Mary Ellen Courtney - Hannah Spring 01 - Wild Nights (22 page)

“That felt a little wild,” he said.

“As compared to what?” I laid my head on his chest.

“Not going there.”

He opened his eyes halfway and pulled me up to lie on top of him.

“Your rendition of ‘Great Gig In The Sky’ is something to hear,” he said.

“It’s a good song for me, no lyrics. I always get the words wrong.”

“So no god?” he asked.

“Okay, that’s embarrassing in the light of day.”

“Yeah?”

He put his mouth to my ear and repeated back a few of my choicest lyrics from the night before. It was like hitting the play button. We slept another hour after that.

He went to work and I hiked out the red dirt trail to the beach. The locals had hung a swing in a tree so you can swing out over the water. If you time it right, you can jump out into a swell. Kaia and several of the other women from the night before had been in. I climbed over the rocks to the swing. I watched the rhythm of the swells then launched. Perfect timing. I hit the fat part of the wave and plunged into the warm water.

I surfaced and looked out. It looked like a set was going to start breaking a little father out; I swam toward it. I didn’t want to get caught inside with wave after wave of soupy foam rolling over me. That’s just confusion, water up the nose, and fighting for air. I dove just as the last wave broke. I didn’t make it. I was slammed to the bottom; pinned to the sand. I grew up in the ocean; I knew I’d be okay. But there are always a few seconds, right before Mother Nature finally lifts her hand, when you think maybe this time she won’t let you go on. I marked time. Crowds of laughing and unworried bubbles came to visit. With a life span of a millisecond, why worry? Mother’s fingers rippled across my back. Sand and shells brushed past each other in scratchy conversation. I could see blue sky and air above me through salt-water eyes. Down there, it’s like checking into a dream. The force passed overhead with a muted roar, the hand lifted, and I kicked for air.

A dicey shore break had developed. The waves were rearing up, sucking all the water with them, then slamming back down on the drained sand. From the beach it always reminds me of kittens leaping straight up, suspended for a beat, before pouncing on imaginary prey. But from the water it can be a problem. If there isn’t much undertow, you’re only in for one good spanking on the sand before you crawl to dry land. The kids do it for fun. But if there’s a strong undertow like today, it slams you on the sand then drags you back out before you have a chance to get away. Then it keeps lifting and slamming you to earth until it gets bored. It can play the game for a long time. It’s dangerous, exhausting and hard on the optimism.

People had run down to the water and formed a chain. They were pulling out stunned humans as they washed up within reach, a tug-of-war with Mother Nature. I got in line and took my smacking. I washed in dazed and confused and grabbed the hand that reached out for dear life. It was Jon. He was on the way back from picking up Chana at the airport and thought they’d stop to say hello. I had to pull my top down over my breasts, pull my bottom out of my sandy butt crack and then shake a blob of sand out of the crotch lining. If toying with the ocean isn’t a metaphor for life, I don’t know what is.

“I hate when that happens,” I said. “At least I didn’t lose my suit.”

The guy next to me was fencing with the waves wearing nothing but a band of white skin, and a dark patch of pubic hair. His trunks were washing in-and-out. When he finally grabbed them everyone yelled, “Ole!”

They stayed a few minutes while the women asked Chana how her Christmas had been with her mother. It was nice to feel the group of women holding her in their circle.

I went home. Jon was going to be at work until closing; he wouldn’t be coming over. I checked in with Karin, nothing had changed which I took as a good sign. I told her I had skipped the pink bunny and cut to the chase, and that it had an added dimension I couldn’t quite describe. That I’d not only licked his pineapple ear, but that I’d met a higher power.

“You called him god?” she said. “Not just ‘oh god, oh please please baby, oh god’?”

“I didn’t call him god, I said I’d met god,” I clarified. “I think I said the other stuff too.”

Boy do I hate it when I open my mouth and my mother falls out. I was really parsing the point. She hadn’t said she drinks too much; she said I said she drinks too much. Ack.

“Crap, now I sound like my mother,” I said. “Can you imagine what he must be thinking? He made a point of saying he wouldn’t see me tonight. He’ll probably hide now until I leave.”

