Banana Split (6 page)

She scraped the burrito from that afternoon into the garbage, washed the plate and the brownie preparation dishes, wiped down the counter, and swept the tiled floor. Then she put about half of the chicken and rice on a plate and sat down at the kitchen table. It was really good, and though she considered asking Konnie for the recipe, she was embarrassed to do so for reasons she didn’t entirely understand.

She looked outside again as she pushed the chair underneath the kitchen table, her plate and fork in hand. The blinds were still open but everything on the other side of the glass was dark. A sudden thought entered her mind that she should go out there. It would be healing; it would prove she was getting stronger. The timer dinged, and she jumped, shaking her head with embarrassment as she turned to the oven. She removed the brownies, placing them on the stove top to cool since she didn’t have a cooling rack.

Five minutes later, she pulled the blinds back from the sliding glass door, causing a pileup of the vertical slats on the far left side. She stood there challenging herself to open the door—to face her fears.

The sound of the door sliding along its track was soft and fluid, but as soon as it was open, the outside sounds filtered in with the coolness of the night. The croak of the coqui frogs that infested the islands sounded like loud, creepy crickets, but she could handle it. Someone’s dog was barking. No people sounds. “Nothing to be afraid of,” she whispered to herself.

She stepped out onto her little square of concrete patio, scanning for the huge centipedes that always gave her the willies and ignoring the two darting geckos poised on the stucco above the sliding glass door as she slid it shut. She could tolerate the lizards because they kept down the even more distasteful bug population.

I’m outside,
she told herself, trying to pump herself up as she looked at each of the patios belonging to the other seven condos. Three of them were rented out this week, but all the windows were dark. It was close to three o’clock in the morning after all. Only the jungle and Sadie were awake. The heat had dissipated somewhat, and a breeze raised goose bumps on her arms—or chicken skin, as Konnie would say. She tried to rub the bumps away and wondered if it was really the breeze creating the reaction.

She waited for the panic to descend. She thought about returning to Garrison in a few weeks. Did she want to return to a state of healing and strength? If so, then she needed to meet new challenges and prove herself capable of such things.

You’re safe here,
she told herself.
And it’s a beautiful night.

A gentle wind tousled the palm fronds overhead. The stars were vibrant, and a quarter moon looked crisp in the ink-colored sky. Sadie began walking along the black lava rock path that connected the patios and encircled the pool and common barbeque area in the center. Everything looked fine. One of the renters had hung a swimsuit on the turning clothesline near the pool, and the same wind that played amid the foliage of the trees moved the swimsuit gently back and forth. The showerhead near the pool dripped water onto the brick-lined drain area. Drip, drip, drip.

She studied every detail, having memorized what belonged and what didn’t and assuring herself that everything was as it should be. The longer she walked around the courtyard, the more victorious she felt. She’d left her condo in the middle of the night. That was progress!

She was almost back to her own patio when she heard something behind her, a rustle that didn’t coincide with the wind. She froze at the same time she internally screamed at herself to run. Instead, she turned and looked behind her.

Be strong,
she told herself.
Know what you’re up against instead of reacting to nameless fear.

The slightest possibility that someone
might
be out there with her was too easy a seed to plant—a seed that would then grow all night long until it was the Venus flytrap Audrey from
Little Shop of Horrors
and gobble her up. She was determined to make it through the night without panicking.

An avocado tree with tall winding branches stood a few feet off the path and seemed to be the location of the mystery sound. Sadie had harvested several avocados over the last few months and knew the tree well, which helped give her the courage to approach it. Her eyes traveled upward as she neared the trunk, and she was all but convinced the noise had been nothing but a bird when she noticed the outline of a shoe. No, a flip-flop—a small red rubber slippah. Again she was prompted to run, and yet she recognized the flip-flop even though her anxiety prompted her to think it belonged to someone far more sinister.

“Charlie?” she asked quietly.

Nothing moved, and she took a step closer to the tree. When she was below the branches, she could make out the shape of his silhouette as he stared down at her. It was creepy, seeing him outlined against the tree and the stars beyond the leaves, but she didn’t feel panic setting in. Maybe it was a lingering effect of the medication.

“What are you doing here?” Sadie snapped, her fear translating into anger even though she knew this boy had no idea what his unexpected appearance had cost her. He just stared at her, not saying a word in his defense. Sadie reminded herself that he was a little boy who’d lost his mother.

She was careful to soften her tone before she continued. “It’s the middle of the night, Charlie. Surely someone is missing you.”

He didn’t answer again, and Sadie let out a breath, realizing with amazement that her lingering fear went with it. This boy posed no threat to her, and he must be uncomfortable up there. As her eyes adjusted, she could see he’d taken one of the renters’ beach towels and put it between himself and the branch he was sitting on.

“Should I call the police?” she asked.

He shook his head quickly, his eyes wide. His reaction left no doubt that Sadie
should
call the police, and yet . . . this boy pulled at her heart. What if he didn’t have anywhere to go? What if he really was on his own?

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

He hesitated but after a moment, nodded.

“I have some chicken and rice, and I made brownies,” she said. “They’re just a mix, so it’s nothing special, but I really shouldn’t eat the whole pan myself. Do you think you could help me?”

