by Kay Bratt
The surprise must’ve shown on Quinn’s face, because Maria looked indignant.
“Here in Hawaii, we don’t send our elders away. Most families have multiple generations living in the same house. This won’t just affect me. I have a lot of people depending on me. It’s not going to be easy to just up and leave.”
Quinn sighed. That part she couldn’t help with. But she could be charitable. “How much time do you think you need?”
Maria looked around, taking in the kitchen area filled with things that made it a home. A spice rack hung on the wall, some bottles low on ingredients, proving that the display wasn’t just for show. A pot was on the stove top, the burner glowing softly beneath it, tendrils of steam rising from the top.
On the windowsill a row of small pots held a variety of herbs, the names spelled out in bright pastel paints in a child’s handwriting.
“I don’t even know where we can go,” Maria finally said, her eyes filling again. “I have no job. I have some family on the big island, but they had to evacuate to a smaller home after the volcano eruption and don’t have room for us. And Pali has to stay in this school district. His place on the football team is his only chance at a scholarship.” She lowered her voice to a whisper again. “My daughter, Alani, doesn’t even know anything about this. Her best friend lives next door. They’ve grown up together, seeing one another every single day. It’s going to kill them to be separated. I don’t even know how to tell her. I said you were a friend of mine from the mainland.”
Quinn felt dirtier than pond scum. She was probably the furthest thing from a friend right now, unless friends were known to swoop down and kick you out of your own home. “I know this is hard. But this was all done legally, Maria. It’s not my fault your husband didn’t tell you what he was doing.”
Maria’s eyes widened. “Legally? Wait, are you going to call the police?”
This was excruciating, and Quinn wished she could blink her eyes and disappear. But a lot of money was on the line. It wasn’t as though she could just tell them, “Never mind, go ahead and keep the house,” and she’d find something else. For a split second, she wished Ethan were here to step up and make everything fall into place.
“No, I’m not calling the police. I’ll come back tomorrow, after you’ve had a chance to process this. I won’t just kick you out today, but we need to agree on a move-out date. Maybe by the weekend? I can’t stay in a hotel forever, and I have a lot of changes planned to the house. I need to start the remodeling while I’m here,” Quinn said.
The girl walked in, her ponytail swishing from side to side. “You can stay in the guesthouse,” she said, smiling at Quinn. She looked to her mother, her eyebrows up. “Mama, you said she was our guest. Pali should give up his room.”
First Maria looked surprised; then she nodded. She turned to Quinn.
“Yes. You take the guesthouse, and I’ll talk to my uncle in Oahu about visiting him,” she said, emphasizing visiting to make it clear to Quinn not to say anything in front of the girl. “I can have Pali’s things cleared out of there in an hour or so.”
“Oh, no. I can’t. I’m fine staying at the hotel,” Quinn said. She sure didn’t feel like it was her home yet, papers or not, and camping out on the property just didn’t feel right.
“No—please,” Maria insisted, “I’d feel less guilty if you took the guesthouse. It’s just messy right now because my son has been staying out there. But I’ll tidy it up and give you fresh linens. I can cook for you. I—I—”
“Maria, please.” Quinn reached out and took her hands, stopping them from wringing a hole through the towel. She couldn’t believe what she was about to say. “We need to have a solution by the weekend. I’ll even help you pack. Then I can get a contractor out here on Monday.”
Alani looked at her mother, confusion across her face.
“What is she talking about, Mama?”
Oops. Quinn stood. She’d had enough drama for one day. She felt completely wrung out herself, probably even rivaling the dishcloth.
Maria put her arms around Alani. “We need to talk, honey.”
“I’m going next door,” Alani said as she wiggled out of the embrace and went out the back door.
That was Quinn’s cue. “I’m sorry. I’ll see myself out,” she said. “You might want to go ahead and start contacting movers for a quote. Can you give me your number?”
Maria nodded, but it didn’t look convincing. She went to the counter and jotted her number down, then handed it over.
