When Water Burns Read online

Leila, Washington D.C.

  Subject: Nupi

  Shut it. There are no other words.

  I had to laugh as I ended my conversation with Simone. There had been no chance to say goodbye to him before I caught my last-minute flight to Los Angeles. Actually, there hadn’t been time to do much of anything before I left. After the nightmare show-down with Nafanua and Sarona, I had taken Daniel back to his house and been given the evils by Salamasina when she saw his injuries. She could barely restrain her rage when I gave her the censored and condensed version of what had happened with Nafanua’s sisterhood. I didn’t tell her about the dolphins. Or about the certainty that Daniel shouldn’t be alive, that something inconceivable had brought him back to that moonlit shore. She was angry enough as it was. I wasn’t sure who she had been more furious at – the telesā sisterhood who had abducted Daniel and stabbed him, or me for getting him marked as a target.

  “I warned my son you would only bring him pain and suffering. I knew something like this would happen.”

  “I’m sorry Mrs. Tahi. I never meant for any of this to happen. I tried to protect him. I love Daniel. I would do anything to keep him safe.”

  I could have chopped my arm off in her kitchen and it still wouldn’t have convinced her that I really was sorry for what had happened. She only hissed at me, “You are telesā. No man is safe with you.”

  There was nothing to say to that. Because in my heart of hearts, I knew it to be true.

  As I left Salamasina’s house, the sun had been coming up. I had been gone all night and I knew Matile and Tuala would not be happy. I rushed home to reassure my aunt that I had not been abducted by rapists, muggers, or Satan worshippers. To my surprise, she and Tuala had not been mad at me. Instead, they had sat me down to give me the news. My grandmother had been hit with another stroke. Only this time, it was bad. Very bad. She was in the intensive care unit and the family was gathering to say good bye. My uncle Thomas had called to tell me I needed to get back to Washington D.C. As quickly as possible. They didn’t think Grandmother would hang on much longer. I reeled. The old lady was an indomitable force of nature – how could she be dying? Matile had hugged me, which kind of shocked me even more. And Uncle Tuala had patted me awkwardly on the shoulder.

  “We are very sorry for your loss, Leila.”

  They talked about Grandmother Folger like she was already dead, which made me a little angry. Of course the old lady wasn’t dead. And she wasn’t going to die any time soon either. She was the toughest person I had ever known and she was not going to die. There had been so few constants in my life that I would not imagine living without Grandmother Folger’s reserved disapproval. No, she was not going to die.

  The next few hours had been a flurry of activity. Throwing clothes into a suitcase, making an emergency booking on a flight out that would leave in a few hours, everything was rush, rush, rush. I had detoured to Daniel’s on the way to the airport but he had been asleep and Salamasina refused to wake him.

  “I gave him a sleeping potion. He needs to rest so his body can heal.”

  She wouldn’t even let me in past the front door. So instead, I had left him a note. And tried not to cry. What kind of girlfriend abandoned the one she loved when he needed her the most?

  We had been late to check in at the airport, so farewells were rushed. At the very last minute I saw the mobile phone store with the sign screaming ‘The New iPhone4 is Here! Do You Have Yours?’

  It was perfect. I bought two. Thank you, Visa. One for Daniel and the other for Simone. Getting Matile to agree to deliver the package to Simone hadn’t been a problem. She was thoroughly entranced with Simone. If I hadn’t been trying so hard not to think, not to feel – I would have laughed at the inanity of it. The strait-laced, sour, forever-prayerful Aunty Matile connecting with the vivacious, exuberant, lip-sticked Simone. Oh well, life was full of contradictions and that was certainly one of them.

  A rushed goodbye to the couple who had been my adoptive parents for the last year and I was through Customs and onto the airplane. Not until the plane was in the air. Not until the flight attendants had done their safety demo. Not until then did everything hit me.

  My mother Nafanua had tried to kill my best friend, Jason. My mother’s sister Sarona had tried to kill my boyfriend, Daniel. But instead she had killed my mother while Nafanua had been trying to protect me. All of her sisters were dead. Their life force sucked dry by Sarona in some bizarre telesā ritual. Daniel had nearly died, only some freak ocean ‘thing’ had returned him to me alive. There was a possibility that somewhere out there, the psycho witch Sarona was still alive. And now, my Grandmother was dying. It was a lot to process.

