Back home that evening Daniel looked around the quiet kitchen, the last of the daylight disappearing through the window. He was edgy. Daniel hadn’t seen Maile since the bombing five days ago, and was resigned to taking things slowly, aware that she needed time. One moment she was her old self and he felt like he could tell her anything; the next, she was distant and skittish. Daniel was suddenly unsure of what their future held.

Hilo’s future felt just as uncertain. At the rate the lava was flowing, it was expected to reach the watershed and Hilo in less than a week’s time. Daniel knew he should be packing, but the thought seemed unbearable. He’d just returned and was settling in. When he left Chicago, he was relieved to know he had a home to return to. The moment he stepped back on the island he felt its embrace. The mainland already felt a world away. Now, where would he go? Daniel couldn’t imagine losing this house, the one lasting memory of his mother. He could almost see her standing by the sink, turning back to him, and saying, “It’s a house, yeah, it isn’t me. You won’t forget me no matter how far away you go. I won’t let you.”

And yet . . .

Outside the winds had picked up, rushing through the trees. Daniel heard a splattering of rain against the roof. And still the rain could do nothing to stanch the lava flow, whose heat simmered and stoked from the volcano’s core. A low roar of thunder boomed and shook. Daniel hoped it wasn’t another eruption, Pele venting her anger at the bombing. The thunder boomed again, and just trailing it, Daniel thought he heard something else, footsteps. He listened intently, and a moment later, someone was knocking on the front door.

Daniel hurried to answer, hoping it wasn’t bad news about Mama. Instead, he was surprised to see Maile standing at the door.

“Maile,” he said, “is everything all right?”

“I could use some company,” she said, her hair clinging to her cheeks from the rain.

Daniel smiled, happy to see her. The wind blew and he breathed in the salty spray from the ocean, the tinny tangs of wet earth and fallen leaves. It wouldn’t be anything more than a passing rainstorm. For tonight, he could pretend everything was the way it should be. He didn’t have to pack to leave. He still had the house, and Maile was standing right in front of him.

“I could too,” he said. “There’s something I’ve wanted to tell you, something that happened in Chicago.”

Daniel took a step back and swung the door open for her.

Ghost Voices

Ghost Voices

MARIKO, 1912