Quinn retreated through the living room, eyeing the wainscoting that needed painting, then the spectacular built-in china cabinets in the wall.
Through the dining room she caught a glimpse of the large bay window looking out into the rear of the property. The window went from floor to ceiling, flooding the room with sunlight. A quick glance at the hardwood floors showed their damage too. They needed refinishing.
Despite the rough edges, the Realtor hadn’t lied, after all. The house was a hidden gem, and once she was finished with it, Quinn had every confidence it would be a showstopper. She wished she had time to check out all the rooms, but she needed to leave and give Maria privacy to talk to her kids. She would call her in the morning to talk specifics.
Not to mention, the emotional charge in the house was more than Quinn could bear. It was going to be a long way back to the hotel. For once, she hoped that Ethan didn’t call her to check in that night. She needed more time to figure out just how much to tell him so that she could keep what he’d tell her back at a minimum.
Chapter Five
The next morning Quinn pulled the brim of her hat lower to block the sun from her eyes. She was tired, having spent the night fighting off stress-filled dreams starring an indignant Ethan. Now the waves crashed gently against the beach, a monotonous yet intoxicating sound. Still on East Coast time, she’d woken before dawn, but waited until the sun rose to come down and take a corner table at the outside restaurant.
She thought of the breakfast that Maria was probably getting prepped and ready to serve. Though she couldn’t accept the offer, she also couldn’t stop thinking about the cozy-looking guesthouse. Quinn spent her life running around hotels, and there weren’t enough amenities in the world to make it feel comfortable on her time off. She just wanted to forget her real life for a while, and the familiar hotel environment wasn’t making it easy.
She also felt uncomfortable being there solo, as though each couple or family who walked up wondered who she was and why she was alone. She ordered a bagel and side of fruit, then tossed it down and finished it off with a cup of orange juice before signing the bill and heading toward the beach. At the beach, she pulled a resort chair to a secluded spot on the sand.
Now her skin tingled from the sun, but the breeze caressed her, lulling her into laziness.
Her first thought that morning was to call the Realtor and give him a piece of her mind. If he’d really done the walk-through he’d lied about, he would’ve known Maria and her family were still there. Quinn had actually picked up the phone and begun dialing.
But remembering Maria’s stricken face stopped her. The Realtor would most likely insist on involving the authorities.
She hit the “End” button on her phone.
Hopefully, they could get everything straightened out without causing the woman further trouble. Ethan would tell Quinn she was letting them walk all over her, but she just couldn’t kick the woman when she was already down.
Now Quinn’s phone lay abandoned in the room, thrown there in a fit of frustration. No messages or missed calls from Ethan. Quinn wasn’t happy about it either. She would not dial his number again. It was his turn.
Nothing to report on the Lineage site either. She was beginning to dread opening her account and facing those glaring empty boxes. That morning, she’d closed her eyes and said a prayer, then looked.
The universe wasn’t listening. No connections reported. And she still didn’t have her new house
. She was beginning to believe the entire journey was cursed.
Sleeping hadn’t been easy either, especially when she knew that as soon as it was a decent hour, she would have to go back there again and face Maria—and her children—and basically take their house out from under them.
She felt a roll of nausea—her normal reaction to stress—and wiped at the perspiration beading across her forehead. If she wasn’t so afraid, she’d go cool off in the water. She loved the ocean, but only from the safety of the beach. That sounded ridiculous even to her, considering she lived in a town that was a magnet for water people.
Shifting in her seat, she felt her chair begin to wobble to the side, just about to tip over and throw her into the sand. She struggled to balance her weight back into the middle; then suddenly all movement was stopped.
“Care to paddle out?” a hoarse voice asked.
She strained her eyes, using a hand to block the light. A man leaned over, his hand on the side of the chair to steady it. He pushed down, grounding the uneven side deeper into the sand, stabilizing it before letting go. She saw a board propped at his feet.
“Oh, thanks. Something happened with this chair. Not sure what.”
