by Mason, Dana
Two
Drew
When the elevator door closes, I’m overwhelmed by an odd sense of loneliness. I don’t often feel lonely at this stage in my life, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t times I miss being married. I bob my head back and forth, realizing I’m not being honest with myself. The truth is, I miss being married every day. I miss being married to Kayla. I miss my best friend. Missing someone you love is very different to loneliness.
There’s no point in going down that road though. It’s not like I haven’t had relationships since losing Kayla, but she died over six years ago. I’ve had time to adjust, and I can’t walk around in this life in a constant state of mourning. It’s not healthy, for me or the kids. They don’t remember their mother, so it’s even more unfair to mope when they don’t understand why.
As I step out onto the beach path, my cell phone rings in my pocket. I pull it out and answer: “Hello?”
“Dad?”
“What’s up, buddy?”
“Gramps is teaching me how to surf.”
My heart jumps into my throat at the idea of my eight-year-old son swimming in the Pacific Ocean with my sixty-five-year-old father-in-law. “Surfing? Grandpa surfs?”
“Yeah, he said he learned last year so he could take us when we visit.”
“We? Is Hannah surfing too?”
“No, she’s shopping with Grandma, this is just a boys’ trip. Uncle Milo is with us too and Gramps’ surf coach Chad.”
“Are you at the beach now? Is there a lifeguard on duty?”
“Yeah! There’re big lifeguard towers that look like tree houses without the trees, but, Dad, are you worried?”
“Yes, I’m worried,” I say, fighting to hold back my smile. Damn, I miss this kid. I turn to face the tropical, white-sand beach and realize that he’s also on a beautiful beach, but thousands of miles away in Southern California. “Are you worried?”
“Nah, I’m not scared. Gramps said if I get tired, I just need to hug my board and I’ll float.”
I want to balk at this logic and mention how that won’t save him from sharks, but I hold back so I don’t scare him away from the adventure. I realize I’m paranoid, but as a widower and a single parent, it’s my prerogative. “Listen, Kyle, I want you to be careful out there. Follow the rules, listen to the adults, and don’t take any risky chances. Okay?”
“Okay,” he moans.
“Hey, but have fun, okay?”
“See ya, Dad.”
I’m about to say goodbye and tell him I love him when I realize he’s already disconnected. Okay, then…
I spin, hoping to spot a bench where I can sit, watch the swimmers, and call Hannah. I walk another ten yards and have a seat. Resting back, I stare at the white caps as they roll in one after another. To my right is a cloud cluster of rain over the sparkling ocean and rainbows dropping into the water. It’s so beautiful. If I could pull it off, I’d pack up the kids and move here. But they would hate living away from their Nanna and Aunt Jennie, not to mention their cousins.
I pull out my cell phone and call my mother-in-law. “Hey, Sofia, how are you?”
“Drew, we were just talking about you. Hannah wanted to call and say hello. Hold on.”
I hear a rustle and then Hannah’s happy voice. “Daddy!”
“Hey, honey. Are you having fun with Gram?”
“Yes. We’re having a girls’ day, and I got a manicade, and pedicade—”
“Do you mean manicure and pedicure?”
“Yep, and we had lunch with Gram’s book club, and my nails and toes are purple.”
“Wow, sweetie, it sounds like you’re having a great day.”
“Yeah,” she says. But then the cheerfulness of her voice drops considerably. “Daddy, when are you picking us up? I miss you.”
“I know, honey, I miss you too. I’ll be there this weekend. But remember, you only have this last week to spend with Gram and Gramps, so try to have some fun, okay?”
“Yeah, okay. But can you buy me some of my own fingernail paint and teach me how to paint my nails?”
Ah, crap. “Um, yeah. I’m sure we can figure it out. How about after you’re home and we get settled, then we’ll learn how?”
“Okay, Daddy. I love you. See you this weekend.”
There’s nothing better than the love of a child. This little girl and her brother own my heart. “I love you too, Hannah. Be good for Gram.” There’s a shuffle as she passes the phone over.
