THE CONVERSATION
Isabel had spent much of the morning sitting by the phone waiting to hear from Hudson. Every now and then, she’d run outside to check on the foal, who she was now calling Pepeiao, Hawaiian for ear. She’d also pulled the old photo album from the top shelf in her bedroom and brought it into the kitchen to help her pass the time. Even back then, Matteo had been a natural. Harnessing light and snapping just at the right moment, freezing the expressions of his subjects in time. He was a genius at anticipating.
The photo album hadn’t left the shelf in a while. Every time she looked at the pictures, it brought up emotions and memories better left behind. Bittersweet, with more bitter than sweet. When she got to the page of Goat Island, she stepped back into the photos, feeling the warm sand on her back, the wind on her skin. That was the day that everything changed. When she realized she was in up to her eyes. What a fool. She slammed the album shut. Matteo had come back not to see her, but because of the murder.
Screw him.
She heard an engine, tires crunching on gravel. Probably Dr. Greenwell. Isabel went outside to greet her, but it wasn’t the doctor; it was Matteo. He was just shutting the car door, and turned to see her. This time he was dressed in jeans and an olive-colored T-shirt. Aviator glasses.
“You’re back,” she said, nonplussed.
He grinned, almost bashfully. “It appears that way. Can I come up?”
“Where’s Lu?”
“I came alone. I was hoping we could talk.”
Some moments in life are meant to be remembered. Isabel had dreamed about this encounter for twenty years—where they might be, what he’d be wearing, what he might say, what she would say. And now, she stood rooted on the red painted boards on her deck, mute as a piece of wood.
“Izzy? Please,” he said.
“Come on up.”
She led him into the kitchen, which smelled of the roasted coffee beans and akala berry scones she’d been baking. Late-morning light shone in through the panes, brightening up an old glass milk bottle with a purple agapanthus in it. The album was still on the table.
He sat down, and Isabel took her time in washing a few dishes, buttering the scones, anything to keep from sitting and facing him. Meanwhile, he told her about Joni’s body washing ashore, and the weird interaction with Fuchs.
“Lu must be in shock,” she said.
“Lu’s a tough kid. She’s handling it,” Matteo said, reaching out to the album and opening it to the Goat Island page. She swore his features softened when he looked at it. “I don’t know why, but I brought mine along on this trip. I made one for you and kept one for myself. All the same shots.”
That took her by surprise. “You lugged it all the way to Hawai‘i?”
“I think a part of me knew I was meant to find you.”
She chewed on that for a while, then braved pulling out a chair to the side of him, so they weren’t facing each other—that would be her undoing. “I took mine off the shelf this morning. Answer something for me, will you?”
“Anything.”
“Why didn’t you get in touch after China? I thought you were dead, and it nearly killed me, and then when they told me you were alive, I kept waiting to hear from you. But I never did. That wasn’t fair.” She said it all in one breath, in case she lost her nerve.
“Oh, but I did write to you, that’s the messed-up part. I wrote you about ten different letters and they all ended up in the trash. Dear Izzy. My Dear Isabel. Dearest Izzy. Then I got ahold of your number and could not bring myself to call you. It was like I was paralyzed. I guess you could say I was a casualty of war, fighting my own demons and losing badly. Then later I heard you got married. And you know what?” he said.
“What?”
He took a deep breath. “That broke me.”
Isabel finally turned to look at him.
One side of his mouth curved up and he was staring at her intensely. “I was crazy for you. Head over heels, mad. But I had myself convinced like some dumb piece of toast that I didn’t deserve you and I was going to ruin your life. You’d already been through so much. I was young, Izzy, and I loved you.”
Love. If ever there were a word she didn’t expect to hear from Matteo Russi that was it. Her mind was flitting around like a honeycreeper, thinking back to that time when she’d thought he died, and then later, how she’d feverishly checked the mailbox for a letter. Waited for a call.
He reached out and took her hand. Warm, as always. Rougher than she remembered. Could this really be true?
“Say something?” he said.
Isabel squeezed his hand as a tear ran down her cheek. “Oh, Matteo. You have no idea.” She got up and went to the windowsill, picking up a white coral heart and setting it down on the table in front of him. “I told myself all kinds of stories about why you never got in touch with me. And on so many occasions, I wanted to toss this back into the ocean. But I couldn’t do it. You meant more to me than anyone alive, and this was the only piece of you I had.”
Matteo picked up the heart and slid it next to the Goat Island photo. “Damn, you are every bit as beautiful as you were that day on the beach. Even more so.”
She fought back a sob. “I loved you, too.”
Love. Present tense.
He pulled a yellowed, crumpled envelope out of his pocket and held it out to her. “Here’s proof.”
The envelope was addressed to her home in Honolulu. It even had a three-cent stamp on it, honoring those who served in WWII. It was small and about twenty years late. She just sat there looking at it, dazed.
“Would you read it?” he asked.
Isabel took it from his hand and opened it, the seal loose but still holding. A regular old piece of lined paper, folded in half. Nothing fancy.
Dear Izzy,
It’s me, Matteo. But I guess you already know that. I hope this letter finds you happy and in good health. I believe you know that I was shot down over China and got out of there by the skin of my teeth. The war is over now, but it’ll never be over for me, for you, for those of us who lost loved ones. I’m going to get straight to the point here. I made a big mistake by leaving without telling you my real feelings and regret it every day. I’m only now coming out of a long recuperation and the only thing that has kept me going is the thought of flying over there and seeing you. Would that be too much to ask? I have so much to say to you, but I need to say it in person. Just say the word and I’m there.
Love always,
MR
A tear dripped onto the paper. She looked up at him and smiled. How quickly she would have said, Yes, come.
“I know it’s no masterpiece, but hey, I was young and dumb and scared out of my wits,” he said.
“It’s perfect.”
Matteo yanked her chair closer and pulled her into him. He held her against his chest, tight and furious. He spoke into her messy hair. “I don’t expect you to say anything or answer me, but I want you to know I promised myself that if I ever found you I would do whatever I could to have you in my life. Even if it meant just being your friend. Hell, I’d be happy to come here and help pick coffee beans, or deliver baby donkeys, if that’s all I could get. I want more, but I’ll take whatever crumbs you give me.”
He pushed back so he could look her in the eye. He hesitated, then went to kiss her lightly on the forehead. Isabel lifted her face, and instead their lips met. Suddenly, they were back on a deserted beach, a coral heart resting warmly on her stomach. This time, there was no war. This time, she would not let him go.