Better three hours too soon than a minute too late.
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
The Merry Wives of Windsor (Act 2, Scene 2)
CALEB
Come on, Kate. Come on.
My eyes scan the crowded airport, searching for her face. The death of my cell phone is now driving me mad. It picked a fine time to bite the dust for good. A simple call would solve this.
Boarding is starting and I haven’t gone through security yet. I’ve already stayed behind; Dad took an earlier flight without me. Grandfather was rushed in for surgery; it’s getting progressively worse and I have to be there.
I want to explain all this in person, but I couldn’t find her this morning. She wasn’t at home and her cell phone was off. Her brother didn’t know when she’d left.
Maybe Finn didn’t give her the letter. I thought I could trust him, no matter how he feels toward Kate. But what if the angry façade is more than just anger?
Or what if she did get my letter and I’ve hurt her too deeply?
Maybe it isn’t meant to be between us?
Maybe it’s for something else, some purpose I can’t yet see.
I don’t want to leave it like this. But I have a flight to catch, and despite how I feel about him, Grandfather needs me to be there tomorrow.
KATE
“You should sleep. We’ll find him or get on a plane for Hawaii,” Oliver says as he sits in the loveseat across from my bed.
Monica was waiting at Oliver’s when we arrived in the night. I haven’t slept, none of us have. They came with me to find Caleb; they brought me to get my car and cell phone. I missed his calls, and now we can’t find him. Finally, we came to my house to regroup. Mom let me stay home sick and asked fewer than normal questions, leaving it at, “Talk when you’re ready.” Monica climbs into bed with me and hugs me tightly.
“You told me so,” I tell her.
She hands me a tissue for my nose from the box on the bedside table. “I’m not keeping score, but you might listen to me in the future.”
“Wait a minute, my text messages are finally working,” Oliver says, holding up his phone. “I can’t believe it. Finn.”
“What does it say?” I ask anxiously.
“He asked if you got Caleb’s letter.” Oliver and I stare at one another.
“What?” He’s already typing. We wait for the beep.
“Finn tried reaching you. There was a letter. He left it here early this morning. He slid it under the door when no one answered.”
“Where is it?”
Jake pops out of my bathroom, and Monica and I scream. “Oh, no,” he says. “I saw Allie with something.”
“What are you doing in there?”
“Spying. I told Mom I didn’t feel good, but I really wanted to find out what’s going on with you.”
I jump out of bed. “I’ll deal with you later. Where’s Allie? She might have eaten it.”
“Oh no!” We all race downstairs, calling for Allie.
“I found her!” Jake yells from somewhere in the house. I follow his voice to Allie’s little corner with her doggie bed and toys. There is a crumpled envelope with one edge eaten away. Allie is hunched down on her bed, looking up at me with round, black eyes.
“Oh, Allie, good dog, you found the letter! Good doggie.” She wags her tail but keeps her head low, watching us.
“It’s Caleb’s handwriting.” I grab up the letter and try prying it open without further damage. The bite marks make it harder to open. He wrote to me, what a relief. But with his letter in my hands, the longing for him is almost more than I can bear.
I read it and relay what it says.
“He wanted to meet today, this morning, before his flight. Wanted to ask me something. What time is it?”
“Ten-thirty.”
“His flight is in a half hour.”
“You’ll never make it.”
“I have to at least try.”
On the drive to the airport with Jake, Monica, Oliver, and Allie in the car, I call the inn’s maintenance department. A guy with a Spanish accent answers the phone. I ask him if he’s seen Caleb.
“No, Caleb go home. Not come back for long time.”
“Is Mr. Kalani there?”
“No, he go too. Sorry. Maybe you try his casa or go to airport. He fly today.”
The drive to the airport is endless. Monica takes over as I pull up at the unloading zone and jump out. I search the crowd for Caleb’s black hair and wide shoulders, desperate to see his face, the face that fills with life when he sees me. I’m literally running now, not caring what I look like. I race for the gate, but of course, I can’t get past security. The monitors will help me. I locate a row of television screens mounted from the ceiling.
Portland to Honolulu—there it is.
But then before I read the gate number, I see that it’s already departed, on time.
Enormous waves of grief fling themselves against my heart and shatter into bits like breaking glass. I want to be alone, but I don’t want to be alone. There is no one I want to be with, but someone I wish would find me. He can’t find me here. He’s gone. He’s gone and though it’s only a flight away, it feels as if it might really be over forever. This strange sea of a future that stretches out before me continues far beyond my view.
I feel a silence echo through me, pounding from the inside trying to get out, as strong as the waves. And yet . . . it is all emptiness.
He is gone.