Return Passage, page 2
And the lava tube was interesting. The surfaces kept changing. One area was all sharp ʻaʻā. It prickled his palm when he touched it, and it gulped up the sound of a tongue-click or finger-snap like a dog eating steak. Pāhoehoe layered over other surfaces in smooth twisty ropes. One chamber was thick with the stuff, like someone had poured milk chocolate on all the walls and ceiling. Sound didn’t disappear on this texture. In fact, he kept catching licks and hints of the music they’d played that first night.
Not in his voice. Not in Rose’s smooth alto. But—
And it was gone before he could ask if Rose heard it. Just a cluster of notes, flitting through his messed-up brain probably created because he wanted that next whatever-it-was so badly.
It was agony to have created, but to no longer quite able to hear what he’d done.
Because he hadn’t done it alone.
Not even with Rose.
It was—right back where he started—MD.
He was blinking hard at the daylight as they emerged from the cool depths back into the heat of the day. Again, he’d missed whole portions of the adventure as he’d tried to grab onto those lost melodies that haunted him.
The heat and humidity were a hard slap after an hour underground. Mid-July was actually a crap time to be hanging out on Maui, but it wasn’t his call when the Vic-Maui ran. It wasn’t like Florida hideous, but it was more than his Seattle blood was used to.
“Let’s head back.”
Rose didn’t point out that they were already doing that, having gone two-thirds around the island. She also was kind enough to not point out that he wasn’t going to find MD.
4
Vonda Decosta emerged from the Red Ti Botanical Garden Maze, slightly dizzy from the constant direction changes, not that it was that hard a maze. Her metabolism was so screwed up.
The lava tube had been cool, but she’d been all goosebumps and wishing for a parka by the end of the underground walk. Humming to distract herself had helped…a little. A leisurely walk in the sun-saturated hedge maze had been what the doctor ordered—with a few less turns. She cleared her head with a final shake.
Doctor ordered! There was a phrase she could finally purge from her soul—fingers and toes crossed.
At the southern edge of the park that included the Hana Lava Tube, they’d built a maze out of red ti trees. They had big, lush-red leaves as long as her forearm that grew as thickly as a hedge. Shaped into a solid wall from knee-high to several feet over her head, they defined the passages but let the sun pour down.
As she’d wandered the paths, ignoring the little map, not caring if she dead-ended here or retraced her steps there, she played with the music.
She’d forgotten how much she’d missed the music of her college a cappella days until it had reached out through the open windows of The Dirty Monkey and dragged her off the street. For the first time in a year, she’d stopped thinking, stopped worrying. For the first time in the years since college, she’d simply given herself up to the music.
And way the hell overdone it.
Jesus, Vonda! You gotta be more careful.
She was supposed to be over all this. Three months of chemo. Two-to-one recovery time meant six more months of climbing out of the hole that the chemicals and radiation had driven her into. She’d done all that and yet felt completely strung out from a single night of dancing.
How long are you gonna wallow?
A week ago, she’d have answered, forever.
The disease.
Then quitting her job to focus on her wellness.
Next her fiancé hadn’t been able to deal with the future of a woman in her twenties who’d already had stage-two cancer. He’d kept emphasizing the two until she’d have probably thrown him out if he hadn’t already left.
Now, as clean as they could test six months after end of treatment.
None of that had mattered. He’d been gone while she’d been still shaking from the second dose of chemo.
To hell with him and to hell with her past.
If the disease hadn’t been what exhausted her, perhaps it was that she hadn’t rebuilt her stamina at all.
Yet exhausting herself past reason wasn’t the only thing that had happened that night.
Sure, she’d slept hard most of the day after that dance, but it hadn’t been mere exhaustion or the muscles so unused to the workout. She’d been caught in the trap for a year: diagnosis, second opinions, treatment, and recovery. Somehow, in that one blissful, passed-out sleep, she’d walked out the other side of the trap and left it behind.
