Oakley had claimed the last bit of beach, the spot just before the black sand gave way to the smooth gray stones that lined the river – the Honoli‘i Stream, technically, but Akemi had always thought that name felt too small for the voluminous river mouth.
The river paused there beneath the high concrete bridge, creating a crystal-clear pool that was deep and still. Off to the right, all the way against the cliffs that marked the end of the beach, it continued towards the sea with a sudden burst of speed that kids loved to ride.
They had managed to get all five sisters to the beach at once, which felt like an accomplishment. Oakley was off with the kids, Halia was working her way through a stack of documents, and Laurie had her nose in a book – but just having all four sisters in her sights gave Akemi a profound sense of security and peace.
She dug out a hollow for her growing belly and lay down in the sunshine – no towel, just straight down on the sand. This late in the day, it wasn’t hot enough to burn her skin. It was more like snuggling onto an enormous heating pad. The sun soaked into the backs of her legs and warmed her toes.
Akemi pressed her hand into the sand, feeling the coarse grains move and shift beneath her palm. Then she picked her hand up again and examined it. The black sand – tiny pieces of lava rock – was dotted with bits of sea glass. She turned her hand slowly one way and then the other, watching the specks of green and amber flash in the sunlight.
Sweat dripped from her skin, and she was seized with a sudden concern for her baby. Saunas and hot baths were contraindicated in pregnancy, weren’t they? How hot was too hot?
She stood, bringing a layer of sand up with her. Her belly, subtly rounded with a growing baby, was covered in a layer of charcoal-colored sand. Specks of sea glass glittered amidst the black sand like stars in the night sky.
Still sweating, she quickly picked her way across the rocky beach and dove into the river. Cold water overtook her in a sudden rush. She swam along the bottom for a moment, then surfaced and took a breath. Treading water, she scrubbed the sand from her skin before clambering back up the steep rocky bank.
A sudden movement made her pause. There had been a flip in her belly, like two tiny organs trading places. She placed a hand over her belly and waited for the baby to move again, but he was still. Maybe he had just turned over in his sleep.
“Hello,” she whispered.
Her first coherent thought was of Lorenzo. She wanted to share this moment with him. But her phone was in the car – and anyway, it was two or three in the morning over in Italy.
Akemi felt a strange wash of guilt and grief, as if he had missed a milestone. But that was silly; it would be a long time before anyone else would be able to put their hand on her belly to feel a kick or an elbow.
Bizarre, to think of a whole little skeleton growing inside of her.
She stood there for a long time, feet balanced on two large stones, all of her attention inward. But there was still no movement, so she crossed the beach to rejoin her sisters.
Laurie lay in cobra pose on an oversized beach towel, soaking up the sun and reading; she was halfway through some massive tome.
Akemi’s earliest memory was of Laurie, only five or six years old herself, readingThe Secret Gardenout loud to Akemi in the room that they shared. Laurie hardly spoke at all, that first yearin foster care – but when no one else was around, she would talk to Akemi. Most days, she would read to her too.
Claire was huddled beneath the beach umbrella, tapping away at her phone.
“Who are you texting?” Akemi dropped into the shade next to her, letting her legs splay out onto the sun-baked sand.
“I’mtryingto text my boyfriend, but the service keeps going out.”
“Ah, the trials and tribulations of the American teenager.”
Claire glared at her, which at least involved looking away from her screen.
Akemi grinned. “What’s he like, this boyfriend?”
He’s seventeen, Anne signed behind Claire’s back. Her gray eyes went comically wide in an expression of horror.
“He’s a tool,” Pete said at the same time.
Akemi quickly turned her laugh into a cough.
“Shut up!” Claire hurled a lychee at her brother’s head.
He caught it and tossed it back at her.
“Those are expensive!” Anne scolded, snatching the bag away from them.
“So basically he’s great,” Akemi deadpanned. “Everyone loves him.”
“Heisgreat,” Claire snapped. She pulled back her hand like she was going to chuck the lychee – its red shell now cracked and leaking fragrant juice – at Pete again. Then she peeled it and popped the white fruit into her mouth instead.