“Hello, Drew, Sofia here. I’m driving so I need to be quick. Will we see you on Saturday?”
“Yeah, I fly in early, and I’ll be at your house around noon.”
“Oh, good. Just in time for lunch. We’ll see you then. Enjoy your last week in paradise.”
“Will do. Thank you, Sofia. For everything.”
I disconnect the call, drop my phone into my pocket and watch the last dregs of sunlight drop behind the horizon, leaving streaks of gold reflecting off the few fluffy clouds, turning them bright orange. The scent of plumeria and hibiscus is heavy in the air, and as I sit here enjoying the peace, I’m wondering if my three weeks away is too long. Am I selfish for leaving the kids that long? And if I am, what should I do about Sofia and Frank?
We made a deal years ago that they’d get three weeks over the summer and one week during Christmas break. I don’t think they’d appreciate me cutting their time short. And I definitely don’t want to put up with them trying to file another custody suit against me. I’ve spent too many years fighting them. After all this time we’re just now on solid ground, able to put the past behind us and be civil for the sake of the kids. Before losing Kayla, I never would have thought they’d treat me the way they have. I’m not sure why they don’t have any faith in my ability to parent… maybe they’re just worried I’ll keep the kids from them, but I wouldn’t do that. Not even after what they’ve put me through.
I get that they want more time with the kids, but if Kayla were still alive, things wouldn’t be any different. We’d still live eight hours away and they’d still only see the kids a couple of times a year. They just need to come to grips with the fact that I didn’t take their daughter from them. I’m not the guilty party. We all miss Kayla, but she’s gone and my kids don’t get to be their replacement for her.
I glance at my watch and then back up at the rainbow-filled sky. This morning the news said a storm was coming, but it’s beautiful right now. A bit of a misty rain but not enough to keep the tourists inside. That pushes my thoughts toward Emily Thomas. What’s her story? She seemed tense and even a little sad, and I never did figure out if she was traveling alone or with her husband.
After another ten minutes of watching the shore, I stand and head back to my room. I have tickets to the show in the courtyard tonight, and I could use a laugh. In a few days, I’ll be back to the grindstone of life, and I’ll be missing my Hawaiian summer home.
* * *
After cleaning up and checking in on the kids one more time to wish them goodnight, I head down to the garden for the show. Once outside, I follow the usher to my assigned seat, but before we reach my table, I stop a few feet from where Emily is sitting. She’s dressed in an off-the-shoulder, little black dress that drops to just over her crossed knees. Her hair is light, not brown, but not quite blonde either. It’s like the color of caramel or honey. It’s pinned up, similar to how it was earlier, and she doesn’t really look much more relaxed than she did then, despite being out of the suit. I stop in my tracks. I don’t want to stare, but I can’t help myself. Her features are delicate and soft, like her figure. She’s slim, but fairly tall. I remember that from standing next to her earlier. From her profile, I can tell she’s unsure about this entire experience. She’s holding up her meal ticket and looking at it with a perplexed expression before her pretty, wide, blue eyes bounce around, taking in the rest of her surroundings. It’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.
I’m rooted to the spot as I watch her and I’m o
vercome with warmth. It’s been a long time since a woman has been able to drive me to distraction. Standing on the spot, I grin as I stare at her––I just can’t help myself.
Three
Emily
I’m not sure what to expect. With my ticket in hand, I approach an usher who shows me to my table. The place is absolutely breathtaking, with the mini palms and bushes of colorful native flowers planted around the giant space. The stage sits straight ahead, nestled between groups of larger palm trees and is lit with a dozen or so torches. The plush lawn under my feet is soft and trimmed short. It’s not the easiest to walk on with my spiked high heels and, looking around, I notice that almost everyone is wearing flip-flops. I guess I didn’t get the memo.