Vonda knew about the now, right down deep in a way no always-healthy person could know. The time to make choices and changes was right now. It was always right now. Learn and grow. The dance had heaved overboard all that crap past; poor-ass choice of fiancé included.
Head scarves? Done!
She tugged it off her head and ran her fingers through the three inches of dark-blonde that had finally grown out. The warm breeze washing over the botanic garden with all of its foreign tropical sweetness caressed her scalp anew. Maybe she’d get some mousse and spike it. Dye it purple? Wouldn’t that put her parents in a twist? Actually, Mom would probably go to the salon with her and get a color to match.
Christ but she’d be dead without them. Last thing they needed was their grown daughter re-intruding on their lives, but they’d been there for her every step of the way. Mom sympathized and coddled her. Dad didn’t say much, but had become her go-to for wheels when she had the hundred-thousandth doctor’s appointment. He was also the one who’d suggested she go to Hawaii for a break to celebrate the supposed end of recovery. Did it in his normally voluble way of slipping a plane ticket across the dinner table. Without a word, of course, but he did it.
Kicking me out? Vonda had asked.
Mom had made consoling sounds, as surprised as she was. Dad had shrugged a maybe. Not that he wanted her gone, but maybe that it was time.
And he’d been right. It was time to do things new and different.
She’d been here long enough to find her favorite beach. And yesterday, after sleeping away the day before, she’d spent bodysurfing on Slaughterhouse Beach up the coast. Backed by a steep cliff, and fronted by a snorkeling reef where she’d teased clown fish and carefully avoided a giant green sea turtle, she’d soaked up sun on the sand and cooled off under the trees. Such a blessing to be outdoors.
Today she was touring the sections of the island she hadn’t seen in her three weeks here. Time to stretch herself.
Tomorrow? Who knew.
As she crossed from the maze back to the parking lot, she saw the two musicians from The Dirty Monkey heading there from the lava tube. She’d slept through their second show and been too enamored of the sunset on Slaughterhouse Beach to go to the third.
They were already on their scooters and tugging on helmets. She wanted to thank them, but it would sound stupid. Too…she didn’t know what.
But as her feet remained rooted to the spot and they started their engines with a quick little splutter, she knew that was the old her. The one who had become so fragile that all action was terrifying.
“Hey! Wait!” The man pulled away without hearing, but the woman turned to look in her direction. She couldn’t remember their names. She hadn’t even looked at the poster by the door. Vonda had been walking the street looking for somewhere to have dinner and ended up on the dance floor with no conscious transition.
“Hey, yourself.” The woman looked so amazing, all tall and elegant. Her shining hair far longer than Vonda had ever grown her own. All of the things that Vonda wasn’t.
“You two were amazing the other night!” She blurted it out like a total fan girl.
“Thanks,” the woman smiled. It wasn’t something she’d done very often that night. At the bar she’d been the consummate chill bass player, cool and sexy beyond words or music.
“I missed the last two nights. When are you playing again?” Because she was so ready to shed more of her past.
The smile faded. “Six weeks until our next gig, sorry.”
“Oh,” she could feel her own smile die. Six weeks? Would she still be here then? Probably not. She’d been in day-to-day mode, but there was an energy now. A desire to move ahead. Except she wasn’t sure what that meant anymore. Back to her old job? Legal secretary had paid the bills, but she didn’t exactly miss it—like at all!
“If you’re in Seattle, we’ll be at a place called the High Dive.”
“Oh! I live in Seattle.”
The woman looked down the road after her lover, husband, whatever. Their deep connection on stage had been unmistakable. “Maybe we’ll see you then.”
“Six weeks,” it sounded so long. “Nowhere sooner?”
“We’ll be at sea on the Vic-Maui Return for the next five weeks. The only place we’ll be playing is on the sailboat.”
It had been impossible to miss the mayhem that had hit Lahaina. A banner year, twenty-three yachts had completed the long race. Two more were still expected, after the time limit had expired but in time for tonight’s party. Three more had retired and dropped out. Several hundred sailing crew had hit the small town of Lahaina as if they’d been at sea for two years not two weeks.
