“Well, hold on a moment. I’m not sure Keiki is preparing enough food for all of us tonight. I must speak with her first.”
“Mom, I’ve already spoken to Keiki several times today. Everything is all set.”
“What’s the occasion for supper on a weeknight?”
“It’s Friday night. Leah and Cliff will be over too.”
Rather than say goodbye to the man calling me his mother, I hand the phone back to Makena, waiting until it’s safe within her grip before I let go. I return my gaze out toward the sea and clouds. “Daniel, did I tell you about my time on the East Coast yet?”
The patio chair scrapes against the terse texture of the flooring as Daniel makes his way to my side. Makena finishes her phone call on the other side of the terrace.
“So, you went with Everett to Georgia?” Daniel asks.
“You know, there’s a saying my mother always recited to me and it made little sense until I experienced the meaning.”
“What was the saying?” Daniel presses.
I smile and press my lips together. “She would tell me to stop planning out my tomorrows because: ‘passionately prepared plans predictably perish.’ I wish I had listened to her that one time.”
29
January 1942
I’m acting foolish,walking my bicycle around with this giddy smile on my face. I’ve had to raise my gloved hand to my face every time a person has passed me on the street. It still doesn’t feel right to be cheerful around here, and truthfully, there is little reason to smile unless someone can understand the lifetime of happiness I’m imagining in my mind. It is difficult to block out the debris or pass by the memorials left from vigils along the curb. I stop for a moment and offer a prayer for the lost ones.
This feeling of love is splendid, but I believe I have been avoiding the idea entirely because Mom always said nothing else matters when a woman is dizzy and in love and it’s her biggest weakness. She didn’t intend for her words to detract me from finding a husband and having a family someday, but to make sure I make my dreams and goals a priority rather than settling for something less than I deserve.
The idea of dating seemed like more trouble than it was worth, mostly because of Dad, but I always enjoyed the attention I would get when out with the girls on a weekend night. It’s fun to play hard to get. Or it was. Even though times are different now, I don’t miss those nights of teasing boys and leaving them winded, clutching their chest. It was all just a game. I doubt I broke any hearts.
What Everett and I have between us is real. I can feel it deep in my core, and through every bone of my being. It’s so intense and distracting that my smile has lasted at least twenty minutes without thinking about my call-to-service: the where, when, and how it will happen. It could be months before I receive orders. At least that is what I heard. I expected to receive the call within days after enlisting, but I haven’t heard a peep. So, for now, I will focus on today rather than tomorrow, as I promised to always do. And today, I want to move to Georgia with Everett whenever he must go. Perhaps Georgia could be a place where I am training, too. I could put in a request. Since I haven’t received orders yet, they may take my petition into consideration.
My mind is clearly running twenty miles faster than my legs, but a girl can dream, and there’s nothing wrong with that. As the jumbled-up thoughts clear out of my brain, a beautiful mahogany coffee table pulls my attention to the window of a home decorating store. I could pick out the decor for our new home. Everett isn’t particular around little details like colors, fabrics, or wood types. I can imagine he would follow me around a store with his hands clasped behind his back, stopping short before my heels at every piece of furniture I’d want to examine.
I lean my bicycle against the brick edifice of the row of storefronts, then lift my sunglasses up and settle them on the crown of my head. I’m overcome with a sense of eagerness to slip inside the store that has small living room and bedroom displays set up in a row along the long wall.
“Good morning, Miss. Can I help you with something today?” The store clerk, an older gentleman, who looks like he might have served in the military at a younger age by the way he walks, approaches me at the first display. His white fluffy mustache has crumbs from the late morning snack I must have just interrupted. I feather my finger beneath my nose, hinting at the small mess on his face. The poor man’s cheeks redden, and he turns around to retrieve his handkerchief.
“My sincerest apologies, dear. Sometimes I forget to take care of myself at this old age. After my wife, Edna, passed, God bless her soul, I find it hard to look in a mirror as much as I used to. I was quite a looker in my day if you can believe it.”
I place my hand on his arm and squeeze gently. “I’m so sorry to hear about your wife—”
“Mr. Jones,” he completes my sentence.
“Mr. Jones, I can’t imagine how hard it must be without her.” I can, in a way. Losing Mom five years ago feels as though nothing could compare. Although the thought of building a life with someone for half a century, then ending up alone must be pure misery.
“Oh, you know, she’s just waiting on me to come home when I’m ready. My Edna was always patient with me, even in the afterlife. God knows I’ll probably live until I’m a hundred and three.”
To come home.
The thought brings a wave of chills across my cheeks. I never thought of life that way. Are we all just waiting in line to get backhome, where we belong? If that’s what life is all about, it’s not a surprise Mom wenthomefirst, waiting on the rest of us. That’s the type of person she was—the one to test the waters before we all jumped in behind her. “That’s a friendly way to think, Mr. Jones. I shall remember your words. They mean something to me, as well.”
“Have you lost someone, dear?”
I release my hand from his arm and readjust my pocketbook over my shoulder. “Yes, unfortunately, I lost my mother, but I’m carrying on for her, you see. I’m living the life she was building, and I’m doing it to make her proud, as it fulfills me to do so.”
“You are wise beyond your years, young lady. Keep up the wonderful spirit. And if you need help with anything, let me know.” Mr. Jones gives me a wink and a swoosh of his mustache before turning back for the front counter.
When I look at the furniture, I try to imagine myself in a small house with Everett, cooking together, sitting on a loveseat in front of the radio at night. It’s funny how simply these imaginary moments blossom in my mind, but I know it could take a trek around the universe to find ourselves in this perfect place. At least there are no expiration dates on time. I’ll continue to imagine us at the age we are now, and it will be the only way I will ever see us—young and carefree.