“No problem. So, do you want to go out?”
“No, I don’t think so,” she said. “I don’t surf.”
“Wasn’t asking you to surf. It’s a paddleboard. You kneel and use your arms to get out to the waves; then ride them back without standing until you get the hang of it. I can show you.”
She couldn’t tell if his tone was mocking. Was he saying he didn’t think she could surf? Was that some sort of insult based on her very nonmuscular body? Now her cheeks burned, and it wasn’t from the sun. She resisted telling him she had spinning class twice a week and jogged—okay, maybe walked—just as frequently. No, she wasn’t into lifting weights, so her fitness might not be as visible to the eye, but that didn’t make her a complete sloth.
“But,” he continued, “if you’re up to surfing, we can do that too. I’ve got a few boards on my truck.”
He must’ve sensed he needed to rephrase. But the truth was, she couldn’t surf. Or paddleboard. Ethan was the athlete. She was the sideliner. He depended on her to be waiting for him, holding the gear or towel or whatever he needed. He was amused by her fear of the ocean but thus far hadn’t pushed her to overcome it.
“Thanks, but no. I’m just resting today,” she said. He was a big guy, but the sun at his back put his face in a shadow. From the sound of his voice, Quinn guessed him to be at least her age, if not older.
“Fine. Suit yourself,” he said, then walked toward the water. He was ankle deep when he turned and came back. “Just so you know, I usually do my thing solo. I’m not sure why I stopped and asked you. Just thought you looked like you might need to have some fun, but—” He paused. “Oh, never mind.”
She still couldn’t see his face clearly, and she hoped he couldn’t see hers under the wide brim of her hat, because she was sure it was flaming. Why hadn’t he just gone on and left her alone? Now he’d made it awkward.
“Well, okay. Thanks for asking.”
He nodded, then strode into the water, and when it was waist high, threw himself onto his board and paddled out.
Quinn watched him for a moment. He was far enough out now that she could look without fear of him catching her. From the distance, it was hard to tell much about him. She’d seen other surfers that morning wearing black wetsuits. Not him, though. It appeared that he sported only a pair of swim trunks. No shirt. His hair was dark. Cut short. His profile was strong—a defined nose and forehead, but the other features were still shadowed by the sun.
She could, however, barely make out some sort of tattoo snaking around one of his biceps. He moved gracefully, his form seeming to be one with the motion of the waves, as though confident they would carry him and not let him down. It must be an amazing feeling, but she wondered if he thought about sharks, or if being in their domain was thrilling enough to counteract the chances he took.
Ethan was that way—the kick of adrenaline was what made him tick. He’d bungee jumped off high bridges, skydived out of planes, and once on a dare had climbed out of a seventh-story window and Spider-Manned his way down to the ground. He always had to have a challenge, something to tame. Sometimes Quinn thought that was why he’d picked her. He saw through her facade of self-confidence to the girl who might shatter at any given moment.
Well, here she was in Maui, and things weren’t going exactly as planned, but she hadn’t shattered yet. More than that, she hadn’t allowed him to step in and fix everything.
Somehow, she’d figure out what to do with Maria, and she’d not only get the house emptied of the unexpected family but would turn it into a place that would make Ethan shocked by what she could do on her own.
A few hours later, Quinn approached the house warily, her car moving like a snail as she turned into the driveway. Once she’d left the peace of her beachside chair and traversed the pool area, now packed with families, then stepped into the elevator and rode up listening to another couple happily chatting about where they’d go for dinner, she felt those old insecurities slip back in.
She tried to call Ethan then, just to hear his voice, but was unsuccessful in reaching him. She wavered between wanting to be independent and worrying that he’d been right about the entire situation.
Her bravado faded quickly, and she’d waited until nearly noon, trying to work up the courage to arrive at the house to insist on a solution from Maria. A few cosmetic issues that a shipment of tiles and a coat of paint could fix was one thing, but never had she imagined she’d be dealing with people still living there. It didn’t feel like she owned a new home yet, that was for sure. She wanted to blame the jet lag on her sudden reticence to get things done, but something told her it was her fear of failure.