“You’re sailing back to Victoria for five weeks?” Vonda couldn’t imagine what that would be like.
“Sure. We’ve done it several times.”
And it was one of those moments.
Vonda felt herself rising up on her toes as if to resist falling forward from a gentle nudge behind. Taking the next step after Greg had walked out on her. Getting on the plane to Hawaii. Going…
One of those moments she’d so often dodged in the past.
The past.
Done with wallowing, huh?
She opened her eyes and looked at the woman.
Vonda still didn’t know her name.
It didn’t matter.
The wind was blowing from behind her. She’d sailed before. Never on one of the big boats like the line of forty- and fifty-footers presently anchored off Lahaina’s shore. But she’d sailed. That had to count for something, didn’t it?
“Need another hand? I’ve sailed in smaller boats.”
“It’s four or five weeks. And there can be some bad storms.”
“Don’t care.” Even if there was no music, no dancing. “If there’s no room on yours, how about another boat? How do I find out? I mean—”
The woman’s smile cut her off.
Vonda bit her tongue and tried to chill. Something she’d never been particularly good at…before the cancer. It was actually kind of neat that the excitement had come back. Until now she’d wondered if she’d ever be excited about something again.
“I’ll ask around. Meet us for breakfast tomorrow at seven in the 808 Grindz Cafe?”
“Sure. I like that place.” She’d actually eaten her way through most of the menu and put on some much-needed weight as she’d inhaled a three-egg omelet with fried spam, corned beef hash, and ham fried rice on successive mornings. She rarely needed lunch after one of their breakfasts, but the place was addictive.
“Okay, I’d better go catch up with Myles. He’ll eventually notice I’m missing. I don’t want him thinking I’m dead on the road.” And she motored off.
“Thanks!” Vonda thought to shout too little too late. But the woman, whose name she still didn’t know, raised a hand in a wave and raced out of the parking lot. At least raced as fast as an island scooter could go.
Vonda repeated Myles’ name a few time to be sure to remember it.
“Well now you’ve done it, Vonda,” she said to no one at all.
She had.
“No commitments needed until you step on the boat.”
Too late. She was so there already.
5
Seven a.m. at the 808 Grindz?
Vonda was there at six with her backpack beside her. By six-thirty she’d turned a Mowie Wowie omelet into a thousand tiny egg cubes on her plate, her hot cocoa was cold, and her pineapple juice warm.
At six-fifty, a big guy in his fifties came in, and scanned the diners. His eyes locked on her and he headed straight over to her sitting alone at a table for four.
Oh shit!
She checked around. The place was busy enough that he wouldn’t try anything here. But she’d have to leave to get away from him. Then he might follow. And Vonda would miss the musicians. And—
“You the one wants to sail the return?”
The relief and disappointment warred within her. He wasn’t a threat, but it meant she’d be on a different boat than the musicians. Vonda managed a weak nod.
He sat down across from her without asking. Would she feel safe on this guy’s boat? What if it was just them? She didn’t like the sound of that at all.
“Why should I let you on my boat?” He flagged down a waitress for a cup of coffee.
His arrogance ticked her off. He reminded him too much of her fiancé…ex-fiancé. “Why should I want to go on your boat? Plenty to choose from.”
His smile was fast. “Most of the crews are already set. You’re running out of choices.”
Crap! She’d barely slept throughout the night, instead imaging sailing out of the past she’d been mired in. And now the life had gone out of it.
“Are you spooking my new friend, Barry?” The musician woman slid into one of the open seats.
“Nah, Rose. Just trying to find out if she’s a good one or if you’ll have to dump her overboard after the first hundred miles.”
Vonda couldn’t suppress the squeak of fear that being set adrift in the middle of the ocean evoked.
“Your sense of humor is one of the reasons we’re glad you’re flying home this afternoon.” Rose said in her quiet steady way.
