“It was good for effect.” We reach the dark maintenance building. He pushes in a code and the door swings open. “Why don't you ask your father, then maybe we can talk about it?”
I want to ask more, but he flips the light on and says, “This is the center of operations for all things that work on the property. Most of the building is a warehouse for storing equipmentâthat's all on the other side of that wall. This section has my father's office. Down that hall is a bathroom and shower so we can clean up, and this is generally used as a break room.”
There was an old TV and worn couch against the wall, a long table with benches on each side, a small kitchen area with a refrigerator, a few cupboards, and sink.
“This is nice. And it smells like pizza.” My stomach growls and I realize I've barely eaten today.
“Dad treated the crew today. But hey, I'll just shower real fast.”
“Okay,” I say, and my incorrigible cheeks start blazing with a blush again. He turns away quickly and disappears down a short hallway.
My dress does have a few stains, now that I can see it in the light, but I hope it's salvageable. Our housekeeper, Gerdie, has a gift for getting dirt out of designer dresses. I want to keep this dress to remember a very memorable night.
As I'm reading the maintenance rules tacked to a wall, suddenly I remember my father, the prom, and my friends. I don't even know what happened to Katherine. Caleb's presence creates a time warp when I forget about everything else.
“Caleb?” I call down the hallway.
A door creaks open. “Yeah?”
“Is there a telephone? I better let my dad know where I am. They may have a search party out after me by now.”
“There's a phone on my dad's desk. I'll be right back.”
A moment later the sound of shower water echoes from the bathroom. I hear a loud thud and a loud ouch.
“Are you okay?”
Need some help
? I smile to myself for that joke, but am glad I don't say it.
“Just wrestling with my jeans,” he calls back.
I find the office and turn on the light. Mr. Kalani's desk is neat and organized with all kinds of framed pictures, figurines, and souvenirs lined up along the edge.
A surfboard hangs from huge hooks on the wall. The framed photos depict a large family of smiling Hawaiian faces. A few show a younger Mr. Kalani surfing. One includes an adorable little boy standing in front of him as they ride a wave together. The boy studies the water seriously while Mr. Kalani is waving at the camera. That faceâit must be Caleb.
The water switches off. “Which island are you from?”
“Oahu and Hawaii. My family is originally from Hawaiiâ most people call that the Big Island. My grandfather moved to Oahu before Pearl Harbor was invaded.”
“Did he fight in the war?”
“Yes,” Caleb calls, but doesn't offer any more.
“My grandfather was there during the Pearl Harbor invasion. Did they know each other there?”
“They were best friends throughout the war. Have you been to any of the islands?”
Another subject diversion. “I've only been to Maui.”
“Maui's nice. Every island is pretty unique.” Caleb walks into the office wearing board shorts with Hawaiian flowers and a black T-shirt with a surf shop logo. His black hair glistens with water. “Is this fitting for the prom? It's all I have here.”
Something about him sends a shiver of fear and intrigue through my heart and into my stomach. I've never actually felt a physical ache over a person before. It's strange and frightening. Does that mean this guy shouldn't be trusted?
“I have my cell phone too,” Caleb says.
“That's right. I was calling my father.” Strange how things are just slipping my mind like that. I pick up the office phone.
“Dad's, it's me,” I say when Dad picks up.
“Kate, where are you? We were about to start looking for you.”
“It's a long story. I'm down atâ”
Dad cuts me off.
“Just meet me in the lobby. Ms. Liberty is here and the prom's been shut down.”
“Because of me?” I say, and wonder just how long I've been gone.
“No, no, sweetie,” Dad says, his voice calming an octave. “The Katherine incident and several of the seniors were vomiting in the bushes. We have parents and taxis on the way.”
We say our good-byes, and I hang up. “I have to go.”
Caleb nods, looking up from where he's been texting on his phone. “I'll drive you back in the work truck. Finn is picking me up. Guess he never left.”
