Leo leaned against the railings, looking out on the vista. The Pacific Ocean, which on sunny days was so excessively enormous from the shore as to seem fake, nothing more than a movie backdrop, was curtained and partitioned by sheets of rain. The clouds above shattered, coating the gray waters in a dappled cloak of light and shadow, the ocean and sky both seemed to be rippling in a way that made him feel lightheaded.
It was still more or less dry in the botanical garden, but it had been drizzling a minute ago. It'd been a warm, perfumed, soft Hawaiian rain, nothing to get upset about. Few of the other visitors had even bothered to take out umbrellas. Natalie, though, had gone back to the car, a white Ford van they were renting with Jen, Alex, Harry, and the others. It was their spring break trip, a time to enjoy the glory of being college seniors, on the verge of adulthood.
Or so Leo kept telling himself.
He glanced down, to where the restless waves were fretting at the crumbled rocks far below. White foam surged and swelled, sending a fine mist into the already-humid air.
The botanical garden had been his idea for the day, of course. He couldn’t resist it. It was perhaps the only time he’d be in Hilo, and the garden - he was in awe of it! Lush greenery filled the narrow canyon to the brim, overflowing at the edges like the waters below, with fleshy red lobster-claw flowers hanging in chains, pink and white and yellow tropical gingers, orchids of all sizes and shapes in shadowy nooks and crannies, all labeled for the curious onlooker. The thick, humid air seemed to settle in the dips and hollows, full of the scent of foliage and nectar.
They weren’t the only ones there, groups and straggling pairs and families all wandered through the paths and boardwalks, but Jen, Alex, Harry, and the others had scattered as soon as they’d set foot in the garden and Leo was alone with Natalie. More or less. Apart from the twittering crowd of black-haired Japanese tourists that seemed intent on following them.
First they’d toured the gift shop. Natalie purchased a silk scarf there, no different from one she could have bought at the mall back home but he didn’t say anything. Then they’d walked through dim tunnels of hanging vines and ferns, coming out into a mossy clearing where tall palm trees rose up to brush the sky with feathery leaves. Then there had been more flowers, creeping onto the trail. Nowhere else, not even in their famed college conservatory, had Leo seen such variety, such depth and grace, and he had smiled. He bent down to look closer at a beautiful Hemigraphis alternata specimen, with lustrous violet leaves and tiny white flowers. When he looked up, Natalie was already gone and he had to run to catch up to her, drawing stares.
Then it had rained.
The sky opened up and the water rushed in.
Around them, umbrellas mushroomed up in colors almost as varied as the blooms they’d seen. But Leo had left theirs in the car. There was a little shelter, with a tin roof, to which the other umbrella-less souls headed immediately, and yet Natalie, all of a sudden, shouted over the tumult of flowing water and dripping rain something about the parking lot. Leaving him stranded once again. He could feel eyes watching him from under the shelter; there was an Indian family there. The parents argued vehemently about a map they were holding, while a little boy gazed calmly at him as he sucked his thumb.
He was soaked through in minutes, but the rain stopped quickly. He absentmindedly strolled down a path he chose at random. Now he did not see the plants, only the stones between his feet. He hadn't argued with Natalie, had he? No; there had only been a fading of words, a vanishing as he felt himself spinning out of orbit. Now he was far from the sun, gliding through a cold and distant blackness while Natalie was out there, a spark glimmering somewhere in the night. Before the trip, even. She still wore the ring, though; she still wore the ring.
Now he was looking out at the Pacific Ocean.
A spray of cold water on his leg startled him. Somebody had come up beside him and splashed in the puddle. He looked up; it was a slim teenager, with a tan complexion and thick black hair. She noticed him and smiled.
Leo smiled back, uncertain.
She stood on her tip-toes and reached out. “Look,” she said. “Down there.”
Leo had just been looking, but he looked again anyway. The rocks were still there; so were the waves. Then he saw it, a small shrub clinging desperately to the cliffside. Sesbania tomentosa. It was in bloom, the little flowers looking like glowing orange butterflies. He looked back at the girl. “??hai,” she said, and he tried to copy her. “Owhey?” She laughed. “It's good luck. You look like you need some luck.”
And perhaps he did. It would be wrong, though; it was an endangered plant.
Heaving himself over the railing, Leo began to clamber down to it. The silvery-green leaves flashed and shimmered, beckoning. He turned himself around, hardly daring to look down where he could hear the murmur and slurping of the waves, and continued backwards, placing one foot after the other. It was easier than it looked, he told himself.
It was easier than it looked, until it started to rain again.
Before he could shout, a rock gave out under his foot. Leo grabbed at something, anything; one hand found only air, the other found a grip on a jutting rock. He heard the scraping of stone on stone and started to flail, when he finally found his voice. “H – help!” It was a strangled yell, hardly audible over the lashing rain and wind. He pedaled against the rock wall, suddenly sheer, trying to catch his feet on something. He could feel his fingers loosening, his arm was trembling from the weight of his body. He tried to shout again.
  Leo's fingertips started to slip off the edge of the rock. He fell still for a moment, feeling the inexorable tug of gravity down towards the jagged maw below.
Then – Leo hardly dared believe it – someone grabbed his arm and tugged upwards. He began to struggle again and finally, his foot gained purchase on a crack in the cliff face. He put his other arm up and someone grabbed that, too. He felt himself start to slip back and kicked wildly down, giving himself just enough momentum for his savior to haul him up and over the edge.
For a minute it was all he could do to lie gasping in a puddle, like a stranded fish. Leo's vision flickered as an image of the flower swam before his eyes. After a long, long time he sat up, and looked around for the girl. He wasn't sure what he would do if he saw her; inside he was still shuddering, still about to fall, too scared to be angry.
Instead of the girl, there was a Japanese man talking very, very quickly and waving his arms about.
And there was Natalie.
“Leo! What's the matter with – are you all right?”
He threw his arms about her, and she sat down hard in the puddle next to him. “Who – what?” he gasped. “I -” Natalie paused. “I came here because I heard that man shouting, and you were – what were you doing?” On his hand, he realized, the one that the savior had grabbed, was a red mark in the shape of an engagement ring. A familiar engagement ring, that had one amethyst and one silver flower.
Leo trie very hard to remember. “A flower,” he told her. “I wanted to pick a flower.” She looked at him long and hard, and he looked back. He noticed, for what seemed like the first time, how complex the patterns in her gray irises were, dark streaks and dancing speckles mirroring those in the clouds above. Her wet hair, made honey-brown from the rain, clung to her face. Then the eyes teared up, while the face smiled, and she hugged him hard. “Don't make me do that again, Leo!”
“I wanted to pick a flower,” he repeated, “for you.”