by Cathryn Cade
Downstairs, David was in the kitchen, already dressed in a black silk tee and gray plaid shorts, sandals on his feet. He sat at the big kitchen island, a spoon loaded with some kind of pureed orange stuff ready for the toddler strapped into a highchair.
Isaac’s dark eyes fastened on Moke. Then he whacked his fist on the tray of his highchair and pointed at Moke with the other. "Bah-bah-na-huh!"
"Preach it, kane," Moke agreed, reaching out a fist to tap gently against the little boy's.
The toddler let out a shriek of excitement, and then laughed. Moke chuckled.
David snuck another mouthful of orange stuff into his son's mouth. "Coffee's ready. Melia has lots of breakfast stuff in the fridge, help yourself."
"Thanks." Moke moved to pour himself some rich, dark Kona coffee in a hand-thrown mug the color of pineapple. As the rich bitter brew flooded his mouth, he sighed with pleasure. "Nothing like Kona coffee."
"Yeah. My cousin Bella grew this, up on her farm. You wanna take some back to the mainland, give you the local, kamaiana discount."
"Mahalo, might take you up on that. So, how long you gonna be over on Maui?" Moke leaned back against the counter and made a face at Isaac, who grinned and blew orange-tinged bubbles in return.
David grabbed a napkin and wiped drool off his son's face. "Planning on four days. But we're staying with the Ho'omalu cousins, and mama and papa will be there, so who knows? Might go longer."
Moke pondered the mysteries of a family who actually wanted to spend time together.
He sure as hell didn't have that through blood, but his Flyer brothers...yeah. If he had to move hours away and only got to see T-Bear, Brews and Rocker once in a while, there'd be a lot of catching up to do. Over brews, maybe a few joints. Lot of laughs, a lot of regret about time missed.
The Flyers were his family now, his true ohana. His parents? They’d just let him down time after time.
"You on a schedule?" David asked, wiping Isaac's hands off and giving his face a last swipe. "Need to get back to your garage, yeah?"
Moke nodded, his gut tightening. "Yeah. Left my partner running it. He's good, but we stay busy." Busy enough, in fact, that he shouldn't have left.
"We can get someone else in here, you need to go," David said. He lifted Isaac out of the high chair and held him in one powerful arm as he rose to take the empty dish to the sink. "Don't want you to feel obligated, brah."
"No worries," Moke said. "Might take that long for me to find Timo."
"Oh, forgot to tell you, Uncle Hilo said he can help with that. He talks to the local fishermen and cruise boats. Anyone sees your dad, he'll let you know."
"He still running his boat shop out at Honokōhau?" Moke asked. David and Daniel's uncle had been silver-haired when Moke left for the mainland. How old that made him now, Moke wasn’t sure.
David grinned, pouring himself more coffee. "Yeah, he'll never retire. Likes being around the harbor too much. Knows everyone with a boat, yeah?"
That had certainly been the case when Moke was a kid. He remembered riding out to the harbor in the back of his dad's old truck, the boat on the trailer behind. They'd always stopped in to see Hilo, to get bait and tips on where the fish were biting. Hilo always had a cold soda for Moke and a big smile.
"Matty, you were one of his favorites," David said, as if he divined Moke's thoughts. "You stop in and see him, you'll make his day."
Moke looked to him in surprise. He'd always liked David and Daniel, and envied them their big, close family, but it had never occurred to him that any of them would miss him when he left.
David shook his head. "We all miss you, big kanaka."
Moke gave him a wary look and hid behind his coffee mug. Huh. This news left a warm place in his chest.
Melia chose that moment to breeze into the big kitchen, baby in her arms.
"Morning," she said to Moke, and then looked to David. "Are you ready, honey? Claire texted me, and they're waiting for us out in the drive."
David looked down at Isaac. "Whatchu think, son? We ready to go for a ride in da chopper? Go see grandma and grandpa, and all the cousins?"
The toddler bounced on his father's arm and waved his arms. "Cha-cha. Bah!"
"Okay," his father agreed. "Moke, talk to you soon."
"Eat the food!" Melia called back. "It will just spoil if you don't."
