“What happened? Something bite you?”
“No. My hand slipped between the cushions. I must have dragged it across an exposed nail head.”
“Move over and I’ll have a look.”
She inched sideways, nursing her injured hand, and he pushed the cushion aside to examine the bench. “Damn,” he said. Another of Pele’s tears, thin and razor sharp, had been wedged into the wood.
Noelani paled, and he thought for a second she was going to faint. “It ... It m-must mean something,” she stammered.
Anger flashed through him, fierce and hot. “Yeah, it means somebody’s playing nasty tricks.”
Noelani studied the obsidian teardrop, a frown creasing her forehead. “Or maybe it’s a clue. Maybe we’re supposed to look inside.”
“What
are you talking about?”
“Inside the bench. The tops are hinged,” she explained, “so the cushions can be stored there during bad weather. But maybe there’s something else inside. Maybe that’s what the tear’s trying to tell us.”
She stood, tossed the cushions aside, and then lifted the top of the bench to reveal a storage compartment. Empty, Dillon thought, until he noticed the envelope tucked into one corner. He reached for it, but Noelani was closer and beat him to it. She turned the cream-coloured envelope over and over in her hands, oblivious to the blood she was smearing on it.
“Grandmother’s stationery,” she said. “And Grandmother’s handwriting.”
“Noelani” was scrawled across the front. Nothing else.
I spent my whole life trying to protect those I loved, and yet, one by one, I lost them all - except for you, my darling granddaughter, and even you have not escaped unscathed. Years ago when I saw you kissing that Makua boy, I panicked and sent you away. I was afraid he’d ruin you, break your heart. Instead, I was the one who managed that. You thought he’ d forsaken you. He hadn’t. I just made it seem that he had. Please don’t hate me for my deception. At the time, I thought I was doing the right thing.
I tried to save my brother, too, with even more dreadful results. My efforts to control his behaviour drove him to greater folly. In the end, his recklessness cost him his life.
But my biggest mistake was leaving Honolulu — and John — in December of ‘41. Because I gave in to my well-intentioned — if futile — do-gooder tendencies, I missed out on the last days of my beloved husband’s life.
Pele has offered me a second chance, an opportunity to relive those last few days with John. I’m not sure how she’ll manage, but she’s promised to grant you a second chance, too. Don’t waste it.
Noelani set the letter aside.
“Well?” Dillon said.
“Do you believe the old gods and goddesses exist, Dillon?”
“If you’d asked me a week ago,” he said, “I’d have laughed at the idea, but after our run-in with Auntie Polly ...”
“What do you mean?”
“It was a classic encounter. Pele appears out of nowhere and asks for a lift.”
“Pele? The Goddess Pele? You’re saying that old lady in the football jersey was . . .?” Surely he didn’t believe what he was suggesting.
“She told us her name was Polly Ahiaihonua, right? I’m pretty sure ‘ahiaihonua’ is Hawaiian for volcano. And isn’t the name Polly suspiciously similar to Pele?”
Noelani considered his theory. It made sense ... in a crazy sort of way. “According to Grandmother’s letter, she struck a deal with Pele, returning the tears and sacrificing her own life so she could relive the last days of my grandfather’s.”
“The photograph was real then?”
She nodded, smiling as she remembered how happy her grandparents looked in the enlarged snapshot.
“And your great-uncle’s altered headstone?”
“An unexpected side effect, I suspect. Because Grandmother didn’t return to the Big Island to bail him out of trouble, he had to face the consequences of his actions. As a result, I’m guessing he straightened up his act and eventually became a priest.”