پاداش

REWARD IF FOUND

OUR HOTEL SITS right on the beach and we can see and smell the ocean from the small, open-air lobby. We’re greeted with alohas and more leis. Olly gives his to me so that I now have three layered around my neck. A bellhop in a bright yellow-and- white Hawaiian shirt offers to retrieve our nonexistent luggage. Olly makes a noise about our baggage coming later and steers us around him before he can question us further.

I nudge Olly toward the check-in counter and give him our paperwork.

“Welcome to Maui, Mr. and Mrs. Whittier,” says the woman at the desk. He doesn’t correct her mistake, just pulls me closer and gives me a loud smack on the lips.

“Mahalo very much,” he says, grinning wildly.

“You’ll be joining us for … two nights.”

Olly looks to me for confirmation and I nod.

A few keystrokes later the woman tells us that, though it’s still early, our room is already ready. She gives us a key and property map and tells us about the complimentary continental breakfast buffet.

“Enjoy your honeymoon!” She winks and sends us on our way.

The room is small, very small, and decorated much like the lobby with teak furniture and large pictures of bright tropical flowers. Our balcony—called a lanai—overlooks a small garden and a parking lot.

From the center of the room, I turn a 360 to see what’s considered necessary in a temporary home—television, a small fridge, an enormous closet, a desk and chair. I turn another 360 trying to figure out what’s missing.

“Olly, where are our beds? Where do we sleep?”

He looks momentarily confused until he spots something. “Oh, you mean this?” He walks over to what I thought was an enormous closet, grips the two handles near the top and pulls to reveal a bed. “Voilà,” he says. “The very model of modern-day, space-saving efficiency. The height of style and comfort, of convenience and practicality. I give you the Murphy bed.” “Who is Murphy?” I ask, still surprised that a bed came out of the wall.

“The inventor of this bed,” he says, winking.

With the bed unfolded, the room feels even smaller. We both stare at it for longer than is strictly necessary. Olly turns to look at me. I’m blushing even before he says: “Just the one bed.” His voice is neutral, but his eyes aren’t. The look in his eyes makes me blush harder.

“So,” we say simultaneously. We laugh awkward, self-conscious laughs and then laugh at ourselves for being so very awkward and self-conscious.

“Where is that guidebook?” he asks, finally breaking eye contact and making a show of looking around the room. He grabs my backpack and digs around, but pulls out The Little Prince instead of the guide.

“I see you brought the essentials,” he teases, waving it in the air. He climbs onto the bed and begins lightly bouncing in the middle of it. Murphy’s springs protest noisily. “Isn’t this your favorite book of all time?” He turns the book over in his hands. “We read this sophomore year. I’m pretty sure I didn’t understand it.” “You should try again. The meaning changes every time you read it.” He looks down at me. “And how many times have you—” “A few.”

“More or less than twenty?”

“OK, more than a few.”

He grins and flips open the front cover. “Property of Madeline Whittier.” He turns to the title page and continues reading. “Reward if Found. A visit with me (Madeline) to a used bookstore. Snorkel with me (Madeline) off Molokini to spot the Hawaiian state fish.” He stops reading aloud, continues silently instead. “When did you write this?” he asks.

I start to climb onto the bed, but stop when the room sways a little. I try again and another wave of vertigo unbalances me.

I turn and sit, facing away from him. My heart squeezes so painfully in my chest that it takes my breath away.

Olly’s immediately at my side. “Mad, what is it? What’s wrong?” Oh, no. Not yet. I’m not ready. “I’m light-headed,” I say. “And my stomach—” “Do we need to go to a hospital?”

My stomach growls loud and long in reply.

I look up at him. “I think I’m—”

“Hungry,” we say simultaneously.

Hunger.

That’s what I’m feeling. I’m not getting sick. I’m just hungry.

“I’m starving,” I say. In the last twenty-four hours I’ve had a single bite of chilaquiles and a handful of Nurse Evil’s apple slices.

Olly starts laughing. He collapses backward onto the bed. “I’ve been so worried that something in the air was gonna kill you.” He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. “Instead you’re going to starve to death.” I’ve never actually been this hungry before. For the most part I’ve always eaten my three meals and two snacks exactly on time every day. Carla was a big believer in food. Empty tummy, empty head, she’d say.

I lie back and laugh along with him.

My heart squeezes again, but I ignore it.