  I hadn’t slept or eaten anything for two days. I wanted to cry. Scream. Rage. Sob. Burn things.Instead, I went to sleep.

  The flight attendant woke me when we landed in New Zealand, and the transit lounge was a blur of grey tiredness. On another plane to Los Angeles, the tears had finally claimed me and, once they started, I found it almost impossible to stop them. I cried because I didn’t want to go back to America. I wanted to be there for Daniel when he woke up. I cried because I didn’t want my grandmother to die. There were things I wanted to tell her. Things I needed to ask her. I prayed, Please don’t let her die. Please let that fierce old woman fight death a little longer. Please don’t let my grandmother die. Prayer hadn’t worked for my dad but maybe a year of going to church with Aunty Matile would make God more willing to hear me. Maybe now God might know who I was?

  Arriving in Washington D.C. had been a shock to the system. In more ways than one. It was winter after all, and I had just come from the sauna of Samoa. Snow was a dirty grey blanket on the city I had grown up in. I had gratefully accepted the thick coat that Thomas’ wife Annette had brought to the airport for me. And now here we were, warm and sheltered in the sleek silver Lincoln town car, on our way to the hospital. I read Simone’s texts again and they were a welcome warmth in the midst of a D.C. winter. A reminder of where I had come from and the people there who cared about me. I wondered if Daniel had gotten my gift yet and when I could expect a message from him.

  Annette interrupted my thoughts. “Your grandmother is just hanging on. They took her off the respirator last night and she’s breathing on her own, but the doctors said she probably won’t make it another forty-eight hours.”

  Her warning gave me that unexpected pain again. The one that crept up on me, surprising me with its wistful intensity. I didn’t like Grandmother Folger. And I had grown up thinking that she didn’t like me either. But my experiences in Samoa had made me more able to accept my dad’s constant reminder – that my grandmother’s disapproval of everything about me came from genuine concern. She just worries about you and wants you to be happy. She wants what’s best for you, that’s all …

  Annette issued me with a gentle warning. “She’s waiting for you. You know that, don’t you?”

  That made no sense. I had been nothing but a nuisance to the woman. What, did she have one last lecture she wanted to give me? “I doubt that, Annette.”

  A fleeting look of annoyance flashed across the older woman’s carefully made-up face. “Leila, you aren’t going to be difficult about this, are you? Not when your grandmother is literally on her death bed? I was hoping that your time away would have seen you mature and get over this childish need to forever battle with your grandmother. Don’t tell me you still have that giant chip on your shoulder?”

  Her words stung. And not because they were uncalled for. The old Leila would have snapped back with a few snide remarks. Cutting and abrasive. But the Leila who had spent months living with teenagers who rarely, if ever, answered back to an adult was better about controlling her words. Her temper. Because she had seen what losing her cool could result in. Fire. Havoc. Pain. “You’re right. I apologize, Annette. It’s been a long flight and I’m worried about Grandmother Folger. I hope I get the chance to talk to her. Really talk to her.”

  Annette’s eyes
were wary. Doubtful. “About what? We don’t want her getting upset, Leila. Not now. Not when she has so little time left.”

  “No, I wouldn’t do that. I just want her to know that I understand now why she was so upset about my decision to go to Samoa. And believe it or not, there were quite a few times that I actually missed her.”

  I could tell Annette was surprised. So was I. Who knew that I would ever admit out loud that I had missed my grandmother?

  There were more Folgers at the hospital. Annette’s husband, my uncle Thomas. My dad’s other two brothers, Michael and Cameron. Their wives. More beautiful, elegant women like Annette. Some cousins. White on white. The Folger family was reserved and calm. Nobody was crying. Nobody looked ruffled or even unsettled. Everyone was polite and cordial. Quiet welcomes and questions about my flight. Even their children – the little Folgers – sat quietly coloring pictures in the waiting room. As usual with every Folger family gathering, I felt very brown. Very much the outsider. And now that I was a spirit woman volcano goddess in disguise, any hope of blending in with my palagi family had to be chucked out the window.