"Okay," he promised. He watched from the front doorway as they crossed the drive to a shiny, white Escalade. They climbed in, and in moments, the big vehicle rolled away up the drive.
Leaving Moke alone in the big house. And alone in the entire bay, he realized with a smile.
He refilled his mug, grabbed a couple of bananas and headed outside.
The sun was just breaking through the morning clouds. The warm air smelled of damp earth and flowers, and the sea. He walked barefoot down through the lawn to the sand that edged the little bay. Under a rim of palm trees, lounge chairs and small tables waited invitingly. The shallow waters of the bay were a clear, pure turquoise, with the reef a dark shadow beyond.
The seas were calm this morning, a shallow surf breaking over the reef. Moke wandered down and sat with his toes in the water, ate his bananas and drank his coffee.
Pretty soon, he'd have to get his shit together and head up to the homestead, get back to cleaning up.
But for a few moments, he just wanted to enjoy the peace of a Big Island morning.
His phone played the sound of a Harley revving up. T-Bear's ringtone.
"Hey, bro," T-Bear's familiar, deep voice rumbled in his ear. "Howzit?"
"It's goin' better. I ran into an old friend, and he invited me to stay at his family's beach house while they're gone."
T whistled. "Nice. Any bikini babes around?"
He sounded so hopeful that Moke had to grin. "Not so far."
"Well, that's the shits. Think there'd be some, anyways. What good is a beach without bikinis?"
"This beach is pretty choice, even without 'em. But one or two would not go unappreciated."
“Or un-touched, right? By the way, Misti misses you.” T teased. “She asked me when you was comin’ back.”
“Hope you told her none of her business,” Moke said. “Been there, ain’t goin’ back for seconds.”
“Nah, didn’t tell her nothin’. Think I’ll let you do the honors,” T said. “How 'bout that volcano? That leavin' you alone?"
"Yeah, it's staying on the other side of the mountain." Moke's eyes narrowed. His friend sounded distracted. "T, what's up? Club business?"
T sighed heavily. "Nah, Stick's been chatting with Sound Whitaker over in Seattle about some new drug lord, dealing some really bad shit, but that's...not really on our radar, yet anyways." He sighed again. "Thing is, JJ's daughter called. Wants to know if we got our shit together with a loan yet. So, we best be gettin' it together, 'cause pretty soon she'll push him to open up to other offers. She wants him shut of the place."
"Fuck." Moke’s gaze was on the horizon but instead of the ethereal beauty of a perfect Hawaiian morning, he saw again his family property, and the mess it was in. And the gaping absence of his father. None of this leaving him ready to sell the place and raise money.
"You havin' trouble with your old man?" T asked.
"You could say that. Can't find the old bastard. He's in the wind—or on the waves, more like. I got people looking for him, but so far nothing."
It was T-Bear's turn to mutter a curse. "Oh, man, that's not good. Maybe we should talk to Stick, ask the club for a loan."
"No," Moke said. "Not unless we got no other choice. I respect Stick, I'd go to him in a heartbeat if I was in trouble, and you know I'll back him up in any play, no questions asked. But you also know he drives Pete insane thinking he knows best at The Hangar. We take his money for JJ's, he'll expect to be deferred to. And he's the best club president we could have—"
"I know, I know," T finished. "But he ain't an expert on running an auto-repair shop. You're right. Just...hurr
y it up if you can, yeah?"
Moke's jaw tightened, and his eyes narrowed. "I'll hurry it up, brah. Back to you as soon as I find him."
"All right. Later."
CHAPTER NINE
Shelle walked off the plane into the warm, damp heat of a cloudy afternoon on Hawaii's Big Island.
Around her, fellow passengers chatted excitedly as they walked to the small, open-air airport. Hawaiians, their skin a lovely golden-brown, their hair ebony, directed traffic and navigated the pavement around the jets on luggage carts.
In the central patio of the airport, people sat on benches around a statue of life-size hula dancers, their arms outstretched in a graceful dance. Other travelers trooped to one of the several gates where open-air seating awaited them. A gift shop sold curios such as hula dolls, shell necklaces and bags of local coffee.
To Shelle, who had never traveled farther than half a day from Seattle in her life, being here was surreal.
