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that we will.
We head away from the lights of the restaurant and toward the darkened beach. Above,
the clouds have hidden the moon. We slip off our sandals, walk close to the water’s edge,
and sink our toes into the cooling sand. Nighttime waves crash mightier and louder than
daytime ones. The farther we walk, the fewer people we see, until it begins to feel as
though we’ve left civilization behind. Olly steers us to dry sand and we find a place to sit.
He takes my hand and kisses the palm. “My dad apologized to us after he hit her the
first time.” He pushes the sentence out on a single breath. It takes me a second to realize
what he’s talking about.
“He was crying.”
The night is so dark that I feel rather than see him shake his head.
“They sat us down together and he said he was sorry. He said it would never happen
again. I remember Kara was so angry she wouldn’t even look at him. She knew he was a
liar, but I believed him. My mom did, too. She told us to forget all about it. She said, ‘Your
father has been through a lot.’ She said that she forgave him and that we should, too.”
He gives me my hand back. “He didn’t hit her again for another year. He drank too
much. He yelled at her. He yelled at all of us. But he didn’t hit her again for a long time.”
I hold my breath for a moment and ask the question I’ve been wanting to ask. “Why
doesn’t she leave him?”
He snorts and his tone turns hard. “Don’t think I haven’t asked her.” He lies back in the
sand, links his hands behind his head. “I think that if he hit her more often, she would
leave him. If he were just a little more of a bastard maybe we could finally go. But he’s
always sorry, and she always believes him.”
I put my hand on his stomach, needing the contact. I think maybe he needs it, too, but
then he sits up, pulls his knees into his chest, and rests his elbows on them. His body
forms a cage that I can’t get into.
“What does she say when you ask her?”
“Nothing. She won’t talk about it anymore. She used to say that we’d understand when
we’re older and in our own relationships.”
I’m surprised by the anger in his voice. I never guessed that he was angry at his mother.
His father, yes, but not her.
He snorts again. “She says love makes people crazy.”
“Do you believe that?”
“Yes. No. Maybe.”
“You’re not supposed to use all the answers,” I say.
He smiles in the dark. “Yes, I believe it.”
“Why?”
“I’m all the way here in Hawaii with you. It’s not easy for me to leave them alone with
him.”
I tamp down my guilt before it can rise.