Leslie Kain

“Though each night he cried out, each night
no angels came, no ministers of grace to save the son
from the spotlight glare of grief.”

― Mairead Small Staid

1

Pre-dawn shadows suspend time and space as Gavin peers through his kitchen window, scooping coffee beans into the grinder. Something feels unfinished, like a song cut off mid-coda, notes pulsating in the void, a preamble to uncertainty.

It is Monday, the one day of the week he and Katie close ʻOno Kūloko, their Kauai restaurant, so they can manage the weekly deep-clean, pay bills, order supplies, and deal with unanticipated problems. Except he has been AWOL for the last few months. He was the unanticipated problem, after his twin brother…was gone.

But today Gavin is convinced he’s put all that behind him. Getting back to being the successful chef and business owner before it all happened, before his world imploded. Before he imploded. Now he’s determined to resume responsibility, resume life, after being a useless invalid for almost three months while Katie carried the full burden of managing the restaurant, her Makakū gallery, their daughter Maggie, and their home―doing everything he was supposed to do, while also supporting her traumatized husband.

He had gone into a tailspin―his own virtual death spiral—after Devon passed. But guilt, his lifelong curse, now digs its claws into his neck, nagging shame for his impotence, his failure to support, take care of, save―first Mom, then Dad, and finally his identical twin―and now these last months he has also failed Katie and Maggie. Echoes of Devon’s taunts ring in his ears. Dad was right. You’re a wimp, a loser. Can’t even take care of your wife and kid. You just can’t live without me, Twinkie.

Gavin tries to shake off the torment, pushes his shoulders back, takes a deep breath, and stretches his lanky frame up to its full height. His self-talk takes over the microphone. Okay, man. Time to prove you’re not a loser. Better get this show on the road.

He reaches over to touch the button on the grinder. Instantly its loud piercing assault throws him into a terrified huddle on the floor, arms protecting his head, his body jammed into the corner cabinet, pain gripping his chest. He doesn’t hear the delighted squeal of little Maggie running down the hall, or Katie’s laughter in the chase.

Katie comes into the kitchen carrying her giggling captive and turns on the overhead light. “Coffee smells good, Tiger, but making it by braille might not be the best method.”

Maggie wriggles down from her arms and starts running to Gavin, who is still hunched in the corner. Katie quickly intercepts her; touching someone mid-trigger can be dangerous. Precocious almost-two-year-old Maggie loves playing games and cheers, “Find Da-dee!”

Katie eyes Gavin’s curled back and forces a weary smile. “You can come out now, sweetie, it’s safe,” she says, as Maggie wiggles in her mommy’s arms and claps her chubby hands. “Thanks for grinding the beans. Do you want me to finish making the coffee?”

Gavin begins to stir. Arms first, releasing his turtled head, then unwrapping his tightly wound body as he mumbles, “I’ll make it.”

“You sure you’re okay now, babe?” Katie swallows hard, forcing tension from her voice. These episodes―Gavin’s random reactions to whatever triggers his traumatic memories―have been occurring more frequently, forcing her into a daily dance around eggshells. And confusing Maggie.

“Thanks for rescuing me. Again.”

“Maggie did it. She found you.” Katie offers her hand to Gavin as he stands. “And you know it’s okay if you haven’t totally recovered. It’s a process, remember? What you’ve gone through can take time. A lot more than a couple months and a tattoo.” She stretches on tiptoes to peck a kiss onto his cheek.

Katie releases Maggie to the floor and watches as her daughter opens a cabinet door and begins pulling out every pot and pan, handing each to her daddy. “Bekfass,” she says.

“Are you hungry, Mags? Is that why you didn’t let Mommy sleep in this morning?” Gavin lifts her into her high chair, while their dog Patches jumps up to help.

“You were doing a lot of that tossing and turning thing again last night, Gav.” Katie studies him while smoothing Maggie’s strawberry curls off her face and putting on her bib.

Gavin turns away to put the grounds into the coffeemaker basket. “I was having those dreams again,” he murmurs, glancing down at the ink on his bicep holding the name of his twin.

“The same ones?” Katie asks. “Y’know, I was going to suggest maybe it might help if we had a formal service to bury Devon’s ashes,” she turns to open a drawer, “and then this letter came last week while you were on your hike with Tray.” She hands him an envelope.

