclaimed humans.

I thought of our kabobs. “Is that why you ordered your fish plain?”

He bent down to scratch the white cat behind her ears. “I’m a sucker for a cute face.”

At one end, the courtyard opened to a view of the ocean across the street. It was that vibrant blue color that it gets near the end of the day, when everything looks too gorgeous to be real, like you’re looking at life through a tinted lens, and you know it can’t last.

Michael had been right: my blackened fish kabob, which came with spiced rice and purple mashed potatoes, was amazing—as good as anything at a fancy restaurant on Maui (or, so I assumed: I didn’t have much to compare it with). Michael gave at least half of his fish to the cats; the little tabby had scampered back once he saw there were handouts.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to feed the cats,” I said, nodding toward the sign.

He shrugged. “When I see something starving, I feed it.”

“You’re a nice person,” I blurted.

He looked at me in surprise. I expected him to say something sarcastic. Instead, he half smiled and said, “Don’t let that get out. It could really ruin my reputation.”

 

Climbing back in the car after dinner, I said, “Day four of my itinerary.”

“What?”

“Before I came here, I made an itinerary. Day four was for exploring downtown Lahaina. That was assuming the weather was good all week. If the early days were cloudy, I might have changed things around.”

“Maui isn’t about itineraries, anyway,” he said, turning his key in the ignition. He had put the convertible’s top up since my luggage was in the backseat. “You should leave schedules on the mainland. Maui’s about living in the moment, taking things as they come.”

I snorted. “Yeah, well—that hasn’t been working out so well for me.” I looked at his profile. “I don’t exactly see you living in the moment, either.”

He pulled out of the parking spot and drove up the street. At a stoplight, he kept his eyes on the road and said, “One of the reasons I wanted to own my own business was so that I’d be able to make my own schedule. Travel, go diving whenever I wanted. And here I am, on Maui, and I haven’t been diving once.”