We leave the maintenance building and Caleb drives me in a truck that smells like fertilizer. He keeps glancing over with a slight smile to where I'm stuffed in the seat, my dress puffed up around me. With every minute, we get closer to saying good-bye.
Oliver and I sit with our feet dangling in the pool. I've changed into sweats and a V-neck shirt.
“They weren't my favorite of your shoes anyway,” Oliver says. When I finally remembered I was missing my shoes, the tide had moved in across the area where I'd tossed them. They were nowhere to be seen.
“Don't speak ill of the dead. I loved them. Bought them in London.”
From the stories, it seems the prom disintegrated while I was gone; only a few scattered students are left. Dad and Ms. Liberty allowed those whose parents couldn't be reached and who couldn't drive home to stay here . . . about eight juniors are lounging around in my suite. But neither the prom nor my shoes are on my mind.
“You know I don't believe in love,” I tell Oliver with a shake of my head.
What is wrong with me tonight
?
Oliver yawns and lies back staring up at the stars. “Of course you do.”
“I believe in love, but not fairy-tale love. Not
true love
.” My heart has had a telltale ache ever since Caleb left; the night lost all its luster once he was gone.
“I've never seen you like I saw you on that dance floor. I couldn't get my eyes off you two. Well, except for when I was looking at Ursula.” Oliver rises back to his elbows and reaches for a cigarette.
I don't even protest or remind him that this is a no-smoking area. My mind is caught going over and over the nightâthe dance, the beach, the walk, the fall over the fence, the maintenance building, the drive home, and our quick, anticlimactic good-bye.
I shake my head. “It's not like that.”
“I know what I saw. It's not the usual thing.”
“Really?” A couple walks by, and I know Monica is waiting on me. But Oliver will tell me the truth. “Is something wrong with me? Monica will say it's because I'm inexperienced when it comes to guys.”
He touches my cheek and looks terribly sad. “You're in deep, Katie. I'm so sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?”
“This one is going to hurt you.”
“Caleb is going to hurt me?”
Oliver shakes his head. “Not him. He's going to hurt as much as you. This kind of thing only turns out bad, love. And it's already too late to stop it.”
No words come to me. Before I can formulate more questions or denials, I hear Monica call to us from the balcony.
“Hey! Get your butts up to the room. Pronto! Katherine's drunk and babbling, and Blake's been calling every five minutes to check on her.”
Monica is bewildered about my experience with Caleb. She wavers between anger, a smug “I told you this would happen,” and laughter. “That guy has danger written all over him.” She chuckles. “But maybe he can get you to let down your hair, or better yet, your pants.”
“I want to go home,” I say to Oliver and a weight of sadness falls on me that replaces every bit of the wonder of the night.
“Go home then. I'll take care of Monica.”
“Thanks.”
An hour later I'm in my second story room, unable to sleep. I open up windows that I haven't opened in a long time and stand staring into the night sky.
Caleb, Caleb. Where are you, Caleb
?
I wonder if he's thinking of me?
CALEB
“Ridiculous,” Finn says, following that with a slew of profanities. “My fault.
“Drop me off at home, will you?”
“I should force you into a strip club or find some girl to distract you.”
I grip the dashboard as Finn takes a turn too fast. “Like you could.”
That unleashes another round of Finn's favorite words with his choice F-bombs used in every possible way.
“Drop the jeep off in the morning. I get it for a month,” I say to remind him. His old jeep is his favorite vehicle and now my prize for winning the dare. That'll teach him to challenge me. It also solves my need for a car until the Camaro is fixed.
He drops me off at home, peeling out as he drives away. If we weren't cousins, Finn and I would probably have killed each other by now. We've exchanged a few rounds of punches over the years, but we love each other too.
The house is silent and all the lights are turned off. I unlock the door and go straight to my small room off the side of the living room, setting Kate's shoes on my bed. I just might keep them. As I sit on the twin-sized bed, the walls start pressing in around me. I grab my sleeping bag from the closet and fling it over my shoulder.