Breathe, Vonda reminded herself. Just breathe.
Barry rolled his eyes. “Just having a bit of fun. Seriously though,” he didn’t look any more or less serious as he turned back to face Vonda, “what are your qualifications?”
Vonda tried to come up with some, but couldn’t. “Absolutely none. The biggest boat I’ve ever been on was a Cal 23, cruising on Lake Washington.”
“Cruising? More like wallowing on a fat rubber ducky in a bathtub! Long damn way from my J/160.” Barry looked aside, “This is the one you want to take deep sea, Rose?”
Vonda quickly repeated Rose a few times. Myles and Rose. Myles and Rose.
Rose shrugged. “She asked. I like her.”
Barry looked back and forth between them, then finally nodded. “Your call. There’s enough foul weather gear aboard to take care of her. The return isn’t my ride, just my boat. So don’t break her on the way home.” He slugged back the rest of his still-steaming coffee like it was a shot of tequila, pushed back, and tipped his head toward Vonda. “Might be nice for my liability insurance if you don’t break the girl either.”
A silence settled over the table after he was gone. Rose waited long enough for the jumble of Vonda’s thoughts to settle.
“Me? You like me? But you don’t know me.” Not that she knew Myles or Rose either.
“Do I need a reason?” Rose’s smile was easy to return.
“Not if it gets me on the boat.”
6
Her afternoons on Margo’s Cal 23 puttering around Lake Washington did nothing at all to prepare her for the Maybelline. Six people could fit in the cockpit of Margo’s little twenty-three-footer, hip-to-shoulder and bumping knees.
The Maybelline was an awe-inspiring fifty-three feet long and fifteen wide. The mast towered forever above her head. The cockpit was filled with a bewildering array of lines, winches, and a steering wheel so big that there was a notch in the deck for the lower part to swing in. But eight could still sit on the cushioned seats, not counting the person behind the wheel.
“How many people are needed to sail it?” she asked Rose.
“To sail her? Two can manage for a cruise. On the race down, she had a crew of ten. Helmsman, navigator, two winchmen, and a foredeck hand. Two watches.”
Vonda’s unintended glance at her bare wrist earned Rose’s soft laugh. Vonda knew what it meant and struggled not to feel foolish as Rose explained.
“A watch is a shift. But on a boat like this that’s a loose term. One of us can handle the boat in most conditions, two if it gets nasty. All ten if you’re racing hot in a strong blow, whether or not it’s your time to sleep.”
“There are going to be ten of us?” It was a big boat, but that would be a bigger crowd than she’d hung out with in a long time.
“Three. You’re the third. We’ll up-anchor as soon as Myles gets here with the rest of the groceries.” Myles, Myles, she repeated a few more times. His name had become a mantra of hope somewhere in the long night. Myles and Rose.
Vonda hadn’t thought about the food. Five weeks’ worth for her to be aboard. “I can pay for—”
Rose waved it away. “Barry pays for it. It’s traditional. Most boat return crews are unpaid, but the owner covers all expenses to have his boat sailed home. You get the forward cabin. Go ahead and stow your gear. I’ll scrounge slicks, a float jacket, and a life preserver for you before we go.”
“Like a kid?”
“Underway, we’ll all wear them except in the calmest weather and we’re all three awake. You’ll get used to it.” Rose waved her below.
Vonda descended the ladder into the main cabin and could only gawk.
Margo’s Cal 23 had two tiny bunks that were buried under rubber bumpers used at dock, a scattering of lines, and a cooler of beer squashed in among the raincoats.
The Maybelline was finished throughout in lustrous wood planking like…she didn’t know what…a sailboat? To her left was an efficient kitchen that would be perfect for a luxury studio apartment. A top-opening fridge and freezer were set into the countertop. It had a sink, lots of cupboards, even a small stove and oven. It swung lightly back and forth with the rocking of the boat. She gave it a poke and it swung more. Oh, for when the boat was heeled over, it would stay level. Neat!