Gavin doesn’t take it. He stares at the return address: Levine, McDermott & Lombardi, LLP. Lombardi was his father’s attorney. “What do they want?”

“Open it, Gav.”

“Just tell me.”

Katie pulls a letter from the envelope. “I opened it while you were gone with Tray, in case it was bad news. Which you don’t need any more of right now.” She looks at him, then unfolds the letter. “They just need you to contact them to settle your dad’s estate, now that…”

“Now that Devon is dead,” he spits out the word, which feels like a knife to his heart when he has to say it.

Gavin glances out to the living room, strewn with Maggie’s toys. A black marble box sits almost touching the ceiling, high atop the bookshelves that dominate the room. He hadn’t thought about that box since Trayvon dragged him out of his dark hole to hike the Kalalau Trail along the NaPali coastline. The “retreat” that was supposed to help him. Maybe he’d just repressed the thought of the box, the reminder.

Now the weight of his brother’s suicide…seeing him hanging there…in front of the taunting message he left…comes crashing down on him all over again, after he thought he’d finally put it behind him. That message had felt to him like Devon was gaslighting him one last time, one final put-down. But when Dr. Pedersen, Gavin’s loyal counselor since high school, visited Kauai a few weeks after Devon’s death, he explained that for someone like Devon, who had Narcissistic Personality Disorder, the greatest fear is to be discovered as a fraud―not superior as he claims. So with NPD, suicide can seem to be the only way to divert people from one’s shame of being an imposter. Rather than the wish to die, the need is to hide from the truth.

Gavin isn’t sure that’s true. He just blames himself for failing to save his brother. But Katie is right; it’s going to take time for him to recover. Yet those dreams are right, too. It may never really be over.

“Bekfass!” Maggie sings, slapping her hands on her empty high chair tray.

“We can talk about it later, Gav.” Katie puts a sippy cup of juice on Maggie’s tray. “Here, Mags, have some orange juice while we make your oatmeal.”

Nina Simone’s low windup to “I’m feelin’ good” rolls out from Gavin’s cell phone next to the coffeemaker. He stares at it. Who was he kidding―besides himself―when he installed that as his ringtone? Blood drains from his already pale face. He seems to know exactly who is calling.

Katie pauses her task to hand the phone to him, watching closely in case he’s triggered.

“Hello?” Gavin’s voice cracks. He hesitates. “Yes, this is he.”

His body contorts into a knot as he listens to the caller. His hands begin to shake, an almost imperceptible tremor. “Can’t you just do all that stuff? You can send me all the papers to sign…”

Katie’s attention goes on full alert as she sees her tall husband shrivel into a fearful little boy. She comes close to place her hand tentatively, gently, on his shoulder.

“Yeah, I guess so,” he mumbles. “Might not be for a week or two. I’ll let you know when I can be there.”

Gavin’s face twists, his mouth grim under his red stubble, his brow in a deep scowl as he throws his cell phone onto the table, narrowly missing his coffee.

“I have to go back.” His head droops like a wilted flower. “They want me to get whatever’s important from the house so they can sell it, and deal with the building commissioner on what to do with the Prince Street building. It’s been boarded up for more than three years now, and the City says it’s a hazard and they’re going to put it up on the abandoned properties auction, where the proceeds go to the City.” Gavin snorts. “It’s probably more like some buzzards want the property.”

His entire body begins shivering with increasing amplitude and frequency, like a man lost in sub-zero temperatures.

“I’m sorry, Gav,” Katie eyes him warily, watching for the now-familiar signs of his all-too-frequent flashbacks, the triggers, his unpredictable reactions―freeze, flight, or…fight.

He struggles to stay afloat, above all the memories flooding him now. “Going back will be like replaying all of it, all over again. Even though Rizzo said I’m safe now.”

“Well, no way can you go there now,” Katie sets her jaw in fierce determination.

“Then what do you think I can do, just hand over my family’s assets?” Gavin challenges.

Katie sits down beside him at the kitchen table. “Gavin, you’re the guy I’ve loved since high school, the father of our daughter. I don’t want anything or anyone to hurt you at this vulnerable time in your recovery.” She peers into his face, speaking softly. “If you really have to go, then I’m coming with you.”

