ORIANA: Have you heard this rumor about our new friend Larry Calvin Johannes “murdering” or “making his wife disappear”?
ISABELLA: I’m in Nederland already and just heard about it this afternoon. Seems cagey. I’ll dig into it and see what I find.
Oriana texted Isabella a thank you, her heart pounding. When she couldn’t sleep, she went out onto the balcony, turned on the hot tub, and gazed at the starry sky over the mountain range. She felt far away from everything, from modern civilization as she knew it. She wondered if that was part of the reason Larry had come up here. He could paint whatever he wanted, get rid of a wife he hated, and live out the rest of his life without questions.
Well, Oriana had questions. She was sure the rest of the world would soon, too.
Chapter Four
It was a few days after Jasmine’s back spasm at work. Miraculously, she had the day off, but she decided to make the most of it, waking up to read in the sunshine and maybe do a little bit of yoga. She’d read online that it could solve the issue of her back pain, that it could “limber her up” for her old age. Well, older age. At seventy-eight, she felt pretty dang old already.
But as the coffee percolated in the kitchen, the doorbell rang. Jasmine wasn’t expecting any visitors. A voice in the back of her mind whispered,It’s nobody important. Just let it go.But when the bell rang again, she hurried to answer it, pulling the door back to reveal Jenny, her one and only daughter. Jenny’s eyes were lined with red. They echoed rage and fear.
“Mom,” she said, her hands on her hips.
Immediately, Jasmine felt sure that something had happened to Jenny, that Walton had done something to her. Jasmine reached for her daughter, hoping to wrap her in a hug. But Jenny slipped away from her outstretched hand and shook her head. “I’d like to ask you to stay out of my business.”
Jasmine felt she’d been smacked. She pulled her hand back in and crossed her arms over her chest. The only sound was thecoffee in the kitchen, beckoning her back. She shouldn’t have opened the door. Jasmine was speechless.
Jenny seemed to decide to explain herself. “I know the kids told you about my problems with their father. They shouldn’t have done that. They know better than to gossip about their mother. They know better than to make a little situation like this into a big, overwrought drama.”
Jasmine’s mouth tasted like sandpaper. As her daughter spoke, she felt her own long-ago sentiments echoing in her head. She wanted to tell her daughter that she already knew the kinds of excuses people made in situations like this. She’d practically written the script herself.
“Please, Mom,” Jenny said, her voice breaking. “I don’t want to break you and the kids up. Don’t do anything crazy.”
“Like what?” Jasmine demanded. She hated how old and frightened she sounded. But what could she possibly do that would break Jasmine and the grandkids up? She adored Chase, Alyssa, and Jade. She would do anything for them. Didn’t Jenny know that?
“Just don’t, like, call the cops or something,” Jenny barked, turning on her heel. “Leave us alone.”
Jasmine stood in the doorway of her apartment, her eyes heavy with tears. She heard her daughter’s car motor out of the parking lot. She heard the neighbor’s television, blaring a game show. Slowly, she returned to her kitchen, where she sat at the table, her eyes to the sunshine on the palm trees outside. She only remembered to drink her coffee when it was too cold to enjoy it.
Brokenhearted from her daughter’s outburst, Jasmine made up her mind to leave her apartment and see a friend. Cynthia was a few years younger than Jasmine, a Hawaiian-born and Hawaiian-raised divorcée. Cynthia’s mother was a native Hawaiian who’d taught Cynthia all the island’s traditions andraised her to understand that everything brought over from the lower forty-eight states wasn’t to be trusted. The fact that Cynthia had befriended Jasmine still thrilled and confused her. All of Cynthia’s friends were native Hawaiians. They celebrated island traditions, wore traditional clothing, and upheld their native history as best as they could.
Jasmine met Cynthia at Cynthia’s favorite place: a sun-drenched, white, sandy beach that most of the tourists hadn’t discovered yet. There were no beach bars, no convenience stores, nothing that brought capitalism to such a gorgeous patch of God’s earth. Jasmine wore a black bathing suit and a long, dark blue skirt and cleared the sand to meet her friend, who was already removing her clothes and waving happily. At seventy-six, she was still muscular and svelte from her hours of swimming a week. Her smile was older than it once had been, but happy, thrilled. Jasmine tried to echo it. But by the time she reached her friend, she was sobbing.
Cynthia didn’t ask her to explain herself, not yet. She led her into the water, where they plunged beneath the waves and swam out. The water was delicious and cool and undulating. When Jasmine broke out and breathed, she watched the sunlight dance across the water, and she forced herself to say a brief prayer of thanks. She had her body. She had her mind. Her daughter hadn’t completely abandoned her yet.
Stretched out on their towels, Jasmine related what had happened with Jenny that morning. “I’ve never liked Walton,” she said. “But I didn’t know he was abusive, or edging that way. Jenny knows me too well. She knows I won’t hesitate to call the cops.”
“That’s your daughter!” Cynthia cried. “Those are your grandchildren! Of course, you’re willing to do anything for them. That’s how powerful your heart is, my sweet Jasmine.”
Jasmine squeezed her eyes shut and pressed the heels of her palms against her forehead. Everything overwhelmed her: her aging, her back pain, her daughter. Time itself. What if she died before she could make sure her daughter was safe?
“Don’t let it weigh heavily on your shoulders,” Cynthia breathed, touching Jasmine’s hand. “Don’t let it press too hard on your heart.”
Jasmine murmured to the sand, “How?”
Cynthia was quiet for a moment. “You still haven’t told your daughter what you left behind. You still haven’t told her why you came to Hawaii.”
Jasmine shook her head.
“And she never asked?”
Jasmine remembered her curious and vivacious little girl. There had been questions about Jasmine’s past, about her life in the “lower forty-eight,” about her father. But Jasmine always responded the way she’d rehearsed in her mind. You were born in Hawaii, Jenny. You are a real Hawaii resident. Jenny had never left, not once. Jasmine was grateful for that, at least.
“My past stays in the past,” Jasmine told her friend now.
Cynthia looked at her with sorrow in her eyes. “The past never stays buried,” she said. “It’s foolish to think we can hide from it.”
