The Green Room

by Deborah Turrell Atkinson

  Finally Barstow spoke up. “It feels good to be back on the surf scene.”

  “Any chance you wanted to be near Ben?”

  Barstow kept his eyes on the waves breaking at the mouth of the bay. “Swell’s building.”

  O’Reilly didn’t answer, and a few moments elapsed.

  “Yeah, okay. I want to be near Ben. So?”

  “It’s normal, man. I’d want to be near my kid, too.” O’Reilly nodded. “Just wanted to hear you say it.”

  Barstow turned to face O’Reilly. “I want Ben to be in the lineup for the Intrepid. If he wants to, that is.”

  Now they were getting down to it. People always had an agenda. O’Reilly rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know, man. We got guys all over the world wanna be in this tow-in. And we’ve got room for fifteen teams, thirty people. How we gonna fit in another guy, especially a kid who hasn’t won a major event yet?”

  “He was second last week.”

  “True, and he’s an up-and-coming competitor, for sure. But that was his first major meet.”

  Several long moments elapsed.

  “Fine,” Barstow said. “Just don’t close your mind to the idea. You know some of the guys we invited will miss their planes or get injured. We’ll have a couple of last minute holes to fill.”

  “Okay. I’ll keep an open mind.” O’Reilly knew it was time to change the subject. “You had a chance to touch base with that guy Gabe Watson about getting the guys we need to help out with the logistics of a tow-in?”

  “Yeah.” Barstow rolled his eyes. “He’s a real water stud. You know—lifeguard, runs a surf school concession, related to half the families in Haleiwa. And guess what? He’s the guy who runs the course for jet-ski accreditation, too.”

  “Your favorite type, eh? You think he’s a member of the Blue Shorts?”

  “Let’s just say he offered to keep the beach clear of surfers during the holding period.”

  “Anything else?”

  Barstow’s lip curled in a half-smile. “Yeah, he wants to be in the line-up.”

  “Shit. Was he on your list?”

  “No, but I think I’ll give him a shot at it if he’ll partner up with Nahoa Pi'ilani.”

  “Did you tell him that?”

  Barstow shook his head. “Not yet. Let him knock himself out first.” And Barstow grinned. It reminded O’Reilly of a tiger shark.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Storm got to Food Town at four forty-five. She dashed in the wheezing pneumatic door to see Ben at a checkout station, loading grocery bags into the basket of a very old man with flowing white hair and mahogany skin, a baggy T-shirt and shorts that hung past his knees. Too-large rubber slippers slapped against his wide, cracked feet.

  “Is your daughter waiting in the parking lot, Mr. 'Oama? Ben asked.

  The ancient nodded, and shuffled past Storm. Ben followed with the cart. “I’ll be right back,” he said to Storm.

  He returned in less than a minute. “Thanks for coming by. Did my mom tell you where I was?” His expression was wary. Storm figured she wouldn’t let on that Stephanie had confided her fears about the tow-in contest.

  “No, Goober did. You heard anything from Nahoa?”

  Ben shook his head. “But I haven’t seen Sunny today.”

  Storm looked at her watch. “You think she’ll be home?”

  “I don’t know. She works at Kimo’s Pizzeria, so she might be starting a shift.” He unpinned his name tag from his aloha shirt, which was covered with the Food Town logo. “We can walk over and check.”

  A petite young woman with curling dark hair that reached to her waist waved as they entered the front door of the small restaurant. “Hi, Ben.” She beamed at him.

  Lacquered wood-topped tables were crowded into the single room and people were already lined up at the counter for pitchers of beer. The combined aromas of basil, tomato sauce, and beer on tap made Storm’s stomach growl. She was hungry, but didn’t want to pause in her search for Nahoa.

  “Naomi, is Sunny around?” Ben asked.

  Naomi’s smile diminished by a couple of watts, but she kept up her enthusiasm. “She’s off tonight, but she’ll be in at ten tomorrow morning.” Her eyes wandered to Storm.

  “I’m Storm Kayama.” Storm put out her hand. “I’m a friend of Ben’s and his mother’s.”

  Naomi’s smile amped back up a few notches. “You want a seat?” Her eyes flicked to a group of men on the other side of the room and she lowered her voice. “I can have a Kimo’s Parmesan Special ready in about ten minutes.”

  “No thanks, but I’ll come back later,” Ben said.

  Outside, Storm grinned at him. “You better go back tomorrow.”

  Ben shuffled his feet. “Yeah, she’s really nice.”

  Storm got out her car keys. “You mind going with me to Sunny’s?”

  “Sure, she lives in Pupukea. We can check out Nahoa’s at the same time.”

  “They don’t live together?”

  “Not technically, but she’s there a lot. Sunny shares a house with two other women. It’s kind of run down, but it’s a cool place. Nahoa’s cottage is just down the beach.”

  Storm led Ben to her car, which she’d left in the Food Town parking lot. As she made her way through the traffic in Haleiwa town, she realized how little she knew about Nahoa’s lifestyle.

  “What does Nahoa do when he’s not surfing?” she asked.

