Saving Sophie: A Novel (13 page)

“Mr. Nakamura,” Jack said, “this is Oliver Everett of the firm of Gladstone and Finchley. We represent Marcy Grant.”

“Oh, good. You get her out, I waive the penalty.”

“Quite the contrary, sir. If you withdraw the suit immediately, we won’t seek fees and costs against you, and we won’t report you to the Department of the Prosecuting Attorney for the City and County of Honolulu.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about filing a suit for summary possession without the statutory five-day notice. The suit is defective and you know it.”

“She didn’t pay rent on time. The lease says pay on the first.”

“And Hawaii Revised Statutes, section 521-68, requires a landlord to serve a five-day written notice of nonpayment, during which time the tenant may pay the rent or move. Filing suit without serving notice is considered an unfair and deceptive trade practice. Besides, Ms. Grant tendered the rent to you on February third.”

“Maybe she did and maybe she didn’t. Can you prove it?”

“Are you an attorney?”

“No. I am the president of Pacific Properties, Inc. We own the house.”

“Hmmm. Now that raises another illegal situation. Are you aware that a corporation cannot act on its own behalf in court? Since a corporation is a noncorporeal entity, it can only speak through its human representatives. It can’t represent itself. It must have a spokesperson. And in a courtroom, that spokesperson must be a licensed attorney. By filing the suit and signing the complaint, you have violated Hawaii Revised Statute section 605-14: engaging in the unauthorized practice of law.”

“Wait, no. What?”

“I’m afraid I will have to contact the Department of the Prosecuting Attorney. Two serious offenses here: engaging in a deceptive trade practice and the unauthorized practice of law. Very serious, indeed, Mr. Nakamura.”

“Wait, no. We could, ah … you know, we could work something out. You tell her, I’ll let her stay this time. I’ll tear up the papers, she doesn’t have to come to court.”

“That’s not good enough, Mr. Nakamura. The continued existence of this unjustified lawsuit is a blemish on her fine reputation. I want you to go directly to the courthouse and nonsuit this case. Obtain an immediate order of dismissal. Then I want you to take a copy of that order and deliver it to Ms. Grant’s residence this afternoon. Unless she calls me by five
P.M.
and tells me that the case is dismissed, well, I will have to do what I have to do. Understand?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ll do it.”

“There’s something else. I charge six hundred dollars an hour and I’ve spent two hours so far on this matter. What should we do about that?”

“She don’t have to pay the rent this month.”

“Nice talking to you, Mr. Nakamura.”

Jack smiled. “One down.” He took a card out of his pocket and dialed another number.

“
Hawaii Magazine,
this is Malani Chen.”

“Hello, Malani. This is Jack Montgomery. You sat next to me on the plane.”

She giggled. “The man with the soft shoulder. How are you enjoying Hawaii?”

“Very well. I may even decide to live here. I wonder if I may be so bold as to impose upon you for a small favor?”

“Well, you didn’t mind being bold on the airplane.” She laughed. “What do you need?”

“I ran into an old friend of mine yesterday. She’s a wonderful freelance photographer who moved to Hawaii several months ago. I wonder if you’d take a look at some of her work. No promises, you don’t have to like any of it. But she can’t even get in the door of any of the local publications. It would mean a lot to her just to have someone look.”

“Absolutely. Have her call me. She’s right about not getting in the door, it’s a very close-knit circle out here. Very tough to break in. But I’m always looking for a good freelancer.”

“Thanks a million, Malani. You can use my shoulder anytime.”

She laughed. “Jack, a few of us are getting together after work today at Roland’s. If you’re free, why don’t you drop by?”

“I have a meeting this afternoon, but if I can break away, I will. Thanks a lot, Malani.”

Sommers set the phone down and returned to his solitude. He sat by the window watching a deliveryman wheel a dolly of beer into the corner bar. He felt good about giving Marcy a hand, helping her out. Back in Chicago, Marcy had been a good friend. More than a good friend. She’d been there at the end.

His thoughts reeled him back to that last day—to the poignancy, the sweetness, the profound sadness, that would forever change all of their lives—back to the hospital room. Alina, her voice weak, almost a whisper, beckoned Jack closer to her pillow. “Ask Marcy to bring me my makeup. Tell her that I would ask one more favor of her. I would like her to come in here, clean me up, and make me look the best she can. I need to say good-bye to Sophie, and I don’t want her to remember me like this.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Jack protested, but Alina waved him off.