The ticket includes dinner and drinks, but the dinner is preordered, which makes me curious about what my brother ordered for me. After being seated, the usher lays a small folded card in front of me. I lift it to read ‘Kalua Pig’. Ah, that answers my question.
When the cocktail waitress stops for my order, I’m struck with uncertainty. What do people drink at these things? I’d normally have some sort of vodka-mixed drink, but I’m on vacation. I don’t want to do normal.
As I’m staring at the waitress, who is waiting patiently, I hear a voice from behind me. “She’ll have a Mai Tai.”
I shift slightly to see Drew standing to my right. He’s wearing a colorful aloha shirt and chino shorts. He’s lost the ball cap, and his dark brown hair is flopped to the side in a messy sort of style.
It’s his smile that grabs my attention. His entire face is lit and his eyes sparkle, the torch light showing little gold specks in their depths, and it seems so genuine. I can’t help but return it.
He shrugs at my expression. “If you want to be an islander, you have to drink like one.”
It’s hard to argue with that, so I glance back at the waitress and nod in agreement. “I’ll have a Mai Tai, thank you.” Turning my eyes back to Drew, I say thanks to him too.
Winking at me, he says, “I hope your evening is better than your day was.”
I have to laugh at that. “Me too.”
He watches me for a second, and I wonder if I should invite him to sit with me. It’s as if I can hear Rebecca’s voice in my head, urging me to talk to him. Just as he’s about to turn away, I say. “Ah… Drew… would you like to join me? That is, if you’re alone as well.”
His eyes narrow as he takes me in. “You’re alone?” He glances down at my table. “No Mr. Thomas?”
It takes me a moment to realize what he’s talking about. Then I remember the exchange in the hall outside my room with the bellman. “Oh, no. There’s no Mr. Thomas,” I mumble. Saying those words out loud is physically painful, but I’ve become an expert at hiding the pain.
He watches me, as if unsure, and I wonder whether it’s because he senses my discomfort about inviting him to join me, or my reaction to being asked about my husband.
“I would love to join you. Let me grab my meal card, I’ll be right back.”
As Drew steps away, the waitress sets my drink down. I move aside the little umbrella and the spear of pineapple before lifting it to my mouth for a sip. It’s sweet, and a bit tangy but delicious, and it seems to go down awfully easy. I can see why people like it. I turn toward Drew in time to see him grab a meal card.
Both of our tables were set for two, and suddenly I’m worried about how they sell the tickets. Are the seats assigned? Will someone else have a ticket for the other seat at my table?
When Drew sits, I ask, “This doesn’t break any rules, does it?”
“Hum… let’s see.” He looks around and gets the waitress’ attention. “Excuse me, but I’ve moved my seat.” He points to his table and flashes her a dazzling smile. “That table is now free for a couple. I hope that’s okay?”
“Yes, perfectly fine.” She simpers at him, and I get the sense that his sexy, magnetic smile often gets him what he wants. “I’ll have the table set for someone else. Thanks for letting me know.” She gives his arm a squeeze before walking away.
He glances over at me. “Problem solved.”
“Thank you. That’s one less thing we need to worry about.”
“Emily,” he says with his hands spread, “this is a vacation. There shouldn’t be any worries.”
I take a deep breath, knowing he’s right. “Old habits die hard.”
He lifts his cocktail. “Drink up. It’s the best way to break those habits.”
I do what he says and make an effort to smile. Since losing Tucker, I’ve turned inward and stopped showing emotions. I know it makes me come across as cold but hiding how I feel is a survival mechanism and a bad pattern I’m trying to change when in social situations. “You seem to be an expert at this vacation thing.”
He chortles. “It’s true. I love it here. I spend three weeks at this resort every summer.”
“Whoa, three weeks. That’s expert level!”
He nods and lifts his drink as if in a toast. “Yes, I know.”
“I haven’t had a vacation in years. I guess it shows, huh?”
He bobs his head as he looks closer at me. “I wouldn’t say you look like someone who hasn’t vacationed. You’ve more of the look of someone who works hard and takes that work seriously.”
