Sunset Sanctuary

by R J Castiglione

  "So you're not mad at me for interrupting your party?"

  "You mean for breathing life back into the party? Not at all. It was getting pretty boring before you busted in. Everyone's downstairs now telling their own stories about getting caught naked somewhere on the island."

  She closed the jar, having covered most of my back, neck, and shoulders. "Anyhow, we shouldn't be talking about this. It's not my job to tell your mother's business, at least not without her here. For now, I need to get back to my guests. I suppose they'll all be leaving soon."

  "Do you need help downstairs?" I watched her struggle to get back onto her feet.

  "No. Going downstairs is fine. It's getting up that's the problem,” she joked.

  "Auntie, thanks for the help."

  "Anything for my family, dear."

  "And Auntie?" She stopped just in the doorway. "Please leave the jar. I still need it for—"

  "That’s right. Little Beach." She set the jar at the foot of my bed and grinned.

  A minute later, I heard cheers from her guests. I figured they celebrated Auntie reaching the bottom safely. A booming man's voice shot upstairs. "A toast to our hostess!" he yelled in what sounded like a thick Scottish accent.

  Before he continued, I closed the door and locked it, and got to work smothering gel on the rest of my body. Afterward, I was a sticky mess, the cooling balm soothing every inch of me. I opened all the windows in the room and let the trade winds work their magic. The combination of night air and moist skin had me feeling like I was in a cold shower.

  I lay back on the bed and closed my eyes, hearing the sounds of cars starting and pulling out of the parking lot on the other side of the house. It was close to midnight, I guess, by the time I fell asleep.

  7

  Evening 15

  I sat on the hood of my car after a seven-hour shift, scrolling through dozens of text messages and hundreds of unread emails on my new phone. Splurging, I spent half of my first paycheck on a smartphone. Parked across from a Starbucks, I took advantage of their free internet while sipping on a Venti Iced Mocha, my drink of choice after I clocked out.

  I got in the habit of messaging Mom on social media instead of over text, so I didn't have to pay to send it, and scrolled through my ever-growing list of contacts I began developing on the island. My friend feed was full of pictures of people's kids, their hobbies, their adventures, and general political nonsense that I didn't really care to read. At this time in my life, politics from the mainland didn't interest me much, although I sensed everything there was going to shit just by the tone of the posts I saw.

  One political event did interest me, though. I received an invite from Gordon Wright, the Scottish man at Auntie's party a week ago, to attend a Maui County council meeting tonight. After a quick chat with Auntie over breakfast, I decided I would try to fight the balloon tax payment and ask for a reprieve for her since she was a native islander at risk of losing her home.

  I worried all day about talking to the council in front of a large crowd. I hated everything about public speaking. The idea of it made my skin crawl. That feeling was only amplified by the buzz of caffeine working its way through my body. I had to stop drinking my coffee knowing full well it would leave me jittery for hours.

  I threw it in a nearby barrel and climbed into the car, the backseat filled with groceries Auntie asked me to bring home. I noticed Jim sitting on a bench outside the market, talking to a girl next to him. He looked frustrated as she argued with him. After spotting me, he held up his hand to quiet her and came over to my window.

  "What's up?" he asked me.

  I didn't know how to respond. I just talked to him a few minutes ago. "Not much?" I asked.

  "I don't really have anything to talk about, only my girl is arguing with me about her parents visiting this weekend. She wants them to stay with us; only our apartment embarrasses me."

  "Okay," was all I could think of to say. He was getting to something. I smiled and waved at his girlfriend, surprised a bit that Jim even had one. It was stupid of me, but I initially guessed that he was single given the way he talked to other girls around the store.

  "Do you think we could work something out with your aunt to stay at the inn? Perhaps put a little party together? I'd pay, of course, if you have rooms available."

  I chuckled. "Yeah, we have rooms. Will it be just the four of you?"

  "Five. Her little brother is coming too. How much you think two rooms will cost for seven nights?"

  "Normal rate is $140 a room per night. But since you're booking two rooms, we can do $250 a night for both of them."

  He shook his head. "That much, huh?"

  "You won't find much cheaper."

  "Come on. Do me a solid? What if I give you a raise? Say, an extra $1 an hour?"

  "Now Jim, you're not trying to bribe me with company money, are you?" I joked.

  "Only if it works. So what do you say?"

  "Fine. $200 a night for both rooms, but you buy the groceries for the party."

  "Fair enough. We're picking them up from the airport on Saturday afternoon and can come right to the inn. You take cash?"

  "Who in their right mind doesn’t take cash?"

  Jim pumped his fist. "Thanks, brah! You're a lifesaver! I'll see you on Saturday."

  He returned to his girlfriend and talked to her for a few seconds. She jumped a few times and leaped into his arms, excited about the news, and the two of them walked back inside. In less than a minute, I was on the road, eager to get back to the inn. With my wounds all mostly healed and my ribs no longer twinging every time I rotated my torso, I had a ton of work to finish before I headed over to the county building for the evening meeting.