A cloudy day in Seattle was apt to be chilly. Here, it was so warm. The air smelled of flowers and damp. The lava-strewn plain around the airport was kind of ugly in her opinion, but in the distance the azure ocean dashed white waves against the rocky shores.
To her relief, the ride into Kona on the shuttle brought her into a different landscape, green and lush. Brilliantly flowering trees bloomed alongside the highway. The streets of town were lined with every kind of tourist shop and cafe imaginable. Between these rose graceful stone churches, and an old home on the shore that looked like it was now a museum. In town, they skirted a beautiful bay, full of people swimming, kayaking and paddle-boarding. There was even a cruise ship anchored off-shore, a white bulk against the sea and gentle clouds.
Shelle climbed off the shuttle with a sense of wonder. "Girl, you're not in SeaTac anymore,' she whispered to herself.
A shaft of sun cut through the clouds, and heat settled on her head and shoulders like a warm blanket. Ahead of her, a middle-aged woman wearing black synthetics let out a bleat of distress.
Shelle wanted to moan with pleasure. Must be her Navajo heritage, but she fah-reakin' loved summer heat. The hotter, the better as far as she was concerned. She tanned easily, rarely burned. Seattle's chilly, rainy winters were her idea of terrible weather.
Yep, she was definitely in paradise now.
Too bad that, as it turned out, paradise had no place for her.
When she called Vicky, and got no answer, Shelle texted. 'I'm here. Got a shuttle into Kona. Call me when u get a chance, ok?'
She would not become agitated or nervous, she told herself as she sat in the shade of a trio of rustling palms outside the rambling complex of wooden shops and kiosks that graced the center of Kona town. She'd hear from Vicky soon. Her foster mom was probably just out in the garden, or at the beach. She'd be back soon, and then come to pick Shelle up.
Breathe in, breathe out. Stay relaxed. Watch the other people wandering the shore-front scene, enjoy the heat, look at the waves rolling into the pretty little bay and splashing on the breakwater. Listen to the guitar music drifting from a nearby coffee shop.
But after two hours, when she'd had no word from Vicky, Shelle finally wandered into the shopping center—even though she knew it was a terrible idea for her right now, when she was on edge, nervous and stressed.
In her everyday life, she now shopped only for necessity, not for pleasure. She couldn't afford to linger over enticing items the way other people did, yearning for that pretty ring, necklace or pair of earrings. Even sporting goods stores like the beach-sports store coming up on her right were danger zones. They had small items sitting out unguarded too.
When Shelle needed groceries or incidentals like tampons or lotion, she wrote down what she would buy, she mapped out exactly where in the store to find it, and then she went there, and only there. She put her items in her cart or basket, she went directly to the cash registers, she paid and she got the hell out of there. No looking at magazines, or the paperback rack. No browsing through the snack aisle for chips or cookies on sale. Not even the pet care aisles.
Too much temptation for someone like her—like dropping an alcoholic off at a liquor store, or a junkie in the mean streets of the city. Addicts had to make it harder to score, not easier.
A brick-paved path meandered between an old restaurant on the beach side and a series of little shops that had been built around it. The pavement went up and down in a crazy fashion over the roots of big tropical trees that shaded the walkway. One even grew up through a big hole that had been left in an overhang.
She'd just walk around, Shelle told herself. Just look, from out here on the path. No going into one of the small, crowded shops, and no getting too close to the outdoor kiosks set up along the edges of the walkway. Even though the shell bracelets, lava-rock necklaces, and earrings made of beads and shells were pretty and inexpensive. She might be able to afford them, but she could not afford to be around them.
Forcing her feet to keep moving her past the racks of pretty baubles, she found a cafe that looked over the bay, and sat in the shade, ordering the cheapest thing on the menu, a fish-burger with fries. It was delicious, and she ate hungrily and drained her glass of ice water.
"Here on vacay?" asked the waiter, a lean, tanned guy about her age with his blond hair shaved on the sides and drawn back in a short tail on top. He smiled at her as he refilled her ice water.
"Here to visit family," Shelle told him.
"Cool. They here in Kona?"
"No, over the mountain, near Hilo," Shelle said. "A little south of there, I think."
