Anywhere but Paradise (17 page)

Finally, a groggy hello.

“Grandpa, it’s me, Peggy Sue.”

“Well, I’ll be. Is it really you?” I hear him say, “Melba, I think it’s Peggy Sue. The connection is a little scratchy.” Then back to me, “Is everything all right?”

“Yes. No. I wanted to hear your voice.” Which comes through loud and clear on my end.

“You gave us a scare. It’s nearing midnight.”

“I can’t believe I forgot all about the time difference.”

“Best wake-up call I’ve ever had,” says Grandpa. “Here, let me give you to your grandmother. But speak up now; there’s some static on the line.”

I launch with tonight’s disaster. “I thought, I thought Malina Halani was my friend. But she isn’t. Her cousin is a girl named Kiki. But no one told me. And Kiki, Kiki is a girl at school. She laughed when I danced at the party. No one wants me here, Grams. No one at all. I miss you.…”

“You’re wound up tight as thread on a bobbin,” says Grams when I take a breath. “Change can take time, sweet pea.”

“I’m running out of time, Grams.”

“Now, how’s your mama?”

“Still fighting headaches.”

“Give her our love. And of course your daddy, too.”

I forgot to set the egg timer, but we haven’t talked that long.

“Wait, Grams. Please. There’s more.”

“Oh, sweet pea, this connection is a fright. I didn’t
hear everything you said before and I’m drowsy. You just be yourself and everything will work out.”

Being me is the problem.

“Your grandpa wants to say good-bye.”

“No, don’t go yet. Grams, I want to come home.”

“Take good care now. Love you,” she says. “Here’s your grandpa.”

“Tell your parents we’ll talk to them the next time,” he says, and hangs up.

I put the phone back in its cradle. Talking to them reminds me of what I left. How far away I am from getting back.

The front door opens and Mama and Daddy come in holding hands.

“There’s our girl,” says Daddy. “We saw you dash away just as we walked up to the party, so we only stayed a minute. Had enough fun for one night?”

“Yes, sir,” I say. “I’m tired.” And I cover up my pretend yawn.

Big Island

“THE OFFICE IS SENDING ME
to the Big Island for a few days,” Daddy says as he sits in the easy chair next to the couch. “I’m taking your mama.”

I perk right up, wait for the next words. The ones that will fix everything. The ones that include me.

“I wish you could come with us, Peggy Sue,” Mama says.

“But I can,” I say, and sit on the edge of the couch. I’m jumpy excited inside.

“You’ve got school.”

“I can miss, Mama. And I thought you were going to do some volunteer work.”

“Peggy Sue,” says Mama. “We talked about this, Robert,” she says, turning to Daddy. “She needs to bring up her grades.”

“You are a little behind,” he says.

“Not in home ec,” I counter.

“Peggy Sue,” says Mama. “You’ve got hula lessons,
an upcoming recital, and all that sewing to do, too.”

“But—” I begin.

“While it’s a business trip for me,” says Daddy, “I hope it’ll be a little vacation for your mama. She’s worked so hard on the move and deserves a rest.”

I do, too!

“We’ve made arrangements for you to stay with the Halanis,” says Mama.

“What? No. Can’t Grams and Grandpa come?” I am not staying with the Halanis. Not now that I know Malina and I aren’t really friends.

“Oh, Peggy Sue,” Mama says.

“You know my parents don’t travel by air,” says Daddy.

“They’ll make an exception for me. Did you even ask?”

Daddy has taken Mama on other business trips. I’ve always stayed with Grams and Grandpa. There’s no set bedtime and I watch as much TV as I want. They take me out to the soda fountain. We go to the bowling alley and the picture show. If it’s Saturday night, we mosey over to the fish fry at the volunteer fire station. And later to the Gladiola Rec Center, where there’s a band and most everyone dances Western swing until we collapse.

The phone rings and Mama gets up.

“Hi, Malina. We’re in the middle of a family discussion.… Yes, we’ve just told Peggy Sue, too. Can she call you back?… Okay, good. Thank you. Bye now.”

“How long?” I ask.

“A week,” says Mama.

“A week? You’re leaving me with strangers for a week?” With a girl who hasn’t told me the truth? Whose cousin hates me? “When are you leaving?”

“The day after tomorrow.”

