“Makena, go outside and find Daniel, please,” Leah tells her daughter.
Leah takes my right hand and Carter takes my left and walks me out through a break in the crowd of my family members who are all looking at me as if it’s the first time they are seeing me in this light. The feeling is mutual.“Lewis had a wonderful partner in life, Mom. You adored Uncle Theo. They didn’t have children, but they joined the Peace Corps and traveled near and far to tend to starving families and environmental crises. They did so much good in the world and gave many people better lives.”
Some of Leah’s explanation rings a bell, but the memories are vague, and the name Theo sounds familiar, but I can’t picture his face. “That sounds like your uncle. All he wanted was happiness for others. I spent a long time thinking I was the one who needed to follow in my mother’s footsteps, but he was right there, doing the very same thing in his own way, wasn’t he?”
“He was an incredible man and uncle, Mom. You were so very proud of him.”
“I still am,” I tell Leah. “He’s gone, though?”
Leah wraps her arm around my shoulders. “James and Lewis passed away from old age just a few years ago, both within months of each other.”
“And your grandfather? My father.” I know it’s impossible for him to still be around, but I can’t remember losing him.
“Grandpa passed away at the age of a hundred-and-two. He was too stubborn to let go. He said to us: ‘I will decide when it’s my time, and I’m not ready yet,’ but you told him he was making your mom wait an awful long time,” Leah says with a giggle. “He still hung on for several months but went in his sleep that summer.”
I turn to look at Leah, wishing I could see the memories within her eyes. “My head is so empty. I’m missing so much, sweetie.”
“It’s all there, Mom,” Carter says. “It’s just a lot of memories to keep track of.”
“It sure is,” I say, glancing back out toward the crowded table.
Keiki is setting dishes down on the table with the help of who I assume to be her husband, and there are children fleeing around with the most joyful smiles and giggles.
“How is my favorite great aunt?” The man helping Keiki rushes to my side and offers me a perfect string necklace of cherry red hibiscus flowers.
“She’s your only great-aunt, you goof,” Leah corrects him.
“Brandon, stop causing problems over there,” Keiki calls out.
“Yes, darling,” Brandon responds.
“Keiki is my housekeeper. I don’t understand,” I say through an unclear mutter.
Brandon lets out a boisterous laugh. “Keiki is James’s granddaughter. She’s a nurse and stays here to help you throughout the day.”
“That’s nonsense,” I shout. “Why on earth would my great-niece ...” I pause, wondering if I’m correct in calling her that or if I’m still confused.
“Yes, your great-niece,” Brandon says.
“Why would she be spending her prime years taking care of an old bat like me?”
Keiki interrupts with her most comforting smile. “Sweetheart, your family loves you so much that everyone has pitched in to pay the worth of my nursing salary so I can be a familiar comfort to you every day. None of us could fathom the idea of having a stranger in this house when you have so many of us. This family is unbreakable, and we all do what we can for each other no matter how much we might argue sometimes,” she says, elbowing Brandon in the ribs.
My heart feels so full, yet, so empty at the same time. I don’t recognize most of everyone here. Keiki, Makena, Leah, and I suppose Carter, but only because he looks like Lewis—they are all familiar, but I don’t understand why everyone else looks like a stranger to me. They must have all been here before, but I don’t remember any of them.
“Leah, where are James and Lewis? Why didn’t they come to the party? And your father? Is he not home from work yet? It’s late.”
I’m not sure what I said to make everyone become so quiet at the same moment, but the sound of crickets fills the salty air.
“We’re all here to celebrate Dad’s birthday,” Carter says.
A heaviness fills my chest while I conjure my next question. “Is it a surprise party?”
“Mom—” Leah says.
This is my world now; overflowing with empty space and questions with no answers.
39
