I pointed to the miniscule duffle bag. It was barely bigger than my purse. “Have you got more luggage?”
“I’m a firefighter. I prepare for the worst, and only take what I can carry.”
I laughed. “So ‘the worst’ involves spending the night with me?”
He scowled. Then he took me in his arms and kissed me. It was one of those “first base” kisses that seemed destined to quickly head for second, but I pulled back.
“Whoa, you want to get us busted for bringing fireworks to an airport?” I said.
He scowled deeper. “What are you talking about?” Seems his touchiness was on full alert.
“Nothing. It was a compliment.”
“Ah. Well, I don’t care. I missed you.”
“What’s this thing you forgot?”
“You’ll see. It’s a secret.”
I blew out a breath. Why is it most of my good friends—Farrah, Hatch, and Ono, to name a few—think I like surprises? I hate them. In fact, I’m not even fond of good surprises. Some people take great pleasure in things like surprise birthday parties or financial windfalls, but for me, being knowingly kept in the dark is maddening.
We walked back to the car in silence. It didn’t seem to bother Hatch, nor did he seem to realize I was irritated.
I went around to the driver’s side and Hatch spoke up. “I’ll drive.”
“The car’s in my name,” I said.
“This sure looks like the same car we had last weekend. It was, if you’ll remember, signed out to me.”
“You win.” I threw him the keys. At that point I wished I’d told him to handle his own forgotten item and I’d gone home to Maui as planned.
As if he’d finally picked up on my pique, he said, “Look, I appreciate you coming out and getting me like this,” he said. “And I’m not trying to rile you up. I just need to do what I came for in my own way.”
I slid into the passenger seat and buckled up.
Ten minutes later we were turning off the highway at Palani Road.
“This isn’t the way to the bed and breakfast,” I said.
“I know.”
“Isn’t that where you would’ve lost something? Or was it somewhere else?”
“I didn’t say I lost anything,” he said. “I said I forgot something.” A beat passed and he said, “Are you hungry? I’m starving. Let’s find a place to have lunch.”
We parked in a lot off of Kuakini and then spent ten minutes looking for a way to get back down to Ali’i Drive where all the restaurants were.
“This place is nuts,” said Hatch. “Why do they make it so hard to find a way through here?”
From what I’d seen, the town of Kailua-Kona was a hodge-podge of old and new buildings cobbled together in a fashion that defied logic. Unlike Lahaina, this little seaside town seemed as if it thumbed its nose at commerce. Just try to park near a locally-owned store or restaurant you want to visit. If you want to shop at WalMart or eat at McDonald’s there’s no problem. But if you want to shop or eat local, the place will make you work hard to part with your money.
Finally, we were seated at a beach-themed restaurant a few steps up from street level. The elevated seating allowed diners to see over the low sea wall along Ali’i Drive and gave the place a respite from the noise and exhaust of the traffic below.
We ordered sandwiches and iced tea. Hatch seemed in no hurry to accomplish what he’d come for and even I had started to “mellow out” as Farrah would put it.
“Why won’t you tell me what this is about?” I said. I tried going for a playful tone, but it still came out whiny.
“It’s not something I want you to worry about,” he said. “Trust me, everything’s fine. And, like I said before, I appreciate you being a good sport about it.”
I hadn’t been a good sport. In fact, I’d been a lousy sport.
We finished lunch and retraced the path to our car. Hatch drove a couple of blocks and pulled into the King Kamehameha Hotel and parked under the portico.
“How could you forget something here?” I said. “We didn’t even go here.”
“Correction—you didn’t go here. I came here while you were at the coffee farm on Saturday. This place has got a great little sandy beach out back.”
“You forgot something at the beach?”
“Could you give me a minute?” Hatch said. “I need to check in at the desk.”
