It feels like I’m me again.
For so long I’ve been so ashamed and embarrassed. And there was a part of me that had always been scared to admit to her that I hadn’t told my own husband the truth.
“You and Mark tell each other everything,” I say to her. “And maybe this is stupid, but because you have kids, I worried you might side with him.” I shake my head slightly.
“Oh, Jacks,” Beth says. “I might be a mom, but you’re still my sister. I’m sorry you didn’t feel like you could come to me.”
“I should have.”
“You did the best you knew how to do at the time and hoped it would work out. That’s all any of us can do, you know?”
“Clearly this did not work out the way I had hoped,” I say, and give her a sad smile.
“I’m sorry,” Beth says, and hugs me again.
“Will you make a deal with me?” I ask.
Beth nods.
“Let’s not be sorry for me anymore. Okay?”
“Okay,” Beth says simply, and I’m more grateful for her in this moment than I can ever tell her.
Nick still hasn’t come outside when Officer Keoloha pulls up next to us a few minutes later. I’ve made my choice, and Nick has clearly made his. I only wonder which of us has made the right one.
When Officer Keoloha steps out of his white SUV, he pushes his sunglasses on top of his head and smiles. I feel a pull toward him. My anchor to this place. My lifeline all these weeks. Because of that bond, I walk over and hug him like an old friend. He seems momentarily surprised, but he pats my back quickly, then releases himself from my arms.
“It’s nice to meet you in person,” he says.
“You too.” I smile. “Officer Keoloha, this is Beth,” I say as they shake hands and exchange greetings. I recall my first words to him about her—that she’s like a part of me, my other arm. And I know he understands why she’s here with me now, because she can’t not be.
“You sure about this?” he asks as he looks from me to Beth, locking eyes with my sister.
“She is. She’s ready,” Beth answers for me.
He nods, but the look in his eyes, the way his jaw is set, gives nothing away as to what he might be thinking about my choice. He’s just going to guide me to James. Beth grips my hand, and I squeeze back without looking at her. We’re silent, but I know from the feel of her touch that she finally understands why I’m going. That, despite what James did, he was still my husband. And I still loved him.
Officer Keoloha opens the passenger door for me and the back door for Beth, then starts the car. “So we’ve never talked specifically about the stretch of road where the accident happened. Do you have any questions?” he begins as he pulls the car onto Highway 360, and soon we’re surrounded by the lush greenery of the rain forest. Save for the regular signs warning of one-lane roads or reminding a driver to yield to oncoming traffic, it would be possible to forget this is a highway full of just as much danger as hope.
I want to tell Officer Keoloha that even after he takes me to where James had his last moments, I will still have so many questions. Questions that may never be answered, that I will have to live with for the rest of my life. Questions that I can only pray will eventually settle in the back of my mind next to my memories. But today, what did I want to know? What could he tell me that would really answer the one question that was eating away at me day after day: Why did my husband have to die?
“I just wish I knew why James would drive on the back side if it’s so dangerous,” I say to Officer Keoloha. I can only imagine the level of tragedy he’s seen on these roads. I wonder where my husband’s crash ranks.
“The back side of the road to Hana is intriguing to certain travelers because it’s not considered touristy,” Officer Keoloha says, then stops so a compact car can pass from the other direction.
“I just never knew James as risk-taker.”
Officer Keoloha doesn’t respond, and we’re all silent for several minutes, none of us knowing what to say. Finally, he speaks. “Once we see the Seven Sacred Pools, it’s about another four miles or so until we will be officially driving on the unauthorized section of the road. The accident didn’t happen far from there.”
Beth squeezes my shoulder from the backseat, and I reach over and put my hand on top of hers.
We ride in silence as Officer Keoloha maneuvers the SUV through the roads, bending and winding sharply. I think of a pregnant Dylan, how nauseated she must have been. About thirty minutes later Officer Keoloha points to his right. “That’s Wailua Falls there.”
We see a group of people standing on the side of the road taking pictures. My insides are clenching. Because I know we’re getting closer. Soon after, we cross over a bridge and Officer Keoloha points down to where the pools are. I can’t help but wonder where James and Dylan might have stopped along the way. Did they eat barbecue at that place right before the main turn into Hana? Did they stop at one of the many unmanned fruit stands along the road and grab a fresh papaya to share, leaving a dollar in the jar? Had Dylan made James slow down so she could take a picture of the waterfall we passed a few miles back, not knowing her time was short?
“Okay, we’re coming up on the unauthorized road. It’s going to be pretty bumpy,” Officer Keoloha says quietly. The SUV slowly ascends a steep hill, and I let out a scream as a large truck comes barreling around the corner. Officer Keoloha curses under his breath, “Damn locals.” We drive in silence for a minute; then Officer Keoloha begins again. “We think the accident happened just up here.”
“What do you mean, you think you know where the accident happened? You aren’t sure?” Beth asks.
“This part of the road is unpaved, so there aren’t skid marks or other indications that James tried to stop the Jeep. It’s impossible for us to know exactly where the brakes were applied.”
“And you’re sure they were applied?” I ask, and I hear Beth gasp quietly. I haven’t told her that I’ve been wondering if something happened before the Jeep careened off the cliff. Something that caused them to crash. Something other than the road being narrow and dangerous. Like an argument. And James, he had that temper. Especially toward the end.
I’ve been thinking a lot about a fight we had once—in the car of all places. It was New Year’s Day. The day after I told him about the 20 percent. There’d been a party at his boss’s house to watch the Rose Bowl. And despite the fact that we’d been up half the night arguing, he’d said we both needed to be there. He’d been angling for a promotion and thought it would look bad if we didn’t show up. And I’d drunk too much. Like I often did when I was trying to forget something. And I’d said something stupid to his boss’s wife. I can’t remember what it was. But it had embarrassed him. He told me that much as we were leaving—as he stormed off to the car with me several feet behind him. On the drive home, he pounded his fist into the steering wheel and accidentally hit the horn. I laughed at him because I was buzzed. And he said, “You think this is funny? After everything you’ve done? What about this?” And he jerked the wheel, making our car swerve into the next lane. That obviously got my attention, and I sat up and looked at him, scared out of my mind, and he said nothing else. And neither did I. There were no words to describe what we’d become.