His teeth chatter as he mumbles, “No fucking way! You really don’t think I can handle it, do you?” Gavin clenches his jaw now, glaring at her. “Besides, you have to manage the restaurant, and your gallery, and Maggie! We sure can’t bring her to Boston and drag her into that cesspool. That danger.” His voice ekes out of his constricted throat like a man being hanged.

Dueling emotions face off inside Katie. Fears that Gavin might lose his grip altogether in the environment where it all started, where she couldn’t be there to pull him back. Versus relief that she could be free of her husband’s unpredictable ups and downs―his frightening roller coaster―for a few days. She had been the sole caretaker for her mother since she was nine, but that was because of a medical illness that affected her mother’s body, not her mind. This thing with Gavin is different, and it’s beginning to wear her down. The result of his lifetime of emotional abuse topped by violent deaths in his family, she hopes it won’t require another lifetime to resolve.

“Maybe we could get Pedersen to write a medical waiver so they’ll delay the auction?”

Now Gavin slams his fist on the table and stands abruptly, shouting, “Bullshit! That sounds like you want to commit me to a mental institution or something!”

Maggie begins whimpering, and Katie thrusts out her hands, palms down, signaling for calm. “Not at all, sweetie…just trying to avoid anything like that.” She recalls Pedersen warning her after Devon’s death that the impact of Gavin’s grief might occasionally cause him to distrust or feel paranoid. Maybe this is it?

“Well, I do have to go, without dragging you into all that shit.” Gavin exhales a lungful of angst and drops back down onto his chair. “I have to face it anyway, like vomiting all the poison that’s crippling me. I’ll let Pedersen and my O’Malley grandparents know I’m coming, and get all that business with the lawyers over with, once and for all.”

“Okay then, I guess…,” Katie sighs. “If you’re sure. But you have to stay in touch with me every day, just so I won’t worry. Maybe that stuff won’t take too long. You might be out and back in a week or so. Just make the decisions and leave the paperwork to the lawyers.” She mentally crosses her fingers, hoping it won’t be more complicated than that. Or risky. “You could even bury Devon’s ashes beside your parents while you’re there. Have Father Decker do a little ceremony.”

“I don’t think any amount of Decker’s mojo will help Devon. Or me.”

Katie rubs his back with comforting strokes. “I’ll be as close as your phone.”

Gavin stares at the cracked tile floor as if some profound message were written there.

“You can probably stay in your grandparents’ house while you’re there,” Katie murmurs.