I wandered past the reception area into a spacious room filled with high-quality paintings and glass cases holding Hawaiian artifacts. The entire collection appeared to be a shrine devoted to King Kamehameha. There was an impressive mural showing Kamehameha wearing nothing but a kapa wrap flung across his shoulder like Gandhi. He seemed to be talking to a younger man wearing the fancy yellow and red feather cape of a Hawaiian chief, probably his son or brother. To the left was a tranquil scene of ancient daily life—a woman sitting on the ground in front of a grass house and three other women clustered nearby. Since Kamehameha was known to have multiple wives, I figured this was some sort of “family portrait” and the placement of each of the women probably held some significance in the pecking order.
I moved on to the other items on display. There were at least a dozen portraits of Hawaiian royalty, including Queen Ka’ahumanu, who I remembered as the plucky wife of Kamehameha who’d dared to pick a fight with him and had to flee to the pu’uhonua. At one end of the room a brilliant yellow and red ahu’ula, or feather cape, was on display. I was stunned to see it appeared to be made of real bird feathers, unlike the faux fringe model on display at my high school. In ancient times, subjects of the king often paid their tributes, or taxes, in bird feathers. The yellow and red ones were considered the most valuable. The king wore a full-length cape of yellow and red feathers at ceremonial occasions or into battle. I figured it could go two ways. The bright colors would identify him to his own warriors to make sure they didn’t spear him by mistake. But they’d also alert the enemy of who the top dog was and give them a pretty conspicuous target if they were looking to end the battle quickly.
A lei nio palaoa was also on display. This is a pendant necklace made from the tooth of a sperm whale. The tooth is strung from a thick black rope of woven human hair. There’s no known history of whale hunting by ancient Hawaiians, so the theory is they got whale teeth only if a whale became beached. The beached whale became the property of the king. At the far end, near the exit doors, was a full-sized dug-out canoe like the ones we’d seen at the pu’uhonua.
I meandered through the exhibits wondering who owned all this stuff. Most of it was museum-quality, and the presentation was first class. It seemed strange that this impressive, and no doubt priceless, collection was housed in the lobby of a hotel. People staying at the hotel passed by on their way to the parking lot or the pool, seemingly oblivious to the treasure trove in their midst.
After a few minutes, Hatch reappeared.
“Pretty cool stuff,” he said. “Did you see the feather cape?”
“How could I miss it?”
“Yeah, when I came here before I couldn’t believe all this great stuff was here. But come outside. It gets even better.”
He led me down a long sidewalk leading to a sandy beach. About a dozen outrigger canoes were parked parallel to each other along the shoreline, with small groups of people milling about as if getting ready to launch them.
“Looks like fun,” Hatch said.
“Yeah. You know, I’ve lived in the islands all my life and I’ve never been in an outrigger canoe. My auntie wasn’t a big fan of water sports. But I think it was more about the cost than the fact that she wasn’t interested.”
“You’ve never been in one of these?”
“No, but as you know, I never learned to swim, either. We went to the beach for two reasons: huli-huli chicken and gossip. The other stuff, like sunbathing and surfing, was pretty much left to the tourists.”
“That settles it. We’ve got to go out in a canoe today.” He headed for
a red and white canoe on the far end of the small cove.
I ran to keep up with him. “Hatch, didn’t you hear the part about ‘I can’t swim’? And besides, this looks like some kind of rowing club.”
“No worries, they look like cool people.” He shouted to a knot of people standing by the red and white canoe. “Mind if we join you?”
A guy who could pass as a clone for Farrah’s catamaran skipper husband, Ono, turned and faced us. He had the same unruly brown hair bleached blond at the crown, rumpled khaki board shorts, and a tan so deep his teeth seemed to glow when he smiled.
“We’re giving a lesson. You two want to come along?” The guy pointed to the canoe.
“Sounds great,” said Hatch.
“What’s going on?” I whispered to Hatch. “I thought you came over here to get something you forgot. Shouldn’t we focus on that?”
He ignored me, instead clapping the guy on the shoulder and saying, “Thanks, bruddah. Count us in.”
“Look,” I said to the outrigger guy. “We haven’t the first clue of how to do this. Maybe we should come back another time.” By now I was getting seriously annoyed with Hatch. Being a fireman makes him used to last-minute change-ups. The alarm bell goes off and he leaps into action. For me, a wedding planner, the job title pretty much sums it up. I like to plan.
