“If you’re not our new nanny, why are you taking us to the beach?” Zel asks.
“Don’t you want to go to the beach? It’s fun.”
Ana shrugs her shoulders. “Whatever.”
“Whatever,” says Zel.
“Your mom told me to take you to the beach.”
“Whatever,” Ana says again. “But remember, just because you’re driving, you’re not the boss of us.”
“Yeah. The last nanny thought she was the boss of us,” Zel says.
“Nanny Bossy didn’t last long,” Ana says, staring out the window. “We Nair’d her.”
“Nair’d her?”
“In her shampoo.”
“You didn’t!”
Zel nods. “We did. Now she’s Nanny Baldo.”
Ana scrunches up her face. “More like Nanny Patches.”
I give them another look. “So how bossy was she?”
Ana turns to me. “She wanted us to pick our clothes off the floor.”
“And read books.”
“And took away our candy.”
“We NEED our candy.”
“So don’t try to take it,” Ana says.
“Okay,” I say and try not to scratch my suddenly itchy head.
When we hit the highway that circumnavigates the island, I turn right and follow the signs to Lauele Town. The ocean peeps through the ironwood trees on the left, but it’s not until we come to a two-story building with a big sign saying Hari’s on the front that the view really opens up.
Across the street from Hari’s is a beach pavilion with a sign that reads Keikikai Beach. Big delivery trucks fill the parking lot. In a grassy field people are setting up a big event tent and an on-site catering kitchen.
“Must be the place,” I say, pulling into the parking lot.
Zel points to the big banner across the front of the tent: International Abilities Surf Camp Charity Auction & Luau.
“You think?”
Ana rolls her eyes. “You’re right, Zel. She’s too stupid to be our nanny.”
“Hey!”
They jump out of the truck and start heading toward the beach.
“Zel! Ana! What about all the boxes?”
Without stopping, they wave at me.
“Not my problem,” Zel says over her shoulder.
“That’s why you’re here,” Ana says.
“And your truck smells like old feet!” Zel shouts.
I scramble out of the truck. I almost forget, but at the last minute I grab my purse off the seat and whip it over my head and across my body. The girls are striding across the sand now. “Zel! Ana! Get back—”
“Jerry, you can’t park here.”
I whirl around. Nobody’s there.
“What?”
I hear a tongue click and a sigh. “Down here.”
I peer over the hood of the truck. “Oh. Sorry, I didn’t see you.”
Near the license plate, a tiny man with a clipboard adjusts his hat and frowns. “Why are you driving Jerry Santos’s truck? Where’s Jerry?”
“I—”
“Never mind. You have to move it. We need the entire parking lot for the event tonight.”
“But—”
“Eh, Luna. Check out the back. The wahine brought the boxes we’ve been waiting for.” Two thick brown hands reach over the side of the truck and lift out a box.
The guy with the clipboard grins. “Why didn’t you say so? Hui! Eh, gangies! Come kokua!”
In an instant, one by one the boxes begin to rise out of the truck and float toward the tent.
What the what?
I walk around the front of the truck and into a scene from Willy Wonka. A fireman’s brigade of men no taller than three feet are unloading the boxes and handing them down the line and into the tent.
The one lifting the boxes out of the back taps the side of the truck. “Eh! Das the last one,” he says. “All pau!”
I peek into the back to check, but when I turn around to thank them, they’ve disappeared.
The first guy rips something from his clipboard and holds it out. “Your receipt.”
I glance at it. “Menehune Inc.?”
He grins. “We’re Local 808. No job too big or small. We specialize in rock walls. I’m Luna. You a friend of Jerry’s?”
“Sort of.”
“Ah,” he nods. “That kind of friend.”
“No!” Heat pinks my cheeks. “He just lent me his truck. That’s all.”
He cocks his head. “Oooh! You’re THAT kind of friend.”
I adjust my bag over my shoulder and glare. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Relax, titah. I’m just joking with you. You work for Watanabe Global, right?”