Still, she’d already bought the house and couldn’t just walk away from it or let someone else straighten matters out. So she got into her car and headed there, intent on making some sort of progress in the mess that was now her life.
As soon as she climbed out of the car, she heard a burst of yelling and then a door slam around the back of the house.
Pali was obviously awake. So much for the myth of teenagers sleeping late into the afternoon. Or maybe someone had dared to poke the sleeping dragon.
She was considering just turning around and leaving, coming back later when things were calm, but then the door opened, and Maria appeared.
“I know I’m in a tight place, but I won’t take your charity,” she said, then waved an envelope.
“Oh, hi, Maria. Good morning. Not sure what you’re talking about, though.”
Maria put a hand on her hip and narrowed her eyes, staring at Quinn for a moment. “You didn’t leave me five hundred dollars last night?” she asked. “In this envelope behind the storm door?”
Quinn was taken aback. She wanted them out of her house, but she hadn’t even considered paying them to leave. Now she felt stupid. She should’ve offered the money yesterday.
She shook her head. “Nope. Wasn’t me.”
Maria relaxed, the sternness leaving her face as confusion set in.
“Then I don’t know who did. That means I can’t give it back. Can’t say I don’t need it, though. The kitchen is practically bare of groceries, and if I don’t get a new tire on my car, we’ll all be walking. Pali needs new cleats for football, too, though he says he can make do with last year’s pair.”
Quinn stood at the bottom step, biting her lip. Five hundred dollars could also pay for a moving truck, but Maria obviously hadn’t thought of that.
“Come in,” Maria said, folding the envelope into her pocket before waving Quinn up the steps. “I’m making some brunch for Kupuna. Don’t say anything to him about the money.”
Quinn wasn’t sure what a kupuna was, but she followed.
Maria led her through the living area to the kitchen. The coffee she was brewing smelled i
ntoxicating. The girl was there, sitting at the table with an old man. They were studying a paper between the two of them, though Alani held the pencil.
He looked up, his face impassive, and it felt like he looked right through Quinn. If she could guess, she’d put him at around eighty years old. He wasn’t a large man, though he appeared to be strong and wiry. His skin was dark and seasoned from the sun in a way that could only come from decades of embracing the outdoors. The many lines around his mouth and eyes were deep, but they made an interesting road map of years of wisdom and experience. What he had left of his hair stood up in silvery tufts, and as she looked, he ran his hand through them.
“This is my father. We call him Kupuna,” said Maria.
The old man nodded, but Quinn felt silently chastised.
“Aloha,” he finally said, before returning his attention to his granddaughter.
“Aloha,” Quinn replied, feeling awkward, especially now that she knew what it meant and had a feeling that the old man was being gracious by using it.
She’d read an article on the plane ride over that described the misunderstanding of the word used for greeting. Most mainlanders were under the impression that aloha was the word used for both “hello” and “goodbye.” But the article stated it was much more, that aloha meant “love,” “peace,” and “compassion.” More than a word, a life of aloha meant the heart was overflowing, and when using it, one should be sincerely happy to see the person they said it to.
To be fair, Quinn’s heart wasn’t feeling overflowing in the least. As a matter of fact, it was jumping around like a frog in a fire, every fiber in her being anticipating the upcoming difficult conversation.
“Please, sit down. Would you like some breakfast?” Maria asked, pulling a chair out and beckoning for Quinn to take it. She gestured to a plate on the table that held mango and what could have been papaya, though Quinn wasn’t sure.
“No, thank you. Just coffee would be good.”
The bagel she’d had seemed like ages ago, but Quinn wasn’t there for pleasantries. She also didn’t want to have their talk with a child, and now the grandfather, there. But if she was patient, maybe she could get Maria off to herself once she’d finished cooking.