“No worries, hop on in,” said the guy. “By the way, the name’s Mike.”
“I’m Hatch,” said Hatch, gripping Mike’s hand in a ‘cool guy’ handshake. “And this is Pali.”
I leaned in and gave Mike a quick conventional handshake. I felt more than a bit apprehensive, but figured that, for once, I’d try going with the flow. I didn’t have anywhere to be and Hatch had promised to get us back to Maui tomorrow, so why not try a little boat ride?
Mike threw Hatch two well-worn life vests. “I need you guys to put these on. Safety regs require guests to wear them.”
Hatch blew out a breath. “I’m a firefighter. I’m trained in open water rescue.”
“Good for you,” Mike said. “But in my canoe, you’re a guest.”
Hatch helped me tighten the straps on my life vest. In air marshal training I’d had to jump into a pool and tread water while donning one of those yellow water-landing vests flight attendants demonstrate before take-off. I’d barely passed. There isn’t much that scares me, but drowning’s right up there with the Ebola virus.
Mike placed us in the canoe according to some unspoken order. Hatch was told to go to the bow or very front of the canoe and Mike directed me to sit directly behind him. Hatch took my elbow and helped me balance as I climbed in. The canoe felt solid but we were still up on the sand. How tippy would it get when we pushed off into the waves?
Mike ordered people into the rest of the seats and then he took the seat in the very back.
“Okay, first we’re gonna learn a little bit about the canoe and how to row,” said Mike in a no-nonsense voice. “If you don’t speak Hawaiian, no worries, but a lot of the vocabulary is in Hawaiian since this sport originated in Hawaii. Like most things, the guys who invent it get to call the shots.”
He went on to explain the parts of the canoe: the hull, the ama (the outrigger part that floats off to the side) and the lakos, (which are the two pieces connecting the ama to the hull). He went on to explain the different seats of the canoe and what each seat is supposed to do. Hatch was in seat one. Mike explained seat one is the “stroker” or pace setter. All the other paddlers are supposed to follow his rhythm. I was in seat two. Seat two is the “caller.” That person is supposed call out if a change in pace or direction is needed. I flashed Mike a worried look and he said I’d get a pass on the calling since I was just learning.
The next three seats were the “power seats.” Those positions are supposed to keep the canoe moving forward and watch that the ama doesn’t come out of the water. Mike said if the ama becomes airborne or unstable the entire canoe can huli or flip over.
If I’d been Catholic I probably would’ve made the sign of the cross at that point, but as it was, I just winced.
“I’m the ‘steersman’,” said Mike. “That’s the same as the captain. I’m the only person you should listen to. There are three ironclad rules: no shoes, no swearing, and absolutely no stepping over the hull. Stepping over a canoe is disrespectful. If you need to get to the other side, you go around. Understood?”
Everyone nodded. I looked longingly at the crystal blue swimming pool only a few yards away. For me, pools aren’t about swimming; it’s the lounge chairs and umbrella drinks that come with the package.
Since we were already seated, four guys came alongside to push us into the water. They waded up to their waists and gave a big shove.
Mike yelled, “Ma kau kau?”
Each of us glanced around as if hoping someone else knew the answer.
Mike said, “Ma kau kau means ‘Are you ready?’ You’re supposed to shout ‘Ai’ in response.
We all feebly muttered, “Ai.”
“Let’s try that again,” Mike said. “We need to at least start out strong. Okay, ma kau kau?”
“Ai,” we yelled. It felt good. It filled me with the same kick-ass attitude I get at kung fu tournaments. Maybe if I could get past obsessing about my lungs collapsing as I went under for the third time, I might actually learn to enjoy this.
CHAPTER 21
We paddled back to shore, weary but relaxed. My arms ached from pulling the paddle through the water, and my back was stiff from bending left for four strokes and then right for four strokes.
“What’d you think?” said Hatch as we exited the canoe. I was careful to stay on my side, even though it meant getting my feet wet as I passed around the front of the hull.