  My plans for work were suddenly dashed as I approached the inn. The very same white van from the other week was parked in the middle of the lot. A crowd of men stood over a folding table littered with work plans. I turned into the parking lot and bounced forward as the car lurched to a stop. The gearshift stuck a little as I tried to put the car in park, so I set the emergency brake before getting out.

  Auntie sat in a chair on the front porch. She looked concerned. As I climbed out of the car and walked toward the men, she called out to me.

  "Adam, stop!"

  I spun around to talk to her. She was on her feet already and started working her way down the front steps. "Auntie, they can't harass you like this! This is still your home!"

  I started to shake a little. I hated confrontation like this. If I didn't have to worry about Tad attacking the men, I wished it was him here instead. Every inch of me wanted to run back in the house, but I fought against the urge and mustered up my courage.

  "I thought we made it clear you're not welcome here!" Despite my voice trembling, I stood my ground. The men, three in all, snickered at me and continued discussing their plans. How was I going to make them leave? I certainly couldn't rip the plans away from them. I could tip over the table, but what would that accomplish? I knew I couldn't fight them.

  "Who's in charge here?" I asked them.

  "The boss is in the back," one of the men said.

  The back of what? The van? The house?

  I didn't need to wait to find out. The van shifted as a tall man climbed out. The sight of him overwhelmed me. I took a few paces back. By now, Auntie crossed the parking lot and stood at my side.

  "Dad?" I asked. He wore a pressed suit that fit him perfectly, with sunglasses resting on the top of his head, almost hidden by his jet black, cropped hair. The only signs he’d changed were some noticeable wrinkles around his eyes and spots of gray around his ears. In the clothes he wore, I barely recognized him. If not for photographs that I kept while growing up, he would have seemed a perfect stranger. I hadn't seen him in over a decade.

  "Good to see you, Adam," he said with a fake grin. "And Alana, nice to see you again."

  I looked at Auntie. Her knuckles were white from clutching her cane.

  "You knew?" I asked her. "You kne
w he was here, and you didn't tell me? Does Mom know?"

  "I wanted to tell you, Makani. I just didn't know how you'd react."

  I ignored Auntie for now. I was mad at her, yes, but I didn't want to argue with her in the middle of the parking lot. As for Will Frost, the father who abandoned my family, I didn't know what to say.

  "Why are you here?" I muttered.

  "Isn't that obvious? My company chose me as the project lead to develop this property. It's nothing personal, son. It's my job."

  I clenched my fists, trying to bottle up my anger. "I'm not your son. You made that quite clear when you walked out on us."

  He laughed a little and rubbed the back of his neck, as though disregarding me completely. "As I said, it's nothing personal. It's just business. You'll understand when you're older."

  How can it not be personal? He is trying to take our home away from us. How could he be so cruel? Why did he accept this job knowing what it would mean?

  All these thoughts raced through my head. I didn't have the confidence to say them aloud, so I said the next best thing.

  "I think you should leave before I call the cops."

  He raised his hands in the air and jokingly surrendered. "Fine. We'll leave, but you can't put this off forever. One way or another, we're going to knock down this shack and build some proper condos." Will signaled to his men to pack things up and climbed into the van.

  Before they left the parking lot, he looked at Auntie. "And let me know about the offer I made. As I said, it doesn't matter to me whether I buy the land from you or at auction. My generous offer won't last forever."

  I clenched my fist to prevent myself from lashing out and huffed at Auntie after they pulled out of the parking lot and disappeared down the street. As I turned around to head back into the house, she tried to catch my arm, but I pulled it away. I was upset. But when I turned around to argue with her about not telling me he was the one trying to take her property away, she looked dejected, as though every ounce of fight had left her body.

  "Auntie, I'm not so mad at you that we can't talk," I said to her, rushing back to her side to take her arm and help her back into the house. "I just need honesty. I can't help you if you're hiding things."

  "I know, Makani." At the top of the stairs, she took a moment to catch her breath. "I don't know why I didn't tell you. He's your father. You deserved to know. I just didn't know what to say."

  My phone buzzed. I pulled it out to see the calendar reminder of the council meeting tonight, starting in less than an hour. I had to unload the groceries and leave in a few minutes if it meant getting there on time. "Well, we can talk about this later tonight. For now, I'm going to the county council meeting. Do you want to come?"

  "Not on your life. I've argued with those people enough for one lifetime. Maybe you'll have better luck."

  I helped her sit down and ran inside to change my clothes for the meeting. By the time I got outside again, she had dozed off. I didn't bother to wake her, considering she had no guests to tend to. We hadn't had a guest since Mr. and Mrs. Jones checked out.

  After emptying the groceries into the kitchen, I hopped into the car, lifted the emergency brake, and turned on the headlights just as I pulled out of the parking lot. The sun was already beginning to set. Long shadows cast over the road as I made my way to Honoapiilani Highway.

  Forty-five minutes later, I pulled into the parking lot outside the county building and made my way inside. The half-empty lot betrayed the size of the meeting. I followed a crowd inside into what amounted to a theater-like council chamber, chairs already occupied by older members of the public with younger folks like me occupying the back and sides of the room.