“Wait one more week. Please. Then I’ll be out of school and I can go, too. I want to see the volcano that’s erupting. Don’t deprive me of a once-in-a-lifetime real live educational experience.”

“Robert,” says Mama, rubbing her temples.

“We’re booked at a hotel next to the bay in Hilo,” says Daddy. “The volcano’s miles away. We may not get to it this trip. Don’t worry, kitten. There’ll be a next time.”

No, there won’t. There won’t be a next time. Because I won’t be here.

“Go!” I shout. “Go, and I hope you never come back!”

Blooming?

LATER, DADDY
comes to my room with the flashlight and asks me to check on the night-blooming cereus with him.

“No,” I say.

“I’m here when you want to talk, kitten,” he says.

I answer with silence. Daddy stands there a while and then leaves. I hear the back door open and his footfalls on the steps. He stays outside for a really long time.

The party next door winds down. Good-byes and thank yous and best wishes carry across the night. Car doors open and close. Engines start. Lights flash against my bedroom walls. And then there is darkness.

After a time, I go outside and stand silent beneath the scraggly plant rooted to the tree. A dog barks on and on. The trade winds whip the palm fronds nearby. Someone smashes note after note on a drum set.

My insides still churn. Rolling over and over like waves that surge onto the beach.

I stare at the sturdy tree trunk, noticing a deep gash near its base.

Tha-wamp!
The ground quivers, zinging reverberations to the top of my head. I gasp and jump back. A coconut rolls within inches of me.

Another gust of wind hits, sending the palm fronds into panicky, jerky movements. It’s dangerous out here.

But I have to know.

I flick on the flashlight and shine it up the tree. The flower still isn’t blooming.

And I flee to the house.

Tangled

SATURDAY MORNING
is blustery. If this house had shutters like our house in Gladiola, one would surely come unhinged. Here, the curtains in my bedroom won’t settle. They keep puffing up.

I press the foot pedal on the sewing machine and feed the orange cotton fabric beneath the bobbling needle.

At breakfast I thought about talking to Daddy. Until he told me I wouldn’t see Howdy today. He has to work with the out-of-town person from the office. Mama has to pack.

Two whole weeks between Howdy visits? And no drop-bys from Daddy this week either. Howdy will surely think we’ve abandoned him. That no one loves him. Maybe he’ll lose his purr again.

I speed up the machine and it jams. I yank out the material and check the underside. It is a tangled mess of thread.

The phone rings. Once. Twice. Three times. “Peggy Sue, it’s Malina,” says Mama.

“I’ll call her back.”

I don’t want to talk to her.

Talking to Daddy

“TIME TO CALL
it a night, kitten,” says Daddy over the
zzzzZzzzzZzzzt
of the sewing machine.

I let up on the pedal, and the machine stops. “Daddy,” I say, turning, “I think Mama and me have rock fever. I should go home.”

There. I’ve spilled it.

“What kind of nonsense …?” Daddy asks. He puts his hands gently on my shoulders.

“I feel it, Daddy. Right here.” I point to my heart.

Daddy’s shoulders sag. “I’m sorry, Peggy Sue. You know I want you to love it here.”

“I don’t know how much longer I can last.”

I twist an end of fabric into a long, tight, skinny roll.

“I know moving hasn’t been easy for you. But you should try and focus on the good.”

“You don’t get it, Daddy! I don’t want to stay. I
have a plan. I want to go back to Texas and live with Grams and Grandpa. I’m earning good money from sewing. If you buy me a ticket now, I’ll pay you back the rest someday.”

“We’d be lost without you, kitten,” says Daddy, his voice soft and low. “You are our daughter and we want you with us. Please, don’t talk this way again.”

I look down at my mangled fabric and blink real hard.

Talking with Malina

MAMA AND DADDY
load their suitcases into the car Sunday morning. “Have fun,” I say, slam the trunk, and turn my back to them.

I glare at the mountains in the distance, capped with clouds of gray. Daddy starts the car, honks twice, and pulls away.

Without a wave I stomp across the grass to the Halanis’ with my own suitcase. Their car hesitates at the end of the drive as I plow through the hedge. I beat back the branches, but they win. I’ve got scratches now.

“Brownies in twenty minutes,” says Mrs. Halani when she meets me at the door.