The Girl from Everywhere (The Girl from Everywhere #1)(78)

We walked in silence almost directly west, over the black volcanic pumice of the crater’s edge, and down toward the water and the inlet of Maunalua Bay, where we passed a fish pond and a native village beside a stream where Hawaiians were shrimping with woven baskets. I stopped for a moment to watch, and a man offered us some shrimp. They were about the length of one of the joints in my finger, translucent pink, and still living as he crushed them between his white teeth. I took him up on his offer; they were salty-sweet and bitter, all at once.

We continued for a while along the shore, giving wide berth to basking sea turtles and startling a small gray monk seal. We crossed a flat of tide pools where tiny red crabs scrambled in and out of the pocked holes formed by ancient bubbles in the superheated liquid stone, and I made Kashmir stop to watch as a woman and her daughter pried opihi off the mossy rocks with dull flat blades. We passed a thicket of Kona oranges and pulled fruit from the trees, filling my bag near to bursting. Kashmir offered to carry it, and I handed it over gratefully. Finally we turned inland to avoid hiking up Diamond Head—or Leahi, Blake’s map had labeled it—jumping over streamlets and tramping down tall grass.

The sun followed behind for a while and then overtook us, leading us along like a beacon as we approached Waikiki, where white peacocks walked at a stately pace under the tall trees. I led Kash onto the sand to walk along the water’s edge. I knew it was the longer route, but I felt an odd reluctance, a push and a pull, running away and running to. I shied away from the natural end to our journey, and I gave in to the draw of seeing all I could in the time I had left. My native time.

Kashmir must have noticed me dragging my feet. The last few miles he’d been quiet, his usual humor fading with the afternoon, but he hadn’t made any effort to hurry me. The sun dipped into the ocean as we caught sight, in the distance, of the black forest of masts in Honolulu Harbor, and it was just a slip of molten red above the horizon by the time we reached the last stretch of beach before the blasted coral of the esplanade.

I stopped on the sand. Kashmir continued a few steps, then turned around.

“Maybe we can stay on the beach?” I said. “Tonight, I mean. It’s very late to try to find lodging at a hotel.”

Kashmir held my gaze for a long time before answering. “As you will.” Then he dropped the bag and flung himself down beside it.

I tried to smile. “What, Kashmir?” I gestured out across the ocean, taking in the fiery sunset, the soft sand, the nodding palms. “You don’t like the accommodations?”

He didn’t answer at first, but his green eyes shone in the dying light. Then he slipped his hand into his pocket and drew out a folded piece of paper, holding it up between his first two fingers. My heart sank and I snatched the letter from his hands, but his expression didn’t change. “Dearest Mr. Hart,” he recited, still watching my face. “I have little time to write, and even less to visit, so instead—”

“Kashmir—”

“So instead, I have left something for you in the place you promised one day you’d show me, the day we went on the hike. I cannot say more except to ask your forgiveness. Nix.”

“You don’t understand.” I shoved the letter back into my pocket.

“I thought I did, the other day. When you kissed him.”

I blushed, deeply, but I didn’t drop my gaze, although Kash didn’t make it easy. Finally he broke, looking down to pull an orange out of my bag, and I was grateful for the small mercy.

“But then I wondered,” he went on. “What on earth could you be leaving for him?”

I folded my arms and watched the waves advancing, receding. “He wasn’t supposed to make a map that worked. I practically spelled it out for him.”

Kashmir laughed softly. “You expected him to let you go so easily?” He dropped the orange peel all in one piece beside him and sectioned the orange. “Not everyone has your skill for it. I will admit, I was relieved to read that you would not see him. Although I did notice you didn’t say good-bye.”

“It’s implied. Like I said in the letter, I didn’t have much time.”

“If the captain has his way, you could have your whole life.” He offered me a slice of orange, but I stared at it. He shrugged and ate it himself. “I know you’ve considered it.”

“Kashmir . . .” I fumbled for the words. What could I say to him, this boy who knew me so well? The truth, of course; he knew already. “It’s compelling. I can feel it now, the pull my father feels toward a place and time. This is where I would have grown up. This is the life I would have had. The friends and . . . the family.” I took up a handful of sand and let it pour through my fingers. “And maybe—maybe if I’d never known another life, it’s a life I could’ve loved. But that’s not what happened. I won’t be staying. The Temptation is my home.” I reached over and took his hand. We were quiet for a while. The sun was gone, and only a slender belt of gold along the horizon remained. “At least, for now.”

He squeezed my fingers. “Until when?”

I put my other hand to my throat. “Do you remember that night in New York? When you gave me my necklace? Remember we talked about jumping ship?”

“I do.”

“Now that I can Navigate . . . if I did leave the ship—I’m not saying I will. But if I did. Would you come with me?”