Above her, Nan fingered her necklace, which Ammalie could see was one of hers, and she thought it beautiful, more beautiful than any object she’d ever made.
—
In the quiet half hour before Ammalie left the hospital, while waiting for the doctor to sign papers, she shooed everyone out of her room so that she could jot down a new list. Things to Do Now
Go visit Apricot.
Spend time with Mari and Powell.
Apologize to Richard.
Call Levi.
After all, there was something with Levi. She wanted closure of some sort she couldn’t explain. She wasn’t a damsel in distress. She didn’t need him. He didn’t occupy her daydreams anymore. Perhaps she just wanted to tell him goodbye, one human to another, and in tribute to all the mealtimes they had sort-of shared.
Finally, she added:
Sell the house.
Buy Cave Valley Cabins.
Besides operating it as a rental property, she was going to do three things:
Offer free rooms to others seeking to learn about the natural world.
Offer cabins for artists or activists.
Offer a cabin to people working for humanitarian reasons on the border—volunteers doing water drops, for example.
The rest of the rooms would cover the taxes and insurance and upkeep and employees, she hoped. In this way, it would be a small society of sharing, based on community and care for the planet and her people. She would plant trees for future generations—and help others do the same.
Refugia.
She had to admit it now, finally, even if just to herself: She had money. She’d gone into a state of denial, pretended it wasn’t there. All those cheap cans of beans! All that homemade Chex mix! All the scrimping and saving on this trip! She could have rented three vacation homes. Fancy homes! But the wealth seemed so unfamiliar it was scary. It didn’t feel rightfully hers. And she hadn’t spent a cent of it.
Vincent had been Vincent, after all. A careful planner. A detail-oriented, responsible guy, and surely, some of those nights in the basement he had been tracking finances. Which is why he had a million in retirement, a million of life insurance. The life insurance would go to Powell. And the retirement would go to her, and she’d share it, which, she felt sure, Vincent would be smiling at. He would like this new her. Even though, contradictorily, their dynamic might have been what tamped down this version of herself. Forgive him, forgive self, move on, do good. Her mantra for the rest of her life.
With the support of the others, she’d find a manager, a bookkeeper, a lawyer to help her get going. She’d buy Cave Valley Cabins and would study hard to learn how to best run such a nonprofit. Rita and Rex would help. Nan had agreed to advise.
How best to provide a welcome, safe home—that was her purpose in life.
To hand out keys to others.
CHAPTER 22
While Powell and Apricot went to hike among the kauri trees—something she couldn’t do with her stitches—Ammalie took Mari on a very slow amble across the black sand beach. As they meandered along the shore, she caught Mari up on everything, although some of it was so hard to explain that Mari only laughed and shook her head at what she referred to as Ammalie’s “lovely lack of logical thinking.”
They stopped to stare at the swells and the waves peeling from the sea, and Ammalie gently drew a mandala in the sand with her walking stick. “Look, there are purple tones to the black sand, aren’t there? It looks metallic.”
“The natural beauty here is really amazing, I’ll grant you that. And it’s so quiet! Not like Chicago! It’s really freaking out my ears. And my eyes.”
“Ha! I know. The green.”
“Yes! The silence and the green.” Mari touched her shoulder gently. “Friend, you had me listed as your emergency contact.”
“Yes.”
“That’s how they contacted me.”
“Yes.”
“Not Vincent?”
Ammalie looked over at her. “That’s telling, isn’t it? I changed it to you years ago. You’d be the person I’d want to come.”
Mari sighed, understanding. “I’m sorry he wasn’t more there for you. I often wondered if his emotional absence would make you slowly kinda…well, crazy! Loneliness can do that.” But then her eyes lit. “You are a new person. Tell me what you’ve learned here.”
Ammalie tilted her head onto Mari’s shoulder, and mumbled, “I’ve been reading so much. I know about the kawakawa, which is used for tea. Hangehange, which are young leaves you can eat raw, and karamu, orange berries with a lot of vitamin C. I know to beware of the karaka berries, which are poisonous, but which have the most fruity, perfumy smell. And Mari, the manuka—oh, the smell of manuka! And the harakeke, which is a flax, those tall orange flowers that the tui love. And did you know, the riroriro bird, a gray warbler, has a mournful sound that signals imminent rainfall? And don’t you love the names? And I’m happy.”
Mari had real wonder in her voice. “You’ve gone and turned into a natural-history sort of person.”
“See these little holes in the sand? I thought that’s where the waves just aerated it, but it’s also sand hoppers burrowing out. And in the really early morning, right at the tide line, you can see all the nocturnal activity of insect tracks.”
“And that beach grass stuff? Those golden spiky globe things?”
“Spinifex. Kowhangatara grass. The seed heads are everywhere now; it tumbles around the beach, swaths of it resting at the tide line or floating in the streams. Also pingao—that’s another dune grass which dries a deep golden orange. Prized for weaving of precious kete in Māori culture. And look here, see this hard thin crust of sand? That’s called biscuit. And up there? That rock. The remains of the rim of the ancient Waitakere volcano.”
“Lovely. All this is lovely.”
