To Claire’s dismay, they were all bunking in one room. And in the corner, camouflaged against the white paint, were two tiny white spheres. They were flat at one end, glued to the solid surface of the wall before they hardened.
Anne relaxed and smiled. “Those are gecko eggs.”
“Wow.” Pete stared up, slack-jawed. “She just left them on the ceiling? Will she come back? What happens when they hatch? Do the babies fall? Can we move them?”
Anne winced, remembering a long-ago day when she had tried to do just that. “No. The shells would break. But don’tworry; the babies will be fine. Just leave them alone until they hatch.”
“Cool,” he breathed. “When will they hatch?”
“Sometime this summer. I don’t know how long they’ve been there.”
“But they’ll definitely hatch before we leave?”
Anne frowned at that, worried that both of her kids still seemed to regard a return to the mainland as inevitable. But she let it lie for the moment.
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Awesome.” He stared up like he might watch the spot for days on end until there was movement. But he wasn’t a kid who could sit still for long. A moment later, he was running out the door. “I’m gonna show Mia!”
Laurie and her daughter had arrived with Halia the day before. It felt good to have a full house; it dulled the constant ache of their father’s absence.
Just being there, knowing that his booming laughter would never fill the rooms again, was difficult for Anne to bear.
Living there day after day must be torture for Dawn. And yet she had dug herself in deeper than ever. She didn’t leave the house anymore; she hardly even left her room.
Anne had practically begged her to come to San Diego for a visit in the months after the memorial service, but Dawn had refused. It was like she couldn’t bear to be there in that house without her husband… but she couldn’t bear to leave, either. Instead, she had retreated from life entirely.
What could they do to bring her back?
Akemi’s news had been like a spark on damp wood. It had seemed to take for a moment… and then the light and warmth had gone out again.
Anne hoped that bringing more people into the house, visiting families who would be in awe of the beauty all aroundthem and help Dawn to see the place with fresh eyes, might help to cheer her. But it was a faint hope, barely burning.
When Anne went back downstairs, she was surprised to find her mother in the kitchen. She froze, as if Dawn were a wild animal who might be spooked by a sudden movement.
Dawn gave her an exasperated glance, then went back to rummaging through the cupboards.
“Hi.” Anne picked up the mop that she’d discarded before. “Whatcha doin?”
“I’m making a coconut cake for Halia’s birthday.” For the first time since Anne arrived, Dawn looked put together: linen slacks, flowing top, hair clean and braided. “Zoe made fresh coconut milk.”
“Can I help?” she asked tentatively.
Dawn waved her away. Not fully herself, then, but determined to make an effort for her eldest daughter’s birthday. And well she should; Halia was turning fifty. Anne felt a fresh pang of grief for her dad, who had only been sixty-four himself.
Heart failure, they called it.
It felt absurd; Kimo Kalama had the biggest heart of anyone she’d ever known.
“Don’t just stand there,” Dawn snapped.
She flinched, startled out of her thoughts.
“Find something to do. You’re making me nervous.”
Blinking hard, Anne put the mop away and walked outside.
The sunshine was harsh and bright, making her squint.