  Annette ushered me into Grandmother’s room. I walked to stand beside her bed, apprehensive about what I would see. But after almost a year and two strokes, Grandmother Folger looked just the same. The silver white hair pulled back into a chignon. The austere expression on her face – even now, while in sleep. Looking for all the world like she was going to open her eyes at any moment and critique my rumpled clothes and messy tangle of hair. As usual.

  The only person in the room who was any different, was me.

  I was not the same girl who had last simmered, listening to another of Grandmother’s lectures. The resentment, the anger, the insecurity were gone. I sat beside her bed and carefully took her hand in mine, noting the frailty. I studied the lined face, wondering how many wrinkles could be attributed to her rebellious grand-daughter who had run away to an island on the other side of the world in search of a family in a land of strangers. How much had she known about Nafanua? How much had my father told her about why he had left Samoa eighteen years ago, taking me with him? What did she know about my twin? The brother I had never known? Unbidden, a tear trickled down my cheek as I remembered how agitated my Grandmother had been when I announced my travel plans for Samoa. All the times during the past year in my new home that I had thought about her. Missed her. I wished she could hear me now. I wished she could know everything I knew now that I wished I had known then.

  She stirred. As if my wish had pierced the drug-filled haze she slept in.

  “Grandmother? It’s me, Leila.”

  She opened her eyes. And for the first time in forever, my grandmother looked happy to see me. “Leila?” Her voice was a bare remnant of what it used to be, weak and soft, swallowed up by the humming monitors. “Is that really you?”

  I leaned closer. “Yes, it’s me.”

  “You came back. You’re alright.” She tightened her grip in mine. “I was so worried about you.”

  “I’m fine, Grandmother. I’m alright.” I took a deep breath and then rushed on, wanting to get it all out before I lost my nerve. “I came as soon as I heard you were ill. I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry. For leaving the way I did. For so many things. I didn’t understand why you were so against my trip to Samoa. A lot of stuff has happened over the last few months and I’ve been wanting to see you so I could tell you in person, I’m sorry. For being the world’s most annoying grand-daughter.”

  She smiled the barest of smiles and there was the hint of a softening in her faded blue eyes. A whisper. “Not annoying. Just ridiculous.”

  My eyes widened in surprise. “Why, Grandmother Folger, if I didn’t know any better, I would say you just cracked a joke.”

  She grimaced, and the familiar disapproving Grandmother was back. “Ladies don’t ‘crack’ jokes Leila.” She glanced at my outfit. “Good heavens child, what are you wearing under that coat? Don’t tell me you travelled looking like that?” She paused to breathe laboriously, gathering the energy to continue. “How many times do I have to remind you that denim jeans and a sweatshirt are not suitable attire for leaving the house in? Would it have been too much to ask that you brush your hair before visiting your dying grandmother in the hospital?”

  I ignored the death reference and hid my grin. “You must be feeling better if you can notice my casual attire. Don’t you know the grunge look is all the rave right now? Even Fifth Avenue’s finest are dressing down this year.”

  She ignored my lame attempts at teasing and only smiled a faint half-smile before closing her eyes, fading back into sleep. A rush of happiness filled me. Relief. Gratitude. I had made it. Grandmother knew I was here. She was happy to see me. The prayers had worked. Thank you God, and thank you Aunty Matile for introducing us. I sat by Grandmother’s side for a while longer, feeling more at peace then I had in a long while. Annette peeked in every so often to check on us. Probably wanting to make sure I wasn’t upsetting Grandmother by being my usual argumentative self. (Or swiping her morphine.)

  And then Grandmother shifted uneasily in the bed and opened her eyes. This time she looked agitated. Fearful. The monitors beeped alarmingly and I threw a look over my shoulder out the open door. Somebody, anybody? “Hey, it’s alright. I’m here. Everything’s alright. Do you want me to call for the nurse?”

