Dark Vengeance Kristi Belcamino (read me a book .txt) 📖

the man? Asahi? They need the money to build a medical center. Just a small one. Can you make sure they get the reward?”

He nodded and then frowned. “I don’t know. If it’s in your name, and they want …”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” I said and hopped on my bike, pulling my helmet on. I put Dylan in the little plastic crate they’d strapped on the back of the bike. I would drive slow, but I knew he wasn’t going anywhere. He’d stuck to me since Makeda had dropped him off. I didn’t even ask how she had gotten him. I only cared that he was back.

31

Later that night, Makeda came and knocked on the door of my hut.

“May I?” she said, pausing in the doorway.

I was sitting up, holding a book I’d found in the corner. Not the book of poems, but another one. This was a dog-eared paperback by Joan Didion. It was called The Year of Magical Thinking. I hadn’t read it or heard of it. The only Joan Didion books I knew were all her nonfiction love letters to California—poignant essays and stories that captured my home state and all its terrible and wonderful beauty and dark underbelly. I wondered if Rose missed the west coast and that’s why she was reading this again.

Well, anyway, she’d left the book behind. It, along with Dylan, was all I had of her. So, I would take it with me when I left in the morning and read it on the train or airplane or boat or whatever form of transportation I found myself on next.

I set it down and smiled at Makeda.

“Come in.”

She stood in the doorway. Her face was streaked with dried tears.

“I wanted to let you know that the Paddle Out ceremony is tomorrow.”

I tilted my head.

“For Matteo?” she said.

“Oh. I’ll be there.” I wasn’t sure what a Paddle Out ceremony was, but I’d be there.

“What did the authorities say?” she asked, crossing her arms and leaning against the door jamb.

“It appears the entire town, hell, the entire island, testified that I killed X in self-defense. That he was about to kill me.”

“That surprises you?”

I shrugged.

“It’s the truth.” She said it in all seriousness.

I studied her face. Then, I absentmindedly reached down to stroke Dylan’s fur. He rolled over onto his back so I could scratch his belly, which I did.

“Thank you for getting him for me.”

“Keiki called Dre. She wanted to come home,” Makeda said. “When Dre arrived, the dog was there. He felt so bad about turning the dog over to X in the first place that he brought him immediately to my hut.”

“He was the one who gave Dylan to X?” I frowned.

“He’s okay. Really. He’s had a rough life. He gets a little crazy because of Keiki. But they swear they’re both getting clean now.”

She lit a joint, stepped further into the hut, and offered it to me.

I shook my head.

“It’s not laced. Just weed,” she said.

Taking it, I put it between my lips and inhaled deeply. A mellowness overcame me, and I closed my eyes for a second, enjoying it. Then I handed it back to her.

“Have the rest,” she said.

“Thanks, but I think it’s time for me to think about getting clean and sober, too,” I said.

Makeda smiled, and then it immediately faded. “I might do that, too. Right after Matteo’s ceremony. I don’t want to go through that sober.”

“I get it. What’s a Paddle Out involve?” I said. “I mean it sounds like you’re paddling surfboards…I don’t surf, but is there any way I can be a part of it still?”

“Most definitely,” she said.

“Huh?”

She nodded at Rose’s surfboard. “I’ll loan you a wetsuit and you can paddle out and participate in the ceremony.”

“Cool.”

“Listen,” she said, stubbing out the last of the joint on the table. “I came here to talk to you because I heard a rumor down at the water just now. Some guys swung by to surf from another island. They said there was a dark-haired girl there yesterday surfing the big swells. They said she surfed for a few hours and then disappeared.”

“What island?” I said sitting up straighter. “How far away? When’s the next ferry?”

“They just told me around the bonfire at sunset. The last ferry had already left or I would’ve raced over here to tell you.”

“Rose.”

As soon as I said her name, Dylan rolled over and sat up, ears pricked. Did the damn dog recognize Rose’s name? Did he understand what we were saying? He whined softly, and I thought, holy shit, he knew we were talking about her.

“These surfers, they still around?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Makeda said. “Down at the bonfire.”

We both stood. Dylan did, too. Now, he was holding his nose up, sniffing the air. I couldn’t believe it—just saying Rose’s name elicited this kind of response. Poor baby missed his mama.

He kept his head near my thigh all the way down to the bonfire.

Once there, Makeda had me wait and went to talk to two unfamiliar guys. They looked older than the surfers in this group. They followed her over toward me.

Dylan had wandered off a little, sniffing. I was hoping he was going to have a bowel movement. Asahi had looked him over this afternoon. He said he looked good but that I was to make sure he was eating and drinking and urinating and having bowel movements. So far, he hadn’t done any of those things so I was a little worried. I saw him wander a little closer to the road and lift his leg to pee. Good. Then he had his nose to the ground sniffing and wagging his tail, probably looking for a place to poop. Relief filled me.

Then my attention turned to the new young men before me.

“Makeda says you might have seen my daughter,” I said. I took out my cell phone and pulled up a photo of Rose. I thrust it at them.

One guy squinted, his nose wrinkling, but the