Strong Like the Sea, стр. 65
“Strong like the sea,” Uncle agrees.
Dad steps beside Auntie. “Do you see it now? Imagine a coconut sitting there at the foot of the trunk. Does it remind you of anything?”
I tilt my head. The circle of a coconut with a tree growing—not just growing, rising. “Is it the tree on our tapestry?”
“Now you know where your family crest came from, and why your mom wanted to share this place with you,” says Dad.
I always thought the circle was supposed to be like the world or maybe the ocean, but it’s a coconut. Looking up at Mom’s tree, I can almost hear her voice whispering to me, Rise where you stand.
“She felt a kinship with these trees,” Dad says. “Your mom didn’t have an easy start either, but once she put down roots . . . ”
“It’s a choice.” Uncle waves for me to join him, Dad, and Auntie by the tree as he talks story. “Sometimes, life is hard. Unfair. A mean one. Maybe seems like you’re alone. Maybe seems like no one cares. Maybe hard things make you want to hide inside your shell. But—believe in yourself always, and when you get the chance—”
“Rise.” I touch the trunk of Mom’s tree and smile.
When Dad gently shakes me awake, a few coquis still call to each other in the dark of early morning.
I rub my eyes and yawn. “Is it time to go already? It’s still dark.”
“Almost. But first, I made something for you.” He uncurls my fingers and sets a delicate paper coconut tree in the palm of my hand.
“Oh!” I blink at the intricate creation. More sculpture than origami, the little tree stands with flowers at its base, precisely cut fronds at the top, and little coconuts hanging underneath. It must’ve taken him hours. “When did you make this?”
“Last night. I couldn’t sleep.” He turns his face to the window, where black outlines of real trees stand tall against the lightening sky. “We need to talk. Maybe I should have told you yesterday, but I didn’t want to ruin the day for you—not when it meant so much to your mom.”
Despite my warm blanket, a chill settles inside my chest so fast I feel frost creeping inside my skin. I set Dad’s tree on the nightstand. “Talk about what? I knew something was wrong. Where’s Mom? What happened?”
“She’s okay—or rather, she’s going to be.” He gathers my hand in his and explains how during the typhoon, Mom’s submarine went deep below the storm, and Mom got very sick. She thought it was just seasickness, but when the storm passed, she didn’t get better. By the time they figured out what was wrong, her appendix had already burst, and she was delirious with fever and pain. Dad smooths the cover on my bed. “Someone was supposed to call us, but something went wrong, and I didn’t hear anything until the phone call last night. They said she’s being moved to a new hospital, and she’ll call us this afternoon after we fly back to Oahu.”
“So, she’s okay now?” My voice cracks as all the walls I’ve built inside to stay strong come crashing down. Mom was sick and hurting, and we didn’t even know it. I felt it though, didn’t I? When I ran to Castle Tree, was she crying or counting the same time as me? My chin trembles.
“She will be. Hey, shh. It’s okay.” Dad pulls my head against his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I probably should have said something last night, but it hurt to know she’d gone through all that alone, and I struggled with that. I was afraid I’d fail her again if last night didn’t go as planned. It had to be right.” He kisses the top of my head. “I didn’t know what else to do.”
I pull away and shake my head as I wipe my cheek. “Some things don’t fit on a schedule.”
“I know.” He gives a watery laugh. “You’re right.”
“You sure she’s okay? Was she there when they called?” I still can’t believe it’s true.
“I’m sure, and no, she wasn’t. But they said she’s recovering well and in good spirits. The worst is over, and we’ll have her home soon.”
“When? How soon is soon?” I kick the covers off, shove my glasses on, and grab my hat, ready to run to the airport this very second. “Will we be home in time to meet her?”
Dad chuckles and squeezes my hand. “You bet. Maybe a few days. As soon as she feels well enough and the doctors give her the okay, she’ll fly home.”
Mom’s coming home! I want to scream those words out to the world, but instead I hug Dad’s arm as tight as I can—so hard my eyes mash shut, and a shuddering hiccup squeaks out my throat. “I can’t wait to see her!”
“Neither can I.” He bows his head to mine and murmurs, “What a story she must have to share.”
I nod and gaze at Dad’s little tree on the nightstand. We both do. I’ve followed Mom’s clues every step of the way from Laie to Hilo, and now finally we’re both headed home—except there’s one more story I’d like to tell. “Dad? How much time do we have before we have to go?”
“About three hours, why?”
“There’s one last stop I want to make before we go home.” I lift up Dad’s tree and smile. “One that’s not on the schedule.”
When the first fiery slice of sun peeks over the ocean horizon, we pull up to the crossroads where Highway 132 used to lead to Kapoho, the tide pools, and Vacationland before lava from fissure eight took it all back in one night.
I climb up the embankment of ’a’a lava, where wisps of steam still vent from deep inside the cracks. Uncle says that the Goddess Madam Pele