“Well, I sure don’t want to spend too much time at the scene of the crime.”

~~~~

Gavin walks into ʻOno Kūloko, the restaurant he and Katie designed and crafted together, yet now that he has committed to break his months-long fast and return to work, he feels like a stranger. An imposter. Nothing has changed during his absence, but everything seems different, alien. Even the smells. He stands, staring at it all anew. Upside-down chairs rest atop gray faux granite tables from last night’s clean-up. Clusters of differently shaped and sized Edison lightbulbs hang from the vaulted corrugated steel ceiling, giving a hip glow to the rough unfinished wood walls and bar. Colorful paintings by local artists from Katie’s gallery punctuate the cool tones of the space. He isn’t sure what to do, where to begin.

Maggie runs past him, squealing “dumper,” jolting Gavin from his reverie. He laughs and follows her into the restaurant’s office, where she begins pulling out toys from a deep box and dropping each onto the floor until she finds her prize: a bright yellow dump truck. She holds it up to Gavin and manipulates the truck bed with a satisfied giggle. Katie comes in carrying a heavy briefcase, plops into the desk chair, plugs in her laptop, and straightens everything on her desktop. “Maggie, you can’t have all those trucks on the floor, we’ll trip on them. Put some of them back now. Maybe Patches will help.”

Gavin suddenly realizes that life has gone on without him. Even Katie seems different. Still pert and petite with untamed blonde curls, but somehow changed. The former Salutatorian and Phi Beta Kappa, she’s now focused yet distracted, moving faster, like she’s in a race to get everything done. Then Gavin hears unfamiliar voices of people entering the rear door of the restaurant. “Who’s that?” he asks Katie, flicking his head toward the sound.

“Staff. Here for Monday deep-clean duty,” Katie says. “You know Koni and Bill, but I’ve had to replace a couple staffers with new people. C’mon, I’ll introduce you.”

The awkward sense of feeling out of place begins to wane in Gavin as the day goes on. Under Katie’s direction, he keeps busy, soon forgetting the worst and remembering what was good. The certificate in the window declaring their restaurant Number One on the island. His passion for cuisine, for business, for people. He inches back into the rhythm of life before. Even the smells become familiar, reminiscent, as he attaches full kegs of microbrew to the lines in the cooler behind the bar.

Maggie has the run of the restaurant, her playground every Monday. Everyone, including the staff, seems to enjoy tending Maggie, who plays with her trucks or “writes” in Katie’s office one minute then tries to engage people in hide and seek the next. “Don’t let her get away with any nonsense,” Katie calls out to the staff. “She seems to think the cuter and more fun she is, she can get what she wants. Right, Gav?”

Around lunchtime, a short muscled delivery guy comes with their meat order from the abattoir, hoisting cuts of beef bigger than he is. Koni ushers him into the walk-in cooler and helps unload everything onto the heavy steel shelves that have just been cleaned and sanitized. After that’s done, Gavin goes out into the dining area, stepping around an agitated Patches, to tell the staff it’s break time. He sticks his head into the office and tells Katie he’s going to walk the dog. “Take Maggie with you,” Katie says, not looking up from a pile of bills. “She needs the exercise so she’ll be tired enough to take a nap after lunch.”

Gavin calls out, “Hey Mags! Where are you? We have to go walk Patches!” When Maggie doesn’t respond, he begins looking for her, heads into the kitchen, and nearly trips over their one-eyed, one-eared rescue pup scratching at the door of the cooler and whining. “C’mon Patches, let’s find Maggie,” he says, rubbing the mutt’s good ear before continuing on.

Then it hits him, like a runaway freight train, a howl erupting from him louder than any three trains could blare. For a suspended moment he is paralyzed, unable to breathe, memories of being stuck in the cooler, trapped there by his brother, fire crackling in the restaurant, with Patches scratching outside the thick insulated door. He spins around, falls to his knees, sobbing, frantically scrambling to the cooler on all fours, just as Katie and several staff rush in response.

In an instant, the memory of what happened to Gavin seven months ago flashes back to Katie. She grabs the heavy lever and opens the door to find a bewildered toddler standing there. Gavin lunges to smother his daughter in his arms while escalating his howls, which frightens little Maggie into her own shrieking and crying, muffled in the grip of her equally hysterical father.

Katie quickly pries Gavin’s arms from their baby before he can cause her greater trauma. “It’s okay now, Mags. Daddy was just scared that you could have been hurt,” she whispers, kissing Maggie’s head. “Please promise you won’t go into the cooler again, sweetie. That’s not a good place for hide ’n’ seek.”

Four staff members look down and shift awkwardly, having witnessed this widely beloved man, known as the epitome of cool and calm, just devolve into an overwrought lunatic.

Katie reaches her hand down to Gavin, beckoning him to his feet, then turns to the speechless staff. An apologetic smile won’t pretend the scene away; she’s direct. “Hey guys, thanks for coming in today. I think our family has other stuff we need to do right now. Can you all just finish up the usual Monday tasks? Koni, remember there’s a couple deliveries today―produce and fish. And you know where to find me if you need anything.”

~~~~

Unnatural quiet sucks every molecule of air from the car as Katie drives home. Even Maggie doesn’t make a peep. When they finally pull into their carport, Gavin mumbles, “I guess we need to talk.”

Once inside the house, Gavin drops onto the sofa with an exhausted sigh, heavy with remorse and embarrassment. Katie hands a glass of iced tea to him, then puts Maggie into her high chair and gives her lunch. There have been several of these incidents over the past months, like the one that just happened. Dr. Pedersen had cautioned that Devon’s suicide would likely bring all Gavin’s past traumas to the surface and certain things might trigger reactions he had previously repressed. And that Katie would need to be patient and supportive, but also protect herself and Maggie. That weighs on her every day.

Katie perches on the arm of the sofa beside Gavin, worry creasing her face. “So talk to me.”