“Well, yeah, that too.” Maybe sometimes a little too seriously, unfortunately, but I am surprised by his accurate portrayal of me. He’s pretty perceptive.
I give him the same assessing look, which he responds to by saying, “I know, I know, I look like the maintenance man.”
“No,” I blurt with an open-mouthed laugh. “You look comfortable. What do you do?” I wave my hand and say, “For a living, I mean. You know, when you’re not vacationing.”
“Oh, ah.” He narrows his twinkling eyes conspiratorially. “Let’s not do that.”
I tilt my head, confused. “Do what?”
“Talk about our jobs. This is Maui. Let’s enjoy it and not burden each other with real life.”
I lift my brows and nod. “That sounds lovely.”
“No rules, save one. We don’t talk about life outside of Maui.”
I stare at him for a long time, and I have to wonder if there’s another reason behind his rule. “Wait. I need one question answered before we continue with this…” I brush my hand between us, not really sure what this is, “…dinner.”
“Okay, shoot.”
“Are you married?”
He lifts a hand to his chest with a surprised expression on his face. “Me? No, Emily, I’m not married.”
“Any significant other at all?”
“I do not have a life partner. Does that answer your question completely?”
“Yes, thank you. I also do not have a life partner of any kind… at least, not a personal life partner. I do have a business partner—”
“Wait! Stop right there. You’re already breaking the rules, no talking about work.”
I place a hand over my mouth and mumble, “Right. Sorry.”
We both laugh, and I realize that my drink is already empty. I lift the glass to look at it. “That went fast.”
“No worries. There’s more where that came from.” He stops the nearest waitress and orders two more Mai Tais.
As the waitress disappears, the lights dim and the stage brightens. Drew and I both shift our chairs to get a better look, which brings us closer together. I’m trying to act natural, but I’m simply not used to being with men like this. People I work with, yes. My brother, yes. But it’s been a long time since I’ve spent time with a man in a romantic way. Is that what this is? Romantic? Or am I getting ahead of myself?
I went on two dates with Grant and that even felt more like business than romance. This feels different, and I need to remind myself to relax.
“I don’t bite, I promise,” Drew murmurs moments before the spotlight shines on a large Hawaiian man in an aloha shirt. I listen to the introduction and laugh harder than I have in ages. He’s
truly funny. I’ve never been one to watch stand-up comedy, and now I’m wondering why. Something else I’ve missed out on, I guess.
The cocktail waitress sets down our drinks and then our appetizers arrive. They place a small plate of what looks like crab cakes in front of me. They smell so amazing, I could kiss Mac. “Oh, nice choice, Mac!”
I look over to see that Drew has the same on his plate.
“Name’s Drew. How many of those drinks have you had?”
I laugh. “Mac is my brother. He planned this entire trip for me. Including choosing this meal.”
“That sounds oddly overbearing for a brother.”
“Doesn’t it though?” I chortle and say, “I told you I haven’t vacationed in a long time. This is his way of forcing it on me.”
“I see… Well, good for him and good for you. These crab cakes are the best I’ve had, so he chose well.”
I glance over at Drew and seeing his alluring gaze, I wonder what else this week has in store for me.
Four
Drew
I watch as Emily devours her dinner. After a drink or two, she’s finally lightening up. Earlier today, she seemed to have trouble smiling. Now she can’t seem to stop. Her pale, bare shoulders are screaming to be touched, and I’m having a hard time watching the show because I don’t want to take my eyes off her. At this point, I’d give just about anything to see the layers of honey and caramel hair down… maybe draped over her porcelain shoulders.
As she sips her fourth, maybe fifth drink, I wonder how hard they’re going to hit her. I think it’s safe to assume they’re all going straight to her head. Just as this thought crosses my mind, she orders another. So, what the hell, I also have another. She lifts her glass to salute, and I do the same. She’s glassy-eyed and smiling, her perfect teeth are bright white, and her blue eyes dance in amusement.