“Sort of. I’m Rell.”
“Ah-ha! I thought I recognized that smell.”
“What?”
I fight an impulse to sniff my arm pit. Instead I surreptitiously rub my cheek on my shoulder and breathe deeply.
Flowers and laundry detergent.
This guy’s nuts.
He flicks his wrist. “Nothing. You remind me of your mother.”
“You knew my mom?”
“Oh, yeah. She was a Ha’awina. The Ha’awinas go way back in Lauele. You never know?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Your family owns land around here. It’s just mauka of the land where they want to build the surf camp. See?” He points uphill. “That’s where the road will go. You seen the designs, yeah?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know anything about the project.”
“Well, go park Jerry’s junkalunka truck in front of Hari’s store—he won’t mind—and come to the tent. We’ll show you everything.”
“Thanks, but I can’t. The twins took off down to the beach, and I need to keep an eye on them.”
Luna whistles. “Makani!”
“Yeah, Luna?” a voice answers.
“Girls. Beach. Now.”
“On it!”
I don’t see Makani, but I hear feet thunder across the pavement. A heartbeat later, little puffs of sand rise from the beach.
Luna smiles. “No worries. Makani will keep an eye on them.”
My stomach clenches. “I don’t know Makani.”
“No worries. He’s like the wind. He’ll make sure they don’t get into trouble.”
“I think I better—”
He taps the side of the truck. “I need you to move this first. After you park the car, go into Hari’s store. Tell him Luna wants a sprunch. Put it on my tab.”
“Luna, you sly dog. Tell Hari yourself. Don’t let this guy fool you, Rell,” says a voice behind me.
“Jerry! Don’t spoil my fun,” Luna says.
My heart skips.
Jerry!
He startled me.
That’s it.
That’s all.
It has nothing to do with his deep surfer’s tan or eyes like green beach glass.
Right.
Jerry holds out his hand. Reflexively I hold mine out, too. He drops keys into my palm.
“I hoped I’d find you here. Your rental car’s across the street at Hari’s. Are my keys still inside the truck?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll get my truck out of Luna’s hair.”
“Thanks so much for loaning it to me. I couldn’t have done this without you.”
“No problem.” He opens the door and climbs in the cab.
I grab the open window before he can shut the door. “Hey. You said you were involved with the surf camp. Luna was just going to show me the plans. Wanna come see?”
I groan.
That sounds desperate. Needy. Guys hate that.
“I’d love to. Be right back.”
I watch as Jerry backs up and parks across the street next to an orange Mini. I can’t stop smiling.
“Oh, yeah,” says Luna. “Totally a friend like that.”
Chapter 7
When Jerry jogs back, he’s h
olding a hideous ruffled floral beach wrap. “I think this belongs to you.”
I want to die.
“Actually, I think it belongs to one of my step-sisters.” I quickly stuff it in my purse. “I really should go check on them.”
“Makani’s with them,” Luna says. “They’re fine.”
I hesitate.
Jerry comes to my rescue. He jumps up on the rock wall separating the grass from the sand and scans the beach.
“Luna’s right. The girls are fine. See for yourself.”
He reaches down and pulls me up next to him. He puts a hand on my shoulder and leans close as he points toward the ocean. His aftershave reminds me of cedar and cinnamon.
I breathe deeply.
And a touch of clove.
I shake my head.
This is ridiculous, Rell. You’re acting like a love sick puppy. Knock it off.
Jerry mistakes my headshake for a no.
“Can’t see them? Look a little more to the right.”
He leans closer until his breath kisses my cheek.
Wintergreen mint.
All I have to do is turn my head, and we’ll be kissing for real.
Ah! Focus! Ana and Zel. Where are they?
I follow Jerry’s arm as it points out along a lava outcrop. The girls are still close to the main beach, splashing in a shallow tide pool. A few feet away, a medium-sized yellow dog approaches them, wagging its tail.
A dog.
The girls wanted to hang a cat.
This can’t be good.
