We were speechless again for several more minutes, and then the sky darkened subtly, and I felt a miniscule drop of water hit my shoulder. Another drop landed on my forehead, then another, larger one dampened my dress. Gradually, a gentle but steady rain was upon us. We stayed put at the grave and let it come. I breathed in the scent and remembered how River smelled just like this at our prom, and in Seattle. The rain grew stronger and created a rhythmic, roaring background of noise around us.
River’s voice came through the susurrus: “Drew?”
I twisted around to look at him. His brown eyes were locked on mine, his eyebrows knit. I couldn’t tell anymore where the tears had streaked his face, the rain mixing in with the gleam on his cheeks.
The downpour’s pattering steady and loud, his words to me came through clear.
“I think you already know. I hope you know. I’m in love with you.”
◈ ◈ ◈
That night, I lay in bed on my back, staring up at the black ceiling. We had spent the rest of the day walking around Haiku, driving around the island, eating another homecooked dinner at the cottage, and watching one of the DVDs River found stored in a bookshelf. I had been quiet the whole time. River had been, too, but for a different reason. He had peace. I could see it. I could feel it. I wanted to share in his peace. In some ways, I did share in it. I shared in the peace surrounding Julian, and River visiting him after all these years.
But the peace I was experiencing wasn’t full. It felt as though there were fragments inside of me, shifting around, prodding at the deepest parts of me, trying to fuse together. I was quiet because of this, because I didn’t know what to say, I didn’t know what to think.
Then, while lying in bed at night, I was alone and nothing was happening and all I did was think. I thought and thought and thought. An hour went by, and I thought about the first day I talked to River in fourth grade. I thought about our summers together as children. As teenagers. I thought about the night of our prom, when I fell asleep lying in his arms in my parents’ living room. Another hour passed, and I continued to think. I thought about the apple tree. Its twisted trunk, green leaves, white blossoms. I thought about the barn, and the letters we had hidden there in the wooden box. I thought about Seattle and River’s postcards and the To Do List. I thought about River showing up at my parents’ front door in Rockwood. I thought about Riley’s wedding and San Francisco and everything here in Haiku, and I thought about Julian’s grave.
Then, I stopped.
I stopped thinking. I didn’t need to anymore.
I slid out of my bed and moved soundlessly out of the room, three steps down the hall, and into the other bedroom.
River was there in bed. I could just barely make out his form in the darkness. On tiptoes, I made my way to his bed and climbed under the covers beside him. I didn’t plan to wake him, but he stirred. He opened his eyes and there we were, looking into each other’s dimmed irises, face-to-face. I could make out the sharp lines of his jaw, the thick brows that framed his eyes. He didn’t say anything but moved his hand up to my chest where the emerald necklace was resting against my skin. He trailed the chain with his finger, up to the side of my neck. I had opened the floodgates. Everything was rushing out, overwhelming me. It had always been there. Expanding and growing, taller, fuller, wilder. And now I had finally just let it be—cascades of light and water and green.
I said, quietly, “I love you, River.”
I felt a tear make its way down my face, my neck, my chest. River pulled me into him, and he kissed me, and I kissed him. Everything was warm and right, and we fell asleep.
◈ ◈ ◈
The events of the next day were like nothing I could have ever predicted.
The morning light was soft and yellow. I woke up warm from it and from being curled up in River’s arms. I rolled over to face him, and his eyes flickered open to find me. He smiled at me, a lazy, perfectly authentic smile. He placed his hand on my face.
“So,” he said. “You love me?”
“River Mahlon. I’m completely in love with you.”
He kissed me intermittently throughout the morning: when I came out of my bedroom after changing into a sundress, after I fetched the POG juice from the fridge. I kissed him, too: before we sat down at the table in the garden—wrapping my arms around his shoulders, feeling him pull my body into his tightly—and again when we finished doing the dishes back in the kitchen. He responded by lifting me up to the counter so I was at about eye-level with him. He leaned in toward me, and I let my legs part so he could get closer. He kissed me slowly with his hands on my hips. He said my name, seemingly to himself, in between kissing me.
I began wondering: why hadn’t we been doing this earlier, why hadn’t we spent the past several years this way? Back in high school, and at the apple tree. At least in Seattle and San Francisco, I had experienced a couple moments of clarity and kissed River then. And at least it was happening now.
We broke from the kiss, and River rested one hand on my knee, the other stroking through my hair.
“How long?” I asked him. “How long have you known?”
The smile he gave me was answer enough, followed by the kiss he placed on my neck.
Later, we went to the garden and spread out on beach towels. We talked about the times we shared together when we were kids. We talked about the distant future. I asked River to teach me the names of the trees he could identify in the space we inhabited. Breadfruit, hala, eucalyptus. Then, without much of a segue, River said, “Weddings are a pain, aren’t they?”
The randomness of his question caused me to take a long pause before answering. “Yeah,” I said. “I guess they are. You have to travel sometimes, like for Riley’s wedding. And you have to dress nicely, buy a gift, maybe get a hotel room.”
“That’s all true,” he responded. “But also, if you’re the one planning the wedding.”
I thought again about Riley’s wedding, about how frenzied she became, how many details there had been to produce such an event. “You’re right. Riley actually cried from the stress of her wedding. Riley cried. It was chaos.”
River was holding my hand but shifted toward the direction of the stream at the edge of the garden. “I think I’d want to forgo all of that. Just doesn’t seem necessary. Doesn’t have to be that complex.”
“That makes sense.”
The truth was, I had never really fantasized about my wedding day the way some girls did. I had never conjured up a particular image of what I would look like, where I would be, the kind of flowers or food or music I wanted. I was told by my elementary school friends, including Chloe, that I would marry a farmer named Greg, but other than that, I hadn’t given the specifics much thought.
“It should be simple,” River said.
“I think you’re right. Easy.”
River repeated in accordance: “Easy.”
We made a trip to a beach around noon, followed by a visit to a farm sanctuary where we saw animals of all colors, shapes, and sizes: goats, chickens, donkeys, deer, rabbits, tortoises, and a single, large, muddy hog. After meeting all of these creatures, we found a spot to sit in a grassy field and view the farm from afar. It was quiet but for the breeze moving through the trees. We talked about what we wanted to do next—maybe another hike, maybe rent bikes to ride around the island. I didn’t need to ask River to confirm that we were done visiting his old, childhood memories here. He had done and seen and said what he needed to, and now we could both relax and just enjoy the rest of our time together in Hawaii.