He didn’t speak or nod or anything, but he did start climbing down from the tree. Sadie felt something unfamiliar in her chest, a kind of peace or comfort. Charlie dropped to the ground a few feet away from her, still regarding her carefully and clutching the towel.

“Go put that back where you found it,” Sadie said. He did as she said, taking the time to smooth out the towel on the back of a chair by the pool. He knew how to take care of things. When he headed back toward her, she turned to the condo, allowing him to follow her. It wasn’t until she opened the door for him and smiled as he passed her that she realized what this new feeling was. And it wasn’t really new at all, just forgotten. It had been a very long time since Sadie had given much of anything to anyone else. The anxiety she’d been living with had wrapped itself around her so tightly that there’d been no room left for reaching out to anyone else. The fear was still there, pressing against her chest as she shut and locked the sliding glass door—one, two, three—but maybe the stranglehold was a little less than it had been. Maybe reaching out to help someone else was some kind of cure for her own disease.

“Have a seat,” she said, feeling the forgotten role of hostess fall over her shoulders like a superhero cape. “Let’s get some real food in you before we serve up the brownies.”

Chapter 6

Sadie slid a plate of the remaining shoyu chicken and rice in front of Charlie before sitting down opposite him at the table. He didn’t thank her with words, but the fervor with which he ate clearly communicated his appreciation and hunger. Sadie wished she could take credit—it was always rewarding to see someone enjoy something she’d made herself—but she had no ownership in anything placed before him tonight.

“So,” Sadie said after he’d taken a few bites. Though he was hungry now, she could tell by his overall physique that he wasn’t malnourished. “How old are you, Charlie?”

“Just made eleven,” he said with his mouth full.

“Fifth or sixth grade?” Sadie asked.

“Fifth.”

“I used to teach school. Second grade though.”

He said nothing and kept eating.

Sadie wanted to ask where he went to school and who he lived with but since those types of questions had not met with success in their earlier conversation, she tried a different approach. “I’m sure sorry about your mom. I wish I did know her, so I could help you.”

“You’re sure you aren’t her friend?” Charlie asked, looking at her with a doubtful expression.

Sadie shook her head. “Why do you think I was her friend?”

He smashed a piece of rice with his thumb. “You was the only person in the paper and then the police was talking about you when they talked to CeeCee.”

“Who’s CeeCee?”

He took another bite instead of answering. He was almost finished eating so Sadie hurried to get him a brownie and a glass of milk. She’d dealt with kids from hard family situations before—such as a mother addicted to drugs—and knew they were often quite wary of questions. The food seemed to help keep him open.

“What was your mom like?” Sadie asked as she set two plates of brownies on the table. He immediately abandoned the last few bites of his dinner in favor of the dessert. Big surprise.

“She’s real pretty,” he said quickly. Sadie noted his use of the present tense and the way a light jumped into his eyes. He loved his mother. Sadie wondered what their relationship had been like. All she knew about Noelani was that she was a drug addict. Had Charlie been living with her? Who was CeeCee?

“Was she nice too?”

Charlie nodded, but his smile faded and he looked back at the plate as he lifted the brownie. There was so much in his head, Sadie could almost feel his thoughts wanting to burst out. But life had taught him to be careful—she could sense that too—and she didn’t dare betray the little bit of trust he’d given her by pushing too much. He reminded her of the feral cats on the island that would eat your food, but never really let you get close.

“Have you always lived on Kaua’i?” Sadie asked.

“No,” he said, shaking his head and taking a bite, a big one. “We lived in Honolulu when I was little,” he said after he swallowed.

Sadie had to smile. He was only eleven; being little wasn’t that long ago. She lifted her own brownie and took a bite out of one corner. It wasn’t bad—for a mix. “Do you like it here?”

He shrugged. “I guess.” He took another bite.

“Why did you come to Kaua’i?”

“’Cause my mom did,” he said, though he eyed her carefully. She was asking too many personal questions.

“How’s that brownie?” Sadie asked.

“Ono.”

Sadie smiled; she knew
ono
meant good, or delicious in this context. “Would you like another one?”

He nodded quickly, and Sadie served him another brownie, hoping she could get more information from him before his stomach realized how full he was. She waited almost a minute, finishing her own brownie, and then pushed forward again.

“When you and I first met, you said that your mom wasn’t doing drugs.”

Charlie looked up quickly, instantly defensive. “She wasn’t. She’s been clean ’cause the judge told her she has to if she’s gonna get me back.”

Ah. So he was in foster care of some sort but expected to go back with his mom. For an instant, Sadie wondered what it would feel like to have things change so sharply, so quickly. It wasn’t that hard to imagine. She remembered the feeling of coming home to two young children after Neil had been pronounced dead at the hospital from a massive heart attack. And then, a decade later, her brother had called to tell her their mother had been killed in a car accident. A year and a half ago, Sadie’s neighbor had been found murdered in the field behind her home. Sadie had experienced her share of those turns of fate that gave you whiplash and shook up your future like a snow globe. But she’d been an adult when all of those things happened, not a child.