I step away from Jerry, so I can think.
“I see Ana and Zel, but I don’t see Makani,” I say.
“He’s out there. Guaranteed,” Luna says.
“Makani’s a dog?” I ask.
Luna cocks his head. “A dog? No, Makani’s a—”
“She’s talking about Ilima,” Jerry interrupts.
“Ilima? Who’s Ilima?” I ask.
“That yellow poi dog next to the girls is named Ilima. Between Ilima and Makani, the girls are in good hands. There’s no need to worry about them,” Jerry says.
“Everyone keeps telling me that I don’t have to worry because Makani’s out there, even though I can’t see him. Are you telling me now that Ilima’s a lifeguard? She’ll jump in and rescue the girls if they get swept out to sea?”
“Ilima’s Ilima,” Luna says, scratching his head. “Makani’s Makani. I’m Luna. He’s Jerry. You’re Rell. Why is this so confusing?”
Jerry laughs and jumps down from the wall.
“It’s not, Luna. The reef’s scary when you’re not from Lauele. Rell just wants to make sure the girls are safe.”
“Didn’t we just say so?” Luna says.
“Yes, but she needs to understand things for herself.” Jerry jerks his head toward the tent. “If Ilima’s here, Uncle Kahana is, too. Why don’t you come in and meet him? He can show you the plans. It will just take a minute and then we’ll walk down to Piko Point.”
“Piko Point?”
He points towards the girls again.
“Piko Point is at the end of the lava outcrop. From there I can show you where the surf tournament’s held and tell you all about the surf camp.”
From the ground, Jerry reaches up and places his hands along my waist. Without thinking I lean down and put my hands on his shoulders as he lifts me off the wall. On the ground, I have to look up a little to see his eyes. I know with just a little stretch, our lips would meet.
Cedar, cinnamon, cloves, and wintergreen mints.
Jerry clears his throat and smiles as he releases me, taking a half a step back.
“We are friends,” sings Luna. “Friends, friends, friends! We are friends.”
I turn toward him, but Luna’s gone.
“What’s that all about?” Jerry asks. “Why is he singing an old Cecilio & Kapono song?”
“Who knows,” I say. “He’s a little—”
“Strange?” Jerry raises an eyebrow.
I roll my eyes. “I was going to say quirky.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” Jerry says, taking my hand. “C’mon. Let’s check out the tent.”
Chapter 8
Inside the tent, a young woman with long hair piled on top of her head is smoothing tablecloths over a row of tables. Head down, she says, “Stack the brochures on the end, Luna. I want people to see the full list of auction items before they come in to bid.” She looks up. “Oh, Jerry! I thought you were Luna.”
“He’s around here somewhere, Nalani. I just saw him,” Jerry says.
“Luna!” Nalani shouts. “I need—”
“Already pau, Nalani!” says Luna’s voice.
I turn, and a table that I swear wasn’t there when I walked in is now next to the door and covered with artfully swirled stacks of brochures.
“What about the flowers?” Nalani says, placing her hands on her hips.
Like magic, a vase filled with purple bougainvillea appears.
“And pens!” Nalani says.
A woven basket of pens quivers next to the vase.
Nalani cracks her gum. “Why do I have to remind you buggahs about everything?”
“You’re welcome,” says Luna, but I can’t tell if it’s coming from under a table, behind the stacks of boxes, or outside the tent.
She cracks her gum again and smiles at us. “Who’s your friend?”
Jerry says, “This is Rell Watanabe.”
“Hi,” I say and hold out my hand.
“As if.” She ignores my hand and kisses my cheek. “Aloha, Rell. Strangers shake. Ohana honi—kiss.”
“Ohana? You mean family?”
“Don’t look surprised. The word ohana existed long before Lilo and Stitch. And, yeah. We’re second cousins on your mother’s side. The last time I saw you, you were busy eating sand on Keikikai Beach.”
“Ew!”
She shrugs. “It’s what babies do. You don’t remember coming to Lauele?”