My sister's night-light shines from her open door. Dad's door is cracked, but both sleep soundly as I walk carefully out the back door.
I breathe in the moist air filled with the scent of pine trees and jasmine. After following the road about a half mile, I turn down a beach access trail that descends quickly from the thick pines and scrubs to gentle grassy slopes and finally out to a long, deserted beach. The tide is coming in, and it roars loudly across the sand and against the rocks at the beachhead.
On a sandy hill safe from the approaching waves, I stretch out my sleeping bag. I sit for a long time, sinking my toes through the cool sand down to the cold. It's surprisingly warm for this time of year in northern Oregon. A few clumps of grass bounce on a breeze.
She won't leave my head. The way she looked dancing with her eyes closed, the feel of her skin, the smallness of her hands.
“Help me, God,” I say aloud, staring up at the sky. “I've got a serious problem here.”
Having nothing, nothing can he lose.
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
Henry VI, part 3
, (Act 3, Scene 3)
KATE
I ride with Dad back to the inn the next morning while Mom and Jake go to church. Dad has been working a lot more in the last year, usually going to his office at the hotel on weekends instead of the corporate headquarters in downtown Portland.
Dad listens to either classical music or Willie Nelson when he drives. Today, thankfully, Bach plays over his iPod and through the speakers. I'm not in the mood for “Whiskey River” and “Good Hearted Woman.” My father can be a contradiction, that's for sure.
I'm hopeful that the coffee I'm sipping will wake me up soon. I woke in my window seat, neck kinked and reeling from strange, convoluted dreams about Caleb.
In one, I was running, both away and toward the same face.
“Everyone says to stay away from you,” I yelled to him.
“Whatever you want.” And then he jumped off a cliff in a perfect swan dive, disappearing between massive rocks into a pitch-black sea.
In another, he turned toward me, taking hold of my hands.
I looked terrible, my hair all messed up, no makeup; and his stare was unnerving. “What are you looking at?” I asked.
For a moment he held a deep, thoughtful expression, then turned away.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“The way you are staringâit isn't like you think I'm beautiful.”
He smiled. “That's true. But do you really want to know what I think about you?”
That dream jumped to me standing barefooted on a crowded street. Everyone passed me by, brushing me off when I grabbed hold of their sleeves and asked to borrow a cell phone. Caleb sat on the back of a bench, his feet on the seat, with a wry smile on his face.
“How come you can see me? No one else can see me.”
He shrugged. “But I don't know you at all.”
I tried falling back asleep to resurrect the dreams, because it felt like he was about to reveal something.
The dreams linger even now, annoying me as I try deciphering their meaning.
Between concertos, Dad turns down the music.
“Jerry called this morning and the hotel officially survived prom.”
“That's good. And you survived it too.”
“Barely,” Dad says with an arch of his eyebrow. “I guess it was naïve of me to not expect it to get a little rowdy. It's been a long time since I was your age.”
“Not that long ago. But it was a challenging night, that's for sure.”
“Thanks for coming out to help today.”
“It's the least I could do.” That brings a sting of guilt since helping isn't exactly my real motive. “Dad, did you know Caleb Kalani is a student at Gaitlin?”
Dad thinks for a moment. “Ben Kalani's son? He's at Gaitlin?”
“Yes.”
Dad acts more thoughtful than surprised. He mutters, “That's . . . good,” and resumes his finger taps to the rhythm of the concerto.
“He seems really nice.”
Dad nods as if thinking of something else. “If he's anything like his father, he'll do very well in life.”
“What do you mean? His dad does maintenance for us.”
Dad glances at me. “Yes, but . . . he's a man of integrity.”
This is strange. Dad admires great figures in history, in business, or someone who does a great feat for God. He has a row of biographies at his offices, at the hotel, and at corporate headquartersâsometimes a copy of the same book is at both places. Sir Winston Churchill, Mother Teresa, Martin Luther King Jr., Sun Tzu, Brother Andrew, and Steve Jobs are among the many. Why such respect for his head maintenance worker?