“I’m not sure what happened,” Gavin says. “Maggie must have gone into the cooler when Hector and Koni were putting away the meat. They probably didn’t see a short little person there and just closed the door behind them when they were done.”

“I get that,” she nods. “We need to understand your reaction. Where that’s coming from.”

“Kinda over the top, right?” Gavin hangs his head low, then takes a sip of tea.

“I’m guessing the idea of Maggie being in danger brought up the responsibility your family always expected of you, to take care of everyone, save everyone.”

“Which I failed at doing. Miserably. Mom, Dad, Devon. And now I just cannot fail with you and Mags!”

“Bad things can happen to good people, and you can do everything in your power to prevent that, but sometimes it might be out of your hands. Today you realized where Maggie was, but freaking out from that old guilt trip actually blocked your ability to act quickly.” Katie leans forward to see whether any of her words are getting through to Gavin, who is silent.

Although she, Dr. Pedersen, and even Tray, have presented this logic to him numerous times, it hasn’t changed Gavin’s reactions. She recalls Pedersen saying that if Gavin’s life were fiction, his behavior would self-correct after one explanation. But words can’t rewire the neurological damage from his lifetime of traumatic assaults.

“I know all that logically,” Gavin sighs. “But something just takes over. Old memories, old feelings, fears, just put me back there, totally outside logic. Outside reality.”

“I know. Like the noise of the coffee grinder this morning took you back to gunshots.”

“Yeah. My shootout defending Devon. And the shot Dad took for him.”

“Y’know, Pedersen always said you can’t let other people define you―who and what you are. You took your dad’s assignment to save everyone as the definition of who you are, but it’s impossible to save everyone all the time. You’re not a failure if you can’t do that―whether it’s Maggie when stuff happens out of your control, or other people when they cause their own problems. You are not responsible for cleaning up everyone else’s shit.”

Gavin snorts irony. “I hope I can just slip in and out of Boston before any of that old shit even knows I’m there.”

Katie smiles in the pretending way of mothers encouraging their kid’s belief in Santa Claus, trying to quell her worry. “Have you made your travel arrangements yet?”

“No.” Gavin squirms. “Maybe next week.”

Katie chuckles. “Next week you’ll travel, or next week you’ll make the arrangements?”

“I guess I’ll book a flight for next week,” Gavin says with an eye-roll.

“Make sure your grandparents are going to be in town then, and Pedersen too.”

“You think I’m gonna fall apart, so I’ll need them?”

“Think of them as your support, your fan base.” Katie rumples Gavin’s curly red mop. “They can be your just-in-case safety net. And promise me you’ll call me at least once a day! I’m still not comfortable with you insisting on going there without me. Remember what Pedersen said.”

“He said a lot of things…”

“Oh, definitely,” Katie smiles. “He’s a treasure trove of wisdom. You were even writing some stuff down while he was here. I’m thinking now about two things in particular: Surround yourself with people who love and understand you. And breathe. Like meditation.”

“I’ve never been able to meditate. All those voices…” He shakes his head at the mystery of the voices that take over his thoughts, going down trapdoors into darkness. He takes a long gulp of tea.

Katie nods. “Nalani told me that after Puna went through several traumatic events back-to-back, both professionally and personally, he did one-on-one guided TM with a trained expert here on the island.”

“TM?”

“Transcendental Meditation. Nalani said it really helped at the time, and Puna still uses the techniques he learned, almost every day.”

“Wow. He never told me that! It’s hard to picture big burly super-cop Puna doing meditation.” Gavin grins. “Maybe that’s why he’s so chill.”

“So I’ve got a deal for you, babe.” Katie snuggles down close to him and drapes her arm on his thigh. “I can handle the restaurant a couple more weeks while you get your Boston mission out of the way. Spend the time before then to learn a few techniques to survive it, take the trip, then come back to us, and the restaurant. I’ll call Nalani for a referral to the TM guide, and you may want to talk with Puna about it, too.”

“It kills me to see you working your ass off because of me, sweetheart.”

“You’ll be much stronger after you get all that Boston stuff out of the way.” She hopes. She misses the Gavin she loves. The steady, compassionate guy she married.

Gavin nods. But a foreboding sense of disaster lurks deep within his amygdala.