The Maui rain fell against Jamey’s jeep top, creating a sense of safety inside the vehicle. Many nights in Afghanistan he’d driven in vehicles feeling worse than unsafe. One time, when the Hummer was pelted with enemy fire, Jamey ducked below the dashboard in a ball of compressed bones, muscle and skin, praying he’d live to see his daughters again, watch them blossom into teenagers and beyond. The United States military had originally assured him that he wouldn’t see combat. “No immediate danger,” the higher powers had promised. He’d hoped they could deliver. They hadn’t.
Pulling onto West Maui’s main road, Jamey saw Tina’s baseball cap on the seat beside him. Hank and Tina’s Dive Shop. She’d worn it backwards to keep her hair from blowing in her face on the ride to Molokini, her hair just long enough to whip at her eyes and mouth. Years ago, it had been long enough to spread across the pillows.
At the harbor, Jamey had grabbed the hat off Tina’s head and put it on backwards, trying to engage her with his best Tina impersonation. “I’m Tina, your captain. This is only going to be a three-hour tour, a three-hour tour.” He sang the tune from Gilligan’s Island menacingly, an inside joke in the charter business about everyone ending up shipwrecked.
Although her lips curled into a half-smile, the sadness in her eyes was almost intolerable. Where was that spark in her personality that had defined her years ago? He’d expected her to grab the hat and hit him with it. Instead she looked like his father when the Yankees lost the World Series. “You can have that hat,” she said. “I had to order more with the new logo.”
“What? No sea turtle?”
“No Hank,” she muttered, and threw him a bag of gear to stow in the truck.
He didn’t need to be a genius to figure out the source of her sadness. Tina was a widow. Jamey tried to recall what Katie said about Hank and Tina. “Great couple, so in love, tragic surfing accident.” Jamey doubted that Tina ever thought about the days when he was the man in her life. At least, he hoped she didn’t. She had enough to worry about without rehashing his hasty departure.
Pulling onto Honoapiilani Road, he slowed the jeep to a snail’s pace, enjoying the view. The lower road dead-ended just past his father’s place, resulting in very little traffic. Most tourists chose the upper highway long before they got to The Ridge property. It was faster and, although tourists came to Maui to relax, it seemed like everyone was in a hurry to get somewhere.
Pulling into his dad’s parking spot, Jamey did a quick scan of the property. He wasn’t totally in the clear yet, but he doubted after all this time that anyone was following him. Every day that he wasn’t abducted was another step towards security. If the enemy really wanted him and knew who and where he was, he had to believe they’d have grabbed him weeks ago when he was still in Afghanistan or jumping between airports on the trip home.
He noted the cars in the parking lot. Nothing unusual. The view always stopped him. Overlooking Molokai, Pops’ place sat on the northern cliffs off IronwoodBeach. The majestic Garden Isle loomed in the distance, its mountains towering to meet the low clouds. The condo had been a pricey purchase even in 1988, but Pops rented it out, saving two or three months in the calendar year for family vacations. It had been a brilliant investment. And a godsend for Jamey.
“As much as you love us,” Pops had said only a week earlier, “you need to get away, son. Take a month on Maui. Just like your superior officers said. Think about the armed forces while you’re over there walking the beach, and whether you even want to go back to the war zone. That is, if you still have what they want.”
If he did regain his ability... Even though Jamey hadn’t given Sixth Force his answer, how could he not go back? What else was he going to do? Years ago he’d given up his right to daily doses of his children by agreeing to divorce their mother.
Settling into the deck chair with an icy beer in hand, Jamey thought of Tina, and the day he’d left her. Stepping onto that plane bound for Seattle, he doubted anything would ever be the same. Not after the dream he’d experienced the night before. At the age of thirty-five, he’d never had a precognitive dream. Now he knew the colors were dull, the edges fuzzy. He’d promised Uncle Don that if he ever had one, he’d do everything in his power to not alter the future.
Letting Tina go was one of the hardest things he’d ever done, especially knowing something was headed her way. That part hadn’t been as clear in the dream, but the message was still obvious. She’d marry another man. He had to let her go, pretend to lose interest. The double whammy hit when his future took an unexpected turn, taking him down a matrimonial path he hadn’t anticipated.
Jamey entered the condo and ducked into the master bathroom. The morning’s divers were meeting for sunset cocktails at Leilani’s in an hour and he’d asked one of the single ladies to save him a seat. He had nothing else to do. Katie was out with her boyfriend, and walking a rainy beach was kind of lonely.
