The next, somebody changed the subject.
That was Hawaii in our family.
Publicidad
Dad had been born there and left at twenty. He moved to Oregon for work, met Mom, married her, and never went back.
Not once.
I never understood it.
He missed Hawaii openly when I was little.
He’d talk about rainstorms, fruit from roadside stands, the sound of birds before sunrise.
He missed Hawaii openly when I was little.
Then, as I got older, I noticed Mom’s reactions.
She’d get quiet.
Or leave the room.
Once, after Dad mentioned wanting to see the ocean there again, she put her plate in the sink so hard I thought it might crack.
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Later, I confronted him.
As I got older, I noticed Mom’s reactions.
“Why does Mom get angry every time you talk about Hawaii?”
Dad was folding a dish towel.
“She’s not angry.”
“She definitely is, Dad.”
He gave me a tired look.
“Try to understand your mother, Annie. If you knew the whole story, you wouldn’t be angry with her.”
I wish I’d asked what he meant.
“If you knew the whole story, you wouldn’t be angry with her.”
Publicidad
***
Two weeks ago, Dad was driving home when another car crossed into his lane.