“No.”
Nalani puts her arm around my shoulders. “It was a long time ago. If your mother was still alive, I’m certain you would’ve been back many times. Let me get Uncle Kahana. He’ll want to meet you.”
“I have an Uncle Kahana?”
“Oh, Honey! Everyone has an Uncle Kahana. There he is,” she says. “E hui! Uncle Kahana! Someone to see you.”
At the far end of the tent, in front of a massive stage, a slightly built elderly man in a faded t-shirt and worn board shorts turns toward us. He raises his brown arm and waves.
“Send ‘em over, Nalani. It’s too far for an old broke okole man to walk all the way over there.”
Nalani gives me a little nudge, and Jerry and I thread our way through the tables.
Panic bubbles.
I have an Uncle Kahana.
People I don’t know call me family.
My mother’s family was from Lauele.
I give Jerry a side-glance.
I have to know.
“Are we related?” I whisper.
He pauses for a minute, considering. “Calabash cousins for sure. My great-great grandfather’s aunty was hanai to your fifth cousin’s mother, and she married my third cousin’s nephew, so yeah, we’re ohana.”
Family.
My heart sinks.
“You know what calabash means, right?” Jerry says.
“No.”
“It’s an old Hawaiian idiom. Basically, it refers to all the people who make sure you never go hungry as well as the people you feed. It’s less about sharing physical blood than sharing experiences and responsibilities.”
I feel a sharp tug on the bottom of my shirt. When I reach back, I feel Luna’s thick hand squeeze mine.
“Don’t worry,” he whispers. “Calabash cousins can date.”
I spin around, but all I see is the edge of a tablecloth settling against the floor.
“Did you say something?” Jerry asks.
“Me? No.”
I hear a giggle, a
nd then Luna’s voice sings, “Friends, friends, friends.”
“It’s just Luna singing again,” I say.
“Luna. What a pest!” Jerry says.
“So, we’re calabash cousins, but not blood.”
“Right,” he says.
Calabash. The butterflies settle. It might not make a difference to him, but it does to me.
Wait a minute.
I touch his arm. “Is that why you lent me your truck?”
Jerry shakes his head. “Of course not. I didn’t know you were ohana until I saw Luna talking with you. One of his quirks is he only talks with family.”
“But I’d never met him before. How could he possibly know me?”
Jerry shrugs. “I don’t know. But no one outside of family ever sees him or his crew.”
Luna giggles again. From somewhere around my knees, he sing-songs, “First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes Rell with a—”
I smack the tabletop.
“Cockroach?” Jerry asks. “They get pretty big in Hawaii.”
“It’s nothing.”
Luna giggles again.
Imp.
“Close,” says a voice in my ear, “but not quite.”
Chapter 9
It doesn’t take us long to reach the far end of the tent where Uncle Kahana is standing next to a table with an architect’s model.
“Uncle Kahana, this is—”
“Rell Watanabe.” He leans over and kisses my cheek. “You look like your mother.”
It’s so unexpected that I have to catch my breath.
“You knew my mother?”
“Of course. And your father. And your grandparents—”
“Yeah, Uncle Kahana is real old,” says Jerry.
Uncle Kahana narrows his eyes. “Don’t you have cars to park?”
“Nope.”
“You sure? I hear you college boys are good at that.”
“The best! We learned from old futs like you.”
Uncle Kahana snorts and wags his finger. “One of these days, Jerry, if you’re lucky, you’ll get to be as old as me.”
“I hope so, Uncle, I hope so.”
“But for now, Jerry, let me show Rell the surf camp. It’s because of Watanabe Global that it’s possible.” Uncle Kahana motions for me to come closer. “This is why we’re here.”
The model shows six cabins connected by paved trails with ramps and handrails. Near the parking lot are outdoor showers, racks for storing surfboards, and a covered pavilion with cooking facilities. Uncle Kahana opens one of the cabins like a dollhouse.
Fractured Slipper Page 3
