Gradually, closed doors and distant eyes became the norm.
As a child I’d loved my mother fiercely. As an adult I’d finally posed the raw question to myself: Did my mother ever love me?
And I’d faced the answer.
I didn’t know.
My mother loved my baby brother, Kevin. And my father, Michael Terrence Brennan. I was eight when both died, one of leukemia, one drunk at the wheel. The dual tragedies changed everything.
But did they? Or had Daisy always been mad?
Same answer. I didn’t know.
I wanted a closeness with my daughter that I’d been denied with my mother. No matter the irrationality of Katy’s behavior or the unreasonableness of her need, I’d be there for her.
But how?
The cadence of the waves triggered no revelations.
Katy was gone from the lanai when I arrived back at the house. She appeared as I was washing my feet at the outdoor shower.
“You’re right. Moping is stupid.”
I waited.
“Tomorrow I’ll go parasailing.”
“Sounds good.” It didn’t. I preferred Katy safely grounded, not dangling a hundred feet in the air.
“Or I’ll sign up for one of those helicopter rides over a volcano.”
“Mm.” I turned off the faucet.
“Listen, Mom. I really am grateful for this trip. Hawaii is awesome.”
“And I’m grateful you’re here.”
“I took a dozen shrimp from the freezer.”
“Fire up the barbie?” Delivered in my very best Aussie.
“Aye, mate.”
Katie raised a palm. I high-fived it.
One dozen turned into two.
BIRDIE WAS CHASING A VERY LARGE DOG ALONG A VERY WHITE beach. The dog wore an elaborate apparatus with lines rising to a bright red parachute high in the sky.
Katy dangled upside down from the chute, long blond hair waving in the wind. Sunlight glinted from tears on her cheeks.
A gull screeched.
The dog stopped.
Katy’s chute deflated and she drifted earthward.
Fast. Too fast.
The gull’s screeching morphed to a very loud buzzing.
I raised one semiconscious lid.
The room was dark. The bedside table was vibrating.
I fumbled for my BlackBerry and clicked on.
Don Ho was singing “Aloha Oe.”
“How is my sweet rose of Maunawili?” A male voice. Not Don’s.
Another twist to the dream?
No. My eyes were open. One managed to drag the clock face into focus.
“Do you know what time it is here?” Seemingly a frequent opener on calls to Hawaii.
“Seven.”
“Redo the math, Ryan.”
“Give me a hint.”
“There’s a five in the answer.” Technically, two. The little green digits said 5:59.
“Oops. Sorry.”