“Or show up in flowing robes. He’s probably growing a beard.”

“Oh my god. Or, oh my higher power, will I ever learn how to do this?”

“You met god, you’re doing it. I gotta run, I locked the kids out, they’re attracting the neighbor’s attention.”

I called Mom and heard about her new dress and comfortable shoes for New Years. Anna and Eric weren’t home. I fell asleep sitting up reading in bed. When I woke up the next morning Jon was asleep beside me; he’d turned off the light, put my book aside and slid me down. I peeked under the sheet, no robes.

“How’d you know I wasn’t here with someone?” I asked.

“Mike’s gone so I took a chance. All your lights were on when I got home. Your door was wide open and you were sound asleep sitting up, lit up like a scene in a horror movie. It’s a good thing I’m the only one who wandered over. You were out of it.”

“Thank you, my neck would be killing me. I don’t know why I’m so tired.”

“You want to meet god again?” he asked.

“I didn’t mean god, it was more like a higher power.”

“I’m pretty sure I know what you meant. I saw some white light.”

“White light?” I asked.

“Shhhh,” he said. “Let’s just do this.”

We had a little more spirituality before fruit and coffee.

We hiked out to the waterfall. It’s all very Tarzan. There’s a rope swing and a slimy ladder made of branches to climb back up to the top and swing or jump off again. My arms were getting tired and I mistimed my last swing. I landed in a full court back flop. Ouch. Not exactly me-Jane material. It felt like the entire universe had taken it upon itself to spank me out of my last breath. Jon was already in the water.

“That must have hurt,” he said.

“I’m sorry. I can’t hear you making fun of me over the ringing in my ears.”

“Come on, Hannah, move your arms and legs. I want to see you’re okay.”

I wiggled my fingers and toes; apparently my spinal cord was still intact.

“I think I am. I’m sure my posture is better.”

I rolled over and treaded water. Everyone had been watching in silence from the rocks. When I finally moved they rained down on me from the cliff, sending cannonballs of water my way and howling with laughter.

“It’s a good thing you landed so flat,” said Chana. “People have died here doing that.”

“Always a silver lining,” I said.

We ate a picnic lunch in the warm blowing mist of the falls and hiked home. Jon ran his finger down my spinal column; he said I looked sunburned. They invited me over for an early dinner, then Chana was going to spend the night at a friend’s and Jon was going into work for a while.

I found a piece of driftwood with a hole that fit a used glass jar perfectly. Then rooted around the cottage for greenery and a few flowers that I turned into a modest ikebana arrangement to take as an offering.

Jon put it in the middle of the table and Chana lit a few tealights around it. Their house was similar to Victor and Kaia’s, but in much better condition. Everything that should have sagged had been reinforced. Jon had scraped all the paint off the mullions and painted them white which contrasted nicely with the dark green exterior and the soft neutral color on the inside walls. The bare floors were sanded and sealed. The furniture was eclectic and spare. For some reason I had imagined a 1970s surfer pad with hatch cover tables under heavy resin. Far from it.

The kitchen had been remodeled, but he hadn’t gone overboard. He’d used a restored O’Keefe & Merritt stove with all the bells and whistles circa 1950, and a white refrigerator.

“That stove is great,” I said. “I would have guessed a Wolf.”

He smiled. “It belonged to my grandparents. I can go to work any time I feel the need to clean grease off stainless steel.”

The bookcases were jammed with books behind well-used reading chairs and good lights. There were piles of magazines sitting around. They ranged from
Surfer
to
Scientific American
to
restaurant
. Chana had a pile of
Teen Vogue
topped by a calculus textbook. Laptops and cords wound around on the floor. CDs spilled out of a box by the sound system. Except for the slack key music and the sound of surf through wide-open windows, it reminded me of Margaret and Ed’s apartment in New York.

I leaned against the kitchen counter and listened to them kid comfortably while they fixed dinner. The refrigerator was covered with photographs; lots were of Chana, a few looked like they were Chana and her mother. Lots were of Jon with various women. My heart pinched over those. I must have gone still because he was looking at me, his expression unreadable, when I broke away from the montage and looked back at him. I don’t know how my face looked; it felt slack. I smiled at him. It didn’t reach my eyes. Chana glanced up and looked back and forth between us.