His eyes widened. "No shit? Uh, you do know Kilauea is erupting over there, right?"
Shelle's stomach tightened on her lunch. She stared at him. "Well...I do, yeah." The pilot of the jet had pointed out the plume of dark smoke as they flew in earlier, informing them that all was normal around the airport, and on most of the island, so enjoy their stay, and aloha. "But they said everyone is safe."
"Yeah, everyone's safe who doesn't live south of Hilo," he said, frowning. "Have you called them?"
"I did," she whispered. "They...haven't called back yet." She was grateful she was seated, because she wasn't sure she could have stood just then. God, what if Vicky was dead—or trapped by streams of burning lava, weeping as she awaited a fiery death?
His expression changed, and he lifted a hand. "Whoa, sorry. Sorry, didn't mean to imply they're not all right. No one's been killed, or even hurt."
"Really?"
He shook his head. "No, I swear. So, I'm sure they're fine, you know?"
He smiled as if pleading with her to accept his reassurance, and she tried to smile back. She failed. "I—can I have my bill, please? I have to—I should go."
Where, she hadn't the faintest idea. Just...somewhere, out of here.
"Sure, sure, " he said with obvious relief, already backing away. "Lemme get that for you."
Shelle paid for her sandwich, steadfastly ignoring the salt-and-pepper shakers that were winking at her from the center of her small table. She left a small tip, because as a waitress herself, she couldn't not tip. But she wasn't rewarding someone for scaring her half to death, either.
Hoisting her backpack, she walked away.
Her phone rang as she was walking back through the open-air mall.
"Hello? Vicky?" she asked eagerly, stopping in her tracks.
"Oh, Shelle, thank God," Vicky said. "Honey, I am so, so sorry I'm not there to pick you up. God, what a mess."
When a passing tourist jostled her, Shelle moved to one side, in front of a rack of brightly colored bikinis. "Vicky! Are you okay?"
"Well...yes, and no. We're safe, but—oh, where to start?"
"I'm here," Shelle said, as the woman had to her many times over the years. "Take your time."
Vicky made a sound that was half-chuckle, half-sob. "Okay. So, I know by now you've heard the volcano erupted, sent a lava flow right through the neighborhood where we've been renting. Whoo-ee, that was stressful! We
started packing all our things in our rental car, which thank God is an SUV. Got nearly everything in, when Dave looked at me, pale as a ghost and said, 'My arm hurts.' His left arm—he was having a heart attack."
"Oh, my God, is he okay?"
"He is now, because he's in the hospital here in Hilo. But we're—we're waiting on a flight to Honolulu, because they say he needs a stent put in right away, and they only do that at Queen's Hospital there. We'll be flying out in an hour. And I am so, so sorry I couldn't let you know not to come, but—all this just happened. And you were already in the air anyway."
The older woman sighed deeply. "I'll buy you a plane ticket home, honey. I know you're short on cash with school and all."
"No," Shelle said quickly. "No, you will not. I’m...I'm staying here. I'll, uh, get a hotel room, just until you're back. And then we'll visit, okay?"
"Are you sure? What—oh, Shell hon, the doctor is here—I need to go. I'll talk to you in a bit, okay? Take care, and text me the place where you stay."
"Sure," Shelle said brightly. "Talk soon."
And then she ended the call, put her phone in her purse, and sat down on the nearest bench, placed in the shade outside the swim shop. A stout, perspiring man in an aloha shirt, shorts and black dress shoes with white socks sat on the other end, fanning himself with his straw hat. He smelled of too-strong men's cologne and stale sweat.
Shelle stared at the sunburned, smiling couple strolling along, laden with shopping bags and wearing tee-shirts that proclaimed, 'Hawaii is for lovers'. Maybe, but it wasn't for single, broke waitresses.
She sat there, her mind whirling, despair crouching at the edges of her mind, ready to spring.
Her heart ached for Vicky, for the terrible fear she was feeling now, for her new husband and for their pretty rental house, all their things there. If only Shelle could just rent a truck and drive there, pack up Vicky and Dave's things and take them to safety for them. She felt so...helpless, useless.
The rack of bikinis hung just to her left.