“Loved it,” I said. “I was a little nervous at first, but it’s exhilarating to fly through the water like that.”
I looked back as the last of the canoes was being hauled up on the beach. Mike appeared to be hitting on one of the women who’d been in our group. She was a curvy blond with an accent—Pennsylvania? Maybe New Jersey?—who he’d assigned to the seat directly in front of him. Seems inspecting her backside for more than an hour-long boat ride had stirred his interest.
“But what about the thing you forgot?” I said. “Shouldn’t you be dealing with that?”
“All in good time,” he said. He leaned over and gave me a peck on the mouth.
“Are we going to the room now?” I said.
“Not yet. There’s something I want you to see first.”
He led me around the beach and up onto a paved walkway. Earlier, when we’d paddled out of the cove, I’d noticed a thatched structure with a steep roof but I figured it was just a Disneyland-style mockup for a beach luau or a tourist photo op.
“Where are we going?”
“Here. Do you know where you’re standing?”
I shook my head.
“This is where King Kamehameha lived. He actually lived here, and this rock thing…” He pointed to a lava rock platform that every Hawaiian school kid would immediately recognize as a heiau, or sacred place.
“You mean the heiau?” I said.
“Yeah. I’m afraid that word has way too many vowels for a mainland guy like me. Anyway, this is the actual place where Kamehameha came before battles to pray for victory. Isn’t that amazing?”
“I love stuff like this,” I said.
“I know you do. And I love you. That’s why I wanted you to see this.”
He pulled me close and put his arm around my waist as we walked back to the room. Who says late afternoon “happy hour” is best spent tossing back discounted mai tais?
When we got up for dinner it was already dark outside. I put on the crop pants and shirt I’d worn earlier in the day and tried to smooth out the wrinkles.
“I thought maybe we’d go someplace a little fancy,” Hatch said.
“I didn’t bring anything fancy,” I said.
“You look great. I just thought since it was our l
ast night here you might want to haul out the bling.”
I laughed. Like I had any bling—here or anywhere else.
“Oh, I forgot. I brought along the dress you bought me last year,” I said. Until I’d met Hatch I had exactly one dress to my name. A little black shift that had faded to charcoal gray. For my birthday he’d bought me a fancy new dress to wear for a special event. As it turned out, I never got to wear it. It was lightweight and pretty sturdy so I’d rolled it up and tucked it in my roller bag just in case the mood struck me to get gussied up.
“Great. I’d love to finally see you in it.” It was a subtle slam. He’d been disappointed I’d chosen family drama over being with him on his special night. From my perspective, I hadn’t had a choice; from his, I’d simply made the wrong choice.
I slipped into the bathroom to change. One of the downsides of sharing accommodations before a date is it pretty much squelches the “ta-dah” factor. But when I came out of the bathroom wearing the long sapphire-blue dress with the slit up to “there” Hatch let out a low whistle.
“Now, that’s what I call gorgeous,” he said.
“Me or the dress?”
“Come here,” he said. He took me in his arms. “A minute ago that dress was in a pile on the bed looking like a beach towel. Now it looks like a million bucks. So, yeah, I’d say it was you.”
“Mahalo,” I said. “Where are we going for dinner?”
“One of your favorite places over here.”
“Jackie Rey’s?”
“Nope.”
“Rapanui Café?”
“No.” He smiled. “Trust me, you’ll love it but you’ll never guess it.”
He led me down to the beach and over to the area of the King Kamehameha heiau. “Close your eyes and imagine yourself here two hundred and fifty years ago,” he said.
I closed my eyes. A cool breeze lifted my hair from the back of my neck and I shivered. Hatch grasped my fingers and I could feel him moving in front of me.
“Okay, open your eyes.”
About a dozen people were standing behind Hatch, but in the darkness of the moonless night I couldn’t even distinguish the men from the women. Tiki torches flickered, illuminating the faces and then casting them back in shadow. But among the people there was one face I’d recognize no matter how dark it was.
I'm Kona Love You Forever (Islands of Aloha Mystery Series Book 6) Page 13