  “He’s a shaper at the Tubin’ Tanker. He and Mo'o Lanipuni are well known for their surfboard designs.”

  “That’s a good job, isn’t it?”

  “Sure, Nahoa does okay. He’s been getting some endorsements, too. Clothing and stuff.”

  Storm realized that Ben was a bit in awe of her cousin, who was kind of a local celebrity. Not only did Nahoa have a reputation for being a ballsy, red-hot surfer, the six years in age that separated the two seemed to be more than chronological. Ben was till a teenager, living with his mother, while Nahoa was a confident young man.

  Sunny’s house was a big rambling frame affair that looked as if it had undergone renovations by at least two different builders. Not even the paint matched. It sat on stilts on a large lawn shaded by two sprawling mango trees and a fringe of banana plants. Typical of old plantation homes, the place lacked a garage and driveway, and three older-model cars were parked in the grass, which was mowed and otherwise uncluttered. It reminded Storm of a college fraternity, except with the single-wall redwood construction and traditional hip roof common to Hawai'i. It had a certain scruffy charm.

  Ben went right in the screened front door and shouted a greeting. No one was in the living room, which was situated inside the entry. Delicious cooking aromas were coming from the back of the house, and Ben headed in that direction, calling out a few more hellos. Storm followed and noted the comfortable, but unmatched furnishings, batik drapes, and high-end stereo equipment.

  “Jenna, Charlie,” Ben said. “Howzit?”

  A pretty, rotund woman whose pareu barely covered a figure that conservatively could be called Rubenesque looked up from where she sat. The toddler she fed gurgled and banged his fists on his high chair tray. Storm wasn’t sure if he wanted more of the pasty stuff she was feeding him or whether he was greeting Ben.

  Both Charlie and Jenna grinned when they saw him and Jenna got to her feet and gave Ben a big hug. She went over to the stove to stir a pot, while Charlie hammered harder on his tray, and everyone but Storm ignored him. Flecks of food flew with each whack.

  “What smells so good?” Ben asked. Storm thought he might be trying to ignore the big brown nipple that flashed where the flowing Tahitian garment gaped.

  “Beef stew and rice,” Jenna said. “What you up to?”

  “This is my friend Storm. Sunny around?”

  Jenna rolled her eyes at Storm. “She’ll be back bumbye. It’s getting dark out.” Charlie sat open-mouthed, like a baby bird, and Jenna shoveled
another spoonful into the chasm. “She’s been habut ever since Nahoa broke their date. Can’t hardly talk to her.”

  “He’s not back yet?”

  Jenna shook her head. Charlie shook his, too—with his mouth open. The front door banged.

  “Maybe that’s Sunny.” Storm thought she heard a note of relief in Ben’s voice.

  She followed Ben toward the front of the house. It was nearly dark outside, but no one had turned on lights in the living room, and they could see a tall silhouette against the waning daylight that filtered through the screen. The figure leaned over and turned on a table lamp, then flung her wet blonde hair over one shoulder.

  “Sunny?” Ben said.

  Sunny’s face lit up momentarily, then went blank. “Ben.”

  “This is Nahoa’s cousin. Storm’s—”

  “Hi,” Sunny said dully. “Are you first cousins?” She seemed to ask the question out of social convention, not interest.

  Sunny looked familiar to Storm, but she couldn’t place her. “Second. His mother was married to my mother’s cousin.”

  Sunny gave her a second, harder look and shivered, then proceeded to wrap a beach towel tightly around her waist and do as deft a deck change as Storm had ever seen. Her bikini bottoms dropped to the floor, and in a swift move, she slid board shorts up legs that looked like they were half Storm’s height. After that, she removed the towel and wrapped it around her broad shoulders.

  It was when the light caught the myriad of earrings in her left ear that Storm remembered where she’d seen Sunny before. She was the woman at the surf contest who’d defended Goober’s grumpy nature.

  “I talked to you at last weekend’s meet. My friends and I were there to watch Ben, Nahoa, and Goober surf.”

  “Oh,” Sunny said. She whirled to peer through the screen door at the sound of a car passing.

  “Did you see that package Nahoa got last Saturday?”

  “Ugly thing, with shark’s teeth?”

  “Yes, do you know what happened to it?”

  “No, but it pissed him off.” Sunny gave up on the sound of the car and walked into the living room, where she dropped into a chair. She waved a hand in the direction of the sofa. “He called a couple people about it.”

  Ben hovered, standing, but Storm sat on the edge of the couch. “Do you know who?”

  “No, but what’s your interest in him?” Her voice was low, almost resigned, but she emphasized the “your” a tiny bit.

  “I grew up with him. He’s family, plus his mom and mine were friends.”

  Sunny sat unmoving, watching Storm as if evaluating her, while her eyes glistened in the lamplight.

  “I haven’t seen her for years,” Storm said, “but she lost her husband when Nahoa was very young. I’m worried that the shark tooth thing was a threat.”

  Sunny’s chin came up. “I’m worried, too, but I don’t run his life. If a guy wants to move on, good riddance.”

  Sunny had apparently