“Salad’s ready,” she said. She held up red-stained hands. “That’s the last time I use pomegranate seeds.”

“I’m sorry, I’m just standing here. I should have shown you how to do it underwater,” I said. “It’s much easier, no mess.”

We sat down to dinner. We ate and made small talk. Chana planned to major in engineering at either UCLA or Cal Tech. I said I thought it was no contest; I’d go for Cal Tech if I could get in. She wanted to know about L.A. I started waxing poetic about how much fun L.A. can be; about the music clubs and getting henna tattoos on Venice Beach. I told her the only downside was that the water in Santa Monica Bay was pretty funky. Jon was frowning.

I switched over to telling her Cal Tech was in a great part of town. She could live in Pasadena, hike the Sierra Madres, and dip in and out of L.A. without the hassle. Jon was nodding along in the kitchen as he rinsed dishes. We finished clearing the table and I headed home so they could take off.

I was reading when Jon came over a few hours later with a whole passion fruit pie.

“We didn’t offer you dessert,” he said. “Sorry it was so rushed.”

“It’s okay. You two get along great, you’re a good team. It was nice to see your house. It isn’t what I expected.”

He filled me in on work while we ate pie. People were behaving just fine on Kauai, but the other two places were cutting loose.

In Honolulu a woman had been blowing out the candles on her birthday cake when her hairspray caught on fire. Fire had flashed across the surface of her hair like a sparkler then was gone. Besides gaping mouths, a few singed hairs were the only evidence. The restaurant had provided the candles; there could be a lawsuit. There had been a small grease fire in the Maui kitchen.

He was leaving the next afternoon to make the rounds and meet with the insurance guy. He invited me to go; we could ring in the New Year on a different island. I thought it sounded fun, but I reminded him that I needed to get back to leave. He said he needed to get back to check on Chana.

“You’re as busy as a bigamist with the restaurants,” I said.

“You got that right,” he said.

“Where are the other two?”

“The Big Island. We thought they’d be raising Chana. It would have been less hassle for them.”

He looked at my back, “This still looks upset. Is it okay if I stay over?”

“I’m okay, Jon.” I said. “I’m just a little tired of all the knocking around. Do you think the universe is trying to send me a message?”

“I don’t know about the universe, hula girl, but I’m about to.”

“Are you going to call me hula girl the rest of our time?” I asked.

“Not if you don’t like it.”

“I could do without it.”

We were lying in bed facing each other an hour later; messages had been delivered both directions. Mine was from a distance, his was cautious.

“Do you think it’s possible to fall in love in three days like my parents? Or was it just lust and they lucked out that it lasted?”

“I think it’s possible.”

“I didn’t really believe it.”

“Hmmm.”

“What’s hmmm mean?”

“It means we’ll see what it means.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” I rolled over and started to slide away from him but he wrapped his arm around my waist to pull me back. I felt caught in my usual brand of stupid.

I took his arm away. “Please don’t do that,” I said. “I don’t like it.”

I lay on my side looking out the window and listening to the ocean. I hadn’t made an ass of myself doing the hula, or even talking about god, but I’d managed to do it falling in love with another unavailable man.

“Chana cleaned off the refrigerator door,” he said. “She said designers don’t do that. I hadn’t noticed how cluttered it had gotten. That stuff fades into the background.”

“She shouldn’t worry about it,” I said. “There aren’t any rules about designers. The next one could love French Country.”

We didn’t talk again. It didn’t feel like he was asleep. I hate lying in a tense bed so I wrapped a blanket around myself and went out on the porch to sit for a while.

I was still sitting there at three a.m. when it felt like I’d been stabbed in the stomach. My first thought was that a huge spider had bitten me. I jumped up and shook out the blanket. I couldn’t feel anything that felt like a bite, but I felt woozy and threw up the pie over the railing. Then the pain started, wrenching spasms of pain. I curled up in a ball in the chair, then I walked down on the sand for a while, rubbing my stomach. I wondered if a hot tub would help, my low back was killing me. It kept going into spasm.

“Is there anything I can do?” Jon had put on pants and was standing on the porch.