“We both know what’s going on here, Jack. The doctors told us that my liver, my kidneys, have all but shut down. They’ve stopped working. I’m in a lot of pain, sweetheart, and I’m only alive because of that machine, and who knows for how much longer. Please let me say good-bye to my daughter in the right way. Just the two of us. Do that for me.”

He nodded and bent over to give her a kiss. His throat tightened. “Oh, honey. I’m going to miss you so much.”

“And I’ll miss you too. But Sophie, she’s a part of each of us, our little butterfly, part me and part you. All of the love we shared will live on in Sophie.” Alina patted his hand. “Go to Marcy.”

Marcy rose to the task magnificently, with all the skill and love she could muster. When she had finished, she returned to the hall and nodded to Jack. He led Sophie into the room where Alina lay propped up on her bed. Though thin and drawn, she looked radiant. Her hair was styled; there was color in her cheeks. Marcy had worked magic. Jack lifted Sophie onto the bed and left the room, closing the door behind him, leaving the two of them lying there, locked in a hug.

After a while, Sophie pushed the door open and walked into the hall. Her eyes were red, but she was composed. She walked straight to Jack, who knelt on the floor. “Mommy’s going to live with God,” she said. “She can’t live with us anymore.”

They cried together.

Later that day, Jack honored Alina’s wish to turn off the machines. He lay beside her, holding tightly to her as she left. “‘And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest,’” he’d whispered in her ear. Soon, the doctor came into the room. “May I have just a few minutes more?”

The doctor nodded sympathetically. “Take all the time you want.”

He’d said his good-byes and made his promises. What Alina and Sophie had discussed was private and special to them, but Alina told him that she felt confident, secure in her belief that she could leave and the two of them would carry on, that they’d be just fine. Jack could count on Sophie to weather the storm. “Be strong for each other,” Alina had said.

Then his thoughts returned to Hawaii, to the present and his insufferable dilemma. He looked at his glass of Scotch. He shook his head.
I can’t do this again today. I’m not doing myself any good. I can’t give in to another day of self-pity. Alina would be ashamed of me. “Be strong,” she’d say. “Get out of your damn quagmire,” she’d say. And I know what she’d tell me to do.
He picked up the phone.

“Are you busy?”

“It’s raining, Jack.”

“Does that mean you’re busy?”

“Sure does. There are rainbows all over the island. This is a photographer’s canvas. I might even find the pot of gold.”

“Do you want company, Marcy? I’m not doing anything.”

Silence for a moment. “You’d have to stand in the rain,” she finally said. “Why don’t we make it some other time?”

“I don’t mind the rain.”

“I don’t know, Jack. The other night ended kind of rough for me. You know, cab fare on the table.”

“I know. I’m really sorry. Again. But I’m a very good rainbow spotter.”

“Every bone in my body tells me there are insurmountable issues here.”

“There are. So, can I see you?”

“Well, if that’s what you want. I’m all the way over at Kahana Bay on the windward coast. Do you know how to get here?”

“I’ll find it. Kahana Bay.”

“If you’re serious about coming, bring hiking shoes. I’ll meet you on the beach.”

He laid the phone down and wondered if it was a mistake. She was good medicine for his melancholy, but when she brought up the memories, it was heartrending. And he felt himself leaning on Marcy. He feared another dependency. He was determined not to get close to anyone until Sophie was returned, but truth be told, he craved Marcy’s company. They had a mutual foundation of affection. A history. They had a bond.

Sommers parked his car in the lot near the beach. A warm and gentle rain continued to fill the air. From time to time, the bright sun would peek through breaks in the clouds and send shafts of light sideways to the hills and vertically into the sea. Kahana Bay’s crescent-shaped beach was bordered by steep hills, foothills to the Ko‘olau Range, painted dark green by the ironwood trees. He found Marcy standing in the sand, pointing her camera at rainbows forming over the Ko‘olaus.

“Those are your hiking shoes?” She pointed to his sandals.

He shrugged.

“Well, follow me and be careful not to slip.” She stuffed her equipment into her backpack and headed to a trail that disappeared into the rain forest and up the mountainside.