  “No.” The sharpness of her tone caught me. Her hand clawed at mine and held me. She was breathing quick, shallow breaths and every word was a struggle. “Have to tell you. Very important. Should have told you before you left last year. Should have kept you here. Safe. From that woman.”

  Her words confirmed my suspicions. Grandmother had known. My dad had told her about Nafanua. There had been more behind her anger at my Samoa trip than she had revealed. I placed a calming hand on Grandmother’s shoulder. “I’m safe, Grandmother. You don’t need to worry about me anymore.” I can set fire to this building. You really don’t need to be afraid for me anymore.

  “He lied. I don’t know why. He lied.”

  “What are you talking about?” She was confused. I patted her arm and discreetly pushed the call button for the nurse.

  “Your father. He lied.”

  “I know, Grandmother. But it’s okay. I understand why he didn’t tell me about my mother. Trust me, it’s alright.”

  But she wasn’t listening to me. She was shaking her head back and forth, whimpering. “No, no. He lied. After the funeral. I packed his things away. I looked through his passport. Your father. Before his trip to Africa. He went back to Samoa. Back to see her.”

  “What?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. She was delusional. This didn’t make sense. But as Grandmother Folger clutched me to her, I stared into her eyes and knew – she had never been more lucid.

  “He went to Samoa before his last Africa assignment. I don’t know why or what happened there. But two weeks later he was dead. She killed him. That witch. Your mother. She killed him. I know it. She killed my baby grandson. And then she made my son sick with her filthy island magic. I know it. She killed your father.”

  She collapsed back onto the pillows as if this accusation had leached her of all energy. She was spent. Her eyes closed again and the monitors settled back into their monotone hum. Calm. Unhurried. Peaceful.

  Except I wasn’t anything close to calm. Or peaceful. I had been dealt another gut-kicking blow. Would I ever catch a break and get a month, a week without shocking revelations? Thoughts tumbled over each other, chasing answers, chasing some semblance of order. Dad, why did you go back to Samoa? What were you searching for, hoping for? Nafanua, what did you do to my father? It made no sense. Nafanua hadn’t said anything about seeing my father. She had been surprised to hear about his death, I was sure of it.

  Or was I? How good an actress had she been really? Was it so impossible to imagine that she had poisoned my dad somehow? Cursed him with the kind of cancer that had no cure, came on with no warnings, and gave n
o mercy?

  “Leila?” It was Annette. Concerned and curious. She was joined by two nurses who bustled about, checking the machines, checking Grandmother Folger, insinuating messages of ‘get out of here annoying girl’ in their every movement. “What happened?”

  “Nothing. She woke up and wanted to talk to me. She was upset. But it’s nothing now.” I stumbled to my feet. I wanted my grandmother to wake up and tell me more. But she didn’t.

  Grandmother Folger didn’t wake up again. She died two days later without ever regaining consciousness.

  A funeral in Potomac was a well orchestrated social event. My grandmother had left nothing to chance. Or to flights of fancy. From the hymns to the seating plan, to the choice of scripture reading to the color of the flowers on the hearse – even to the filling for the sandwiches served at the family mansion afterwards – she had it all planned. It would be elegant, dignified, and serene. Everything I was not.

  The week passed in a kind of daze for me. I tried to be useful but rich people don’t mourn without lots of paid help. Grandmother’s stately mansion was overflowing with caterers, florists, waiting and bar staff, a sound crew, and more. Everybody had a task for preparing for the funeral of the year. Everybody knew exactly what they were doing and where they were supposed to be doing it. Everybody except for me. I was aimless. And lonely. The only thing that made the week bearable was my phone. More specifically, my messages from a far-away Simone. And Daniel. He was recovering well thanks to Salamasina’s natural remedies and was already back at work in the welding shop. I’m not sure just how much work he was getting done though because I was messaging him every other minute and sending him instagram pics of everything and hassling him for the same. Being without him was like a constant ache. An emptiness. That feeling like when you’ve left the house and you know you’ve forgotten something but you’re just not sure what it is. And it nags and worries at you all day. Because you know that it’s something dreadfully important. Vital. And at some point in your day, you’re going to need that unknown, missing something. And you would be bereft without it.