The water pressure in the shower was lacking but sufficient. Soaping his body, Jamey thought of Tina. She was thinner but still filled out a bikini like a goddamned Sports Illustrated swimsuit model. He recalled what it felt like to roll around in bed with her, skin on skin, all hands, lips, legs. Back then, they’d been like dogs in heat. He soaped himself and let the water pelt his back as he remembered what he and Tina liked to do to each other. Damn. He should be fantasizing about the gal who just phoned to make sure he would be at Leilani’s. He was pretty sure they could have some fun between the sheets later. But, as he brought himself to a climax, his thoughts were only about Tina Greene.
wwww
The wind died down just after sunset, and by the time Tina got ready for bed, there was a definite improvement in the weather. The rain had returned, but it wasn’t being driven sideways. The palm trees in her yard did not look angry anymore, only busy. If the sun appeared tomorrow, the flooded lower roads would dry up much faster. A thick layer of brown murky water that was runoff from the pineapple fields would linger offshore for a week, canceling all beach activities. No one wanted to swim in latte-colored ocean except sharks.
Tina had just settled into bed when Noble peeked in the bedroom door, his look tender. “You look like a little girl sitting in bed, waiting for her parents to come say goodnight.”
Her parents had never come into her bedroom to say goodnight or good morning, for that matter. She was brought to them, by the nanny, for goodnights. “Do I?” She considered patting the side of the bed for Noble but held off, instead pulling Hank’s big T-shirt down to cover her thighs.
Noble filled most of the doorway. “Scale of one to ten. I’m a five.”
“Me too.” Five was good for them. She looked to where the rain had been popping off the windows earlier and told Noble that the six pack dive boat went out with only four customers that day. She didn’t mention that Katie’s uncle was the fourth, or that they’d once been lovers. It would feel disrespectful to Hank to even mention Jamey to Noble. And she withheld the fact she’d been on the boat. Even though she was proud of her accomplishment, Tina harbored it like a tiny present hiding in her pocket. When she was diving again, she’d announce her breakthrough.
“I miss you now you’re back at work,” he said.
Their eyes met and they shared a smile. When she’d been too frightened to sleep alone, Noble had been there. Off and on, but for many months. Tina almost always woke up with him still beside her, on top of the sheets, fully clothed, sleep having claimed him before he could find his own bed.
“G’night, everyone.” Noble walked over. He kissed her forehead, his lips lingering. Obi issued a low growl.
“Obi, stop.” Tina smiled to think her dog might have opinions on who came into her bedroom. He’d recently taken an aversion to Noble’s presence.
Rising from the bed to close her door, she then inserted a dollar-size piece of paper in the crack. If the door opened, the paper would fall. She did the same to the patio door, and as an extra measure, she locked both. Before getting back into the bed, she opened her eyes wide and closed them several times. Satisfied she wasn’t dreaming, Tina fell back against the cluster of pillows. Her current suspense novel was heavy in her hands and she rested it in the V of her bent body, realizing that the luxury of losing herself in someone else’s problems was freeing, especially when her problems seemed insurmountable. But thoughts of Hank plagued her and she eventually gave in to the memories.
The day Hank went missing had been a stormy one. All night Tina and Hank listened to the huge waves two blocks away. He’d been restless, knowing that when light appeared in the sky he would leave to surf the waves. They’d had sex in the middle of the night, trying to “make a baby,” and when he rolled out of bed at six, Tina teased him to come back and make twins.
“Can’t,” he smirked. “But I’ll be back later. You just lie there and think baby.” He kissed her on the forehead. “Girl or boy, I don’t care.” And then he left to wake Noble.
“Going to ride the big one,” he’d called on his way out the door, leaving his wife hugging her pillow, smiling lazily.
She fell asleep thinking of Hank and shortly after four-thirty, woke. Obi was not with her but she wasn’t concerned. It seemed perfectly possible that he might have gone wandering outside.
As she stepped out of bed, water crept up around her nightgown. She continued walking into the black ocean. Her skin welcomed the water’s cool touch after the humidity of the storm. The ocean’s surface was flat calm. The salt water encased her shoulders, and then claimed her neck and head. Swimming underwater, her destination was clear. A pinprick of light waited in the distance and she had to get to him.