  Attending a local government meeting was a different experience for me. The last time I went to such a meeting was in high school, a requirement I had for a civics class. Shorter than most folks around me, I struggled to push my way closer to the front of the room so I could see, until I found a spot on the wall with an unobstructed view. The room felt hot, almost like a sauna. Elderly folks plopped their tired bodies down in uncomfortable chairs and waved themselves with fans, magazines, or pamphlets passed around with the meeting information.

  Half of the overhead lights were off to make brighter a projector displaying the agenda on the back wall. The front of the room was brightly lit, featuring a row of wooden desks that matched the wood paneling on the wall behind the council members. Aside from who I guessed was the head of the council, the other elected officials had their backs turned to the crowd and could only be heard when speaking into their microphones.

  For the better part of the first thirty minutes, all I heard were mumblings I barely understood about one project or another. A heated debate followed, with some audience participation on what new style of street lamps the county should purchase for Lahaina.

  I smirked at a few older gentlemen in the front row, snoring loudly enough for everyone near us to hear. The head of the council, after a full hour of rambling nonsense, banged his gavel to open the room up to public inquiry. Chaos ensued as folks pushed one another to form two queues, one on each side of the room. Everyone present seemed eager to raise every and any complaint important to them. I managed to find a spot midway through the line on the left side of the room with four people in front of me.

  “Please state your name,” the counselor said to the older man at the head of my line.

  “You know my damn name, Jerry!” the man coughed out.

  “Noah, we’ve been over this. You need to state your name for the record.”

  “Fine. I’m Noah Wong.”

  “The chair recognizes Noah Wong. Please state your business.”

  “Well, let the damn record show that I think the council is doing a horrible job! I’ve been complaining about the broken street light on Kauhaa for a year! It still hasn’t been fixed.”

  “That’s because you haven’t put in a request to public works. If you file the proper request, it’ll get repaired in due course.”

  “Bullshit! You know requests to that department are like a black hole! I might as well fix it myself!”

  The chairman banged the gavel and called for the next person in line from the other side of the room.

  “State your name for the record,” he said.

  “Calder Wright.”

  The chairman yawned. “The chair recognizes Calder Wright. Please state your business.”

  The young man across the room looked familiar. I wondered if he was related to Gordon, perhaps his son. I stretched my neck out to get a better look at him, but only saw the back of his head.

  “I’m here today on behalf of the Hana School Physical Education department. After putting in the proper request at the end of last semester, we’ve yet to receive funds for new equipment. I’m here to petition the council to vote on the release of three-thousand dollars from the general fund to better outfit our students.”

  The chairman covered his microphone and whispered to a young woman sitting at a desk to his left. The two talked for a minute while she pointed at something on her laptop before he returned to the microphone.

  “My apologies, Mr. Wright. Funds for physical education have already been allocated for the year. It is not the responsibility of the taxpayers to foot the bill for your ‘departments’ inability to budget the money properly.”

  “But the money was spent to repair the roof! My students have none of the equipment they—”

  The chairman banged the gavel. “You’re out of order, Mr. Wright. Please yield the floor!”

  Calder Wright protested, refusing to give up the microphone as he tried to plead passionately, but to no avail.

  The chairman banged the gavel louder until those around him covered their ears. “That’s enough, Mr. Wright! One more outburst like that and I’ll have you removed from the chamber! Next!”

  The young man sulked away from the microphone. I tried to follow him with my eyes, but he vanished into the crowd. I felt terrible for
him and started to despise the chairman who seemed to exert totalitarian control over the entire room. As a few more people raised their questions or concerns, it became apparent the whole meeting was a circus, and that no complaint raised by any citizen mattered to the council.

  “Please state your name for the record,” the chairman said. He cleared his throat loudly enough to draw my attention. Realizing I was suddenly at the front of the line and he was talking to me, I froze. The anxiety of public speaking caught up to me, manifesting as a lump in my throat.

  “Adam Frost,” I tried to say.

  “Louder, please.”

  I cleared my throat loudly enough that the microphone rang from the feedback. “Adam Frost.”

  “The chair recognizes Adam Frost. Please state your business.”

  “I’m here on behalf of Alana Manalo, and would like to discuss the possibility of granting an exception to her property tax balloon payment under current native Hawaiian land tax exemption laws, and submit the Estate Inn for recognition as a historic landmark.”

  “Objection!”

  I spun around to a loud, familiar voice from the other side of the room.

  The chairman banged his gavel. “The floor recognizes William Frost.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Chairman. I’d like to raise a motion recognizing Adam Frost as out of order. Not only does the land tax exemption law apply only to landlocked parcels intended for agricultural or residential purposes, but this is the wrong forum to raise what many deem to be a private matter between the finance department and a private citizen. Furthermore, unless Mr. Adam Frost is claiming to be a legal representative or executor for Mrs. Alana Manalo, he has no standing to raise issues on her behalf.”

  “Do I hear a second?” the chairman asked.

  Before I could protest, another council member lazily raised his hand, and the gavel banged.

  “The motion stands. The chair recognizes Adam Frost as out of order. Mr. Frost, please yield the floor.”