Jack scrambled after her. The trail bordered the Kahana creek and serpentined its way up several hundred feet above the bay. Soon they arrived at the base of a waterfall that splashed into a clear pool. Marcy pointed. “At the top of that waterfall, there’s another freshwater pool fed by yet another waterfall. One to another, like a Slinky, all the way from the top.”

They resumed their climb up the slippery, mossy trail, but Jack’s sandals couldn’t hold a grip and slid out from under him. He fell belly-first onto the muddy trail.

Marcy tried to muffle a burst of laughter. “Would you get mad if I said, ‘Down goes Randy’?”

Jack had to admit it was funny and realized he had made the right decision when he’d called her. No doubt, Marcy brought the right medicine to brighten his day, a prepackaged effervescence, and coming out from under clouds of depression could only help him think more clearly.

“You’re better off barefoot. You can’t climb in those sandals.”

A few hundred feet more and they stopped to survey the scene. Broad philodendron leaves bordered the lush forest. Bushy ferns, three to four feet high, were abundant. Small flowers popped out of the forest floor.

Marcy knelt in a clearing and snapped close-ups of orange canna flowers. Then she stood and pointed down at the bay, where the clear, turquoise waters lapped against the white-sand beach.

“Right here is a shot I’ve taken many times. It looks like a scene from
Mutiny on the Bounty
or
Pirates of the Caribbean,
doesn’t it? It’s as pretty a picture as there is in Hawaii, but I can’t sell the prints.”

“Why not?”

“Do you see anyone on the beach?”

“No.”

“Exactly. As beautiful as it is—serene, idyllic—tourists don’t come here. It’s a long ride from Waikiki, and the tour buses don’t bring them out here. There are no concession stands, no souvenir shops. No commercial kickbacks to the tour-bus drivers. Tourists like to buy pictures of places they’ve been. They don’t come here, so they don’t buy my Kahana Bay pictures.”

Down at the bottom, back at the beach, Sommers said, “Are you hungry? Can I take you to lunch?”

She nodded. “I’m starved and there’s a place out here that I love. But look at your shirt, Jack, it’s all full of mud.”

He pulled his shirt off, soaked it in the ocean, and wrung it out. “Am I okay now? Do I look presentable enough to accompany a pretty photographer to lunch?”

She smiled. “Follow me.”

Jack drove south along Kamehameha Highway and then onto a red-gravel road bordered by fields of grapevines on trellises. At the end of the road sat a small chalet with chalk plaster walls and a red-tile roof, reminiscent of the Italian countryside and clearly out of its architectural element on Oahu. The hand-painted sign above the door read
IL TROVATORE
.

“Italian?” Jack said, outside the door. “Really, Marcy? I come all the way from Chicago and you’re taking me for Polynesian-style Veal Parmesan?”

“Give me your critic’s review when you’ve finished. As far as I’m concerned, it’s fabulous, and Giovanni’s got his own vineyard.”

Inside the entrance, on the foyer walls, were several framed photographs, including one that Jack immediately recognized. “Kahana Bay. I thought you said you couldn’t sell these.”

“We have a barter arrangement.”

A red-cheeked man with a hearty smile came out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on his stained apron. “Marcitta,
benvenuto.
” He wrapped his arms around her.

“Gio, this is Jack, a friend from the mainland.”

Gio’s handshake was happy, warm, and exaggerated. “Come in, come in.”

“I thought maybe your name might be Manrico,” Jack said.

Giovanni raised his eyebrows. “Ahh. The troubadour. You know the opera?”

“I do.”

Giovanni put his arm around Marcy. “And you are a suitor of my precious Leonora?”

Jack furrowed his brow. “Aha, Count di Luna, my rival, I challenge you to a duel for the love of Leonora.”

Giovanni laughed. “‘The fire of jealous love.’ You are truly a devotee, and the wine today is a gift of the house.”

Giovanni brought out two bottles of his estate-grown wine. A Grenache gris for starters and a sweeter muscat of Alexandria. He set five glasses on the table.

“Of all the varietals I’ve tried, these two are my only successes. It’s too hot and too wet for anything but southern-Mediterranean wines.”

He poured three glasses of Grenache gris, held one up to the light, admired the ruby color, swirled it, and smiled proudly. Then he waited while Jack and Marcy tasted the offering and bestowed their approbations. He shrugged.
“Libiamo.”