For the second time in three days, Tina woke from a diving dream as though she’d been holding her breath. She turned on the lamp, illuminating the room with a deceptively calm, peachy glow. At first glance, nothing looked out of the ordinary. Obi was lying at the bottom of the bed, his blocky head raised, dark eyes staring at her. Slipping out of the bed, she inspected her legs and arms, felt her face and looked in the closet mirror. Not wet. She pinched herself. Pain.
Obi whined.
“What is it, boy?"
The clock read 4:32—only two minutes past the time when she’d risen from bed and found herself in the ocean. No, that hadn’t been real. The clock never actually read 4:30 because it was only a dream.
Unlike days before, this dream took place at night and without a current or swell, she’d been perfectly capable of following Hank into the cave. But it never happened. She’d woken just as she started for the black opening, never seeing either the interior of the cave or the surface.
Like the last one, this dream seemed incredibly real to her. The water had been shockingly cold when she first entered it, her nightgown billowing up around her like a jellyfish refusing to submerge. Now she wore the green T-shirt she’d worn to bed hours before. Hank’s shirt. Seeing her husband like this, even if it was just in dreams, was setting her back, the benefits of therapy quickly dissolving.
A gecko ran across her ceiling, its ability to hang onto the plastered surface impressive. Everyone was impressive these days except her, who couldn’t even tell reality from dream life. Maybe now that she was easing back on the meds, the dreams were emerging. Or they’d always been there but she couldn’t remember them before. Regardless, she felt close to Hank as a result of them. Enjoying a joint love of underwater Maui had been the glue in their relationship. She didn’t surf like him and couldn’t tell a beautiful work of art from a crappy reproduction, so diving had been their thing. Walking to the bathroom, she flipped on the light and screamed.
Something lay on the floor.
It looked like a small dead animal. Backing up as if she’d seen a face at a darkened window, she leaned on the door frame. A wet lump of cloth sat in a puddle in the center of the tile. Her back pressed against the wood of the doorway, offering stability as she slid down to sit on the floor. The small piece of paper she’d inserted into the door crack was lying on the hall floor. She’d forgotten about it when she left the bedroom.
Staring at the lump, an idea came to mind. It resembled a thrift shop costume she’d worn when she and Hank had gone to the Front Street festivities on Halloween as Frankenstein and his bride. Tina stared at the wet muslin, wondering how on earth…
Reaching forward, her fingers found the edge and brushed the gown briefly. Drawing back her hand, she touched her lips. Salt. She thought of splashing her face with cold water. At the counter, the hair dryer was plugged in. She stood and crossed to reach for it. Warm. Her cropped haircut would only take a few tousles to dry. The hair dryer hadn’t been used in years. Tina licked her arm.
No salt.
The sight of droplets clinging to the shower tiles made her take a step back. She flattened her body against the wall. Someone had just taken a shower and used the hair dryer. Was it her? Her inclination was to get out of the house as quickly as she could. But something held her to that wall and she couldn’t move. Her eyes darted around the room for anything to verify that she wasn’t losing her mind. The lump of muslin, the hair dryer, the wet shower… Everything pointed to sleepwalking at the very best and insanity at the very worst.
She flung herself off the wall and took off down the back stairs and into the backyard. A light shone through the window of Noble’s cottage. Jazz music was barely audible. Noble moved in front of the window and Tina watched him pull someone into his arms. She sank to the ground, using the cover of a ginger bush to hide her from view. Noble slow-danced in full view with another man. Blood rushed to her face and her heart beat fast. What the hell?
Muffled words wafted from the cottage, then the music died and the light inside the cottage was extinguished, turning the backyard into a dark expanse.
The noise of a Harley Davidson on the road behind the backyard crashed through the silence as it roared southward. Now was a perfect time for Tina to make a run for it. Turning towards her house, she caught the edge of her foot on the path’s flagstone rock and fell, face first, onto the hard surface.
When she jolted awake, Obi jumped off the disheveled bed and barked. Her bedroom was hot and dark, the door was closed. Tina reached over and turned on the light.
Swinging her legs over the side, she took several calming breaths but wasn’t sure what to hope for. Had she just run through her backyard or not? Her arm felt the pinch. The pile of M&M’s she’d been eating before sleep was still on her bedside table. She stood. Kicking her mattress to jolt herself, she stubbed her toe on the metal ridge. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” She sank to the floor to grab her foot. This degree of pain might be a good sign. Obi slinked into the closet, his thin tail between his legs.
