Over the Rainbow - Book One - 'The Gathering Place' (39 page)

“
Hello-?” Chris listened silently,
first with a look of surprise, then one of shock, and then one of
grim acceptance as he stared solemnly and silently at the glowing
face of the phone as it went dark in his hand. His gaze lifted to
the window beside him, his thoughts casting back out to the world
beyond, memories fading and hopes dashed by the capricious nature
of his life and destiny.

His mother’s soft voice gently pierced the silence,
“It's Buddy. He's gone, isn't he?”

Chris turned to Abigail with a startled raise of
eyebrows, “Yeah- How did you-?”

Abigail finished his sentence for
him, a sigh of sad knowing preceding her words, “How did I
know
? Honey, sometimes I
just
do
...” And
with that, she leaned forward, lowering the privacy window and
uttering a short, unintelligible phrase to her driver, a light
touch of his arm sealing the deal. She leaned back with a contented
air as the window rose back up, leaving both she and Chris alone
with their thoughts.

Without warning, the long black car suddenly
detached itself from the rest of the cortege and disappeared into a
tunnel, the sign above the entrance showing the universally
familiar icon of an airplane.

The soft golden light of dawn
crept into the shuttered living room of the Nakamura household,
illuminating a bevy of sleeping individuals in various states of
repose, all sprawled on different chairs throughout the room.
Outside, the world was oddly silent, as if for once even the voices
of the crickets and the whispering breeze were stilled in a
sympathetic gesture of reverent mourning.

In the quiet confines of the first-class section of
the plane, a solitary spotlight from the sole un-shuttered window
illuminated the unmoving face of Chris. On the horizon outside, the
sun suddenly flashed and sparkled over the edge of the earth like a
diamond ring, its’ stunning display of light going sadly
unappreciated, for Chris was fast asleep.

The black limo drove slowly down the graveled path
that glistened with the dew, newly washed from the early morning
rain, a wake of quickly fading tire tracks disappearing as it
passed. With a tiny squeal of brakes, the car stopped, and the rear
door opened without assistance from the driver. Chris stepped out,
stretching the fatigue and tension from his bones in the warm
morning light.

The unexpected noise roused Alani
from her fragile slumber, and she clutched her robe tightly around
her as she walked quietly to the dark front door. She slowly pulled
the door inward and blearily pushed the squeaky screen outward,
rubbing sleep from her eyes and swiping an errant strand of hair
from her face as she squinted into the light. And then her mouth
dropped open in amazement at the astonishing vision in her
driveway. With a hand flying to her open mouth and a flood of tears
coursing down her face, she dashed across the space, leaping the
final few feet into the arms of Chris, who caught her in a spinning
embrace and punctuated the move with a warm, passionate kiss as
they whirled on the graveled drive, their mutual tears mingling in
salty pools and trickling down their cheeks.

Abigail stepped slowly from the
opposite side of the car, her bittersweet tears yielding to a warm
smile of maternal fondness as she gazed at her son and Alani. And
then her gaze drifted to the porch, trading pained and knowing
smiles with both Kenji and Noelani as they appeared and quietly
descended the steps, silent tears coursing from them all as their
faces danced and flickered with a juxtaposition of wide-ranging
emotions.

In the solemn silence that ensued, the limo
began to slowly move off, the shimmering dew sparkling golden on
its’ surface as it disappeared into the rising mists of the
morning. And when it was gone the crickets began to sing and the
warm breeze sighed as a new day dawned on this little corner of
paradise.

I
have always been a storyteller.
Whether around the dinner table, beside the fire, at the bar or on
the street, I always enjoy sharing a tale with whatever audience I
happen to have captive at that particular moment. As
a child growing up in the diplomatic corps in
far-flung places around the globe, my stories of wild adventures in
exotic locales have become the stuff of legend (and in the case of
my wife, wild eye-rolls) as I revisit a host of strange and
mysterious tales with every passing victim. Eventually I came to
realize that the central thread of them all was the curious and
serendipitous nature of each and every one, the host of strange and
mysterious circumstances that somehow came together for their
unlikely resolution.

The evolution and creation of the
epic tale that became ‘Over the Rainbow’ was no different. It began
with a chance encounter on an obscure movie set with a famous
actress who unknowingly set me upon this path when she innocently
asked the question, ‘Do you have an idea for a
story
?’ It flowered into the tiniest
germ of an idea with the unexpected return to the magical islands
of Hawai’i a few years later, and then blossomed and flared into
incandescence by the melody of a single tune that accompanied me on
a sad and lonely trip through the panhandle of southern
Idaho.

The journey of the colorful
characters that inhabit the magical, mystical place that I call
‘Waimea’ continues to unfold as I write these words, a
serendipitious adventure that spans both time and space, the
interweaving’s of their lives a vibrant tapestry of love and aloha
in a strange and exotic land.

I hope you enjoyed my book. Please
read on to continue the journey in the short excerpt from my second
book in the series- Over the Rainbow – Book Two –
‘Ho’oponopono’.

Aloha!

Robert Vaughan

Ogden, Utah

Prologue

T
he light
was bright, almost
too
bright, and hazy; the low-drifting clouds pink and gold, the
mist rising from the sea a delightful shade of lavender. The scene
was almost-
surreal
, indeed otherworldly, and the sand sparkled in the golden
light. The beach was quiet and tranquil- the only sounds being the
soft crash and fizz of the surf that came and went in a gentle
whisper, and the muted cry of gulls distant on the
breeze.

Walter walked along the glistening
shoreline, still dressed in gray, his visor tilted casually back on
his head. Had he been able to see himself he might have noticed
that he was also strangely
glowing
, almost-
translucent
,
and would have been shocked to see this difference had he the
benefit of a mirror. He was barefoot, and yet his feet left no
tracks as he slowly paced through the damp sand. He continued his
trackless wanderings for some indeterminate time, for time was
indeed indeterminate here, eventually rounding a familiar corner of
the beach, the sound of the gentle plucking and strumming of a
ukulele now dancing toward his ears.

Walter looked up, realizing that
he had been, until now, quite isolated, indeed alone. And yet upon
reflection, he hadn’t minded, had even relished the quiet
isolation, and now almost resented this musical intrusion to his
solitude. Walter paused in his trek and looked up to his left- and
there, at the top of the beach, was an enormous Hawaiian waving
greetings in his direction, gesturing at Walter to join him on the
fallen palm tree he was using as a bench.