If she’d had another false awakening, it would be good news. Explaining the wet costume on the bathroom floor would be a non-issue if it wasn’t there. Summoning courage, Tina checked the paper she’d inserted before she went to bed. The small rectangle peeked out above the doorknob, a folded corner on top, just as she’d left it. Good news, so far.
She flicked on the bathroom’s overhead light and was instantly relieved to see nothing on the bathroom floor, or anywhere in the room—no water droplets on the walls of the shower, and no hair dryer on the counter. Her reflection in the mirror showed that she still wore the green T-shirt she’d worn to bed, but her face looked almost unfamiliar in its paleness. Haunted eyes stared back.
Padding through the house to a back window, Tina wasn’t sure what Noble’s house might reveal, but she heaved a sigh of relief when she saw the cottage was dark, no light, no music. She had to assume he hadn’t been slow dancing with a man only moments before.
Obi wagged his tail and sat down in front of her, waiting for his next cue. After giving him a treat from the jar simply because he was normal, Tina returned to the bathroom and, as suggested by Doc Chan, splashed cold water on her face. She’d pinched herself in the dream and registered pain, which now suggested that pinching was unreliable. Maybe kicking the bed frame and splashing cold water on her frightened face were better indicators.
She took a ribbon out of her nightstand drawer and tied it around Obi’s collar. She was willing to try anything that would help her identify reality from this weird dream life that appeared to be stalking her. She lowered her head cautiously to the pillows. The bed did not feel like her sanctuary anymore. Her place of solace had turned against her.
vvvv
Jamey sat up in bed. Something was wrong. He’d been dreaming—just something frivolous about running around with the twins at the top of the Seattle Space Needle. This heaviness had nothing to do with a silly dream of his daughters. It was as if the premonition interrupted his dream with a singular thought, a sense of danger, nothing more tangible. Still, he had to make sure his daughters, his only responsibility in the whole world, were safe.
Pops picked up on the second ring. “Hey, kid, it’s 4:30, your time, and besides, isn’t it kind of early to be phoning a retiree?” His dad’s voice had a measure of concern mixed with curiosity.
“I know you need all the beauty sleep you can get, Pops, but I just woke with a funny feeling, like dread.”
“Nothing happened here, son.” The gravelly words on the other end reassured Jamey that all was well in Carnation, Washington.
Jamey didn’t want to disturb Carrie and the kids so early when all he had was a feeling. Carrie had had enough of his “crazy feelings” for a lifetime of worry. He scratched his face, his morning beard bristly. “Did Uncle Don ever feel like this?” Jamey needed to hear it was normal, or as normal as possible for someone like him.
“Donny didn’t have the full gift you have. I don’t recall him specifically talking about this, but he didn’t tell me everything. Remember, everyone wakes with bad feelings from time to time, son.” Pops always knew what to say and how to say it. Talk about gifts.
“I’ve had it before, coming out of a bad dream jump. Only this time, I wasn’t jumping.” Jamey opened the patio door and stared at the dark beach below him. The wind had died to leave an after-storm gentleness, a reprieve.
“If you think it has meaning, stay sharp.” Pops had good reason to worry. Don’s tragic death, years before, had left him anxious about his son, especially now that he was using crazy abilities against war criminals. He’d told Jamey this many times.
“Can you check on the girls for me?”
“I’d be happy for an excuse to go over. I’ll let Carrie make me coffee. Don’t forget, you’re supposed to be enjoying Maui, so don’t go getting all analytical about stuff while you’re on vacation, y’hear?”
Too many times in the last few months Jamey wished he knew someone like him who jumped into dreams. Having someone to share these anomalies would be invaluable. But as far as he knew, no one had the ability. Not even Uncle Don had the full gift he had. His paternal grandmother was rumored to be a dream reader, but only her husband was privy to the secret before she passed on, and now they were both gone. At the time Jamey joined Sixth Force to dream jump for his country, they’d been desperate to have him on their team, knowing of no one else who entered dreams. They’d claimed that what Jamey could do and see in a dream was exceptional to anything they already had on the Force. Not only could he read emotions from across a room but he had the mysterious ability to insert himself into a subject’s dreams and participate. Having always felt like a freak, Jamey was seduced by the army’s need for his talent. With words like “brilliant”, “amazing” and “hero” he got used to being a celebrity within the Force even if he never had contact with the other members. Only the support team and doctors knew who he was and they referred to him as Freud.
Lying back in bed, Jamey was lonely for the first time in a long while. Not for love. He was used to that. But lonely for someone who understood the bizarre twist in his existence—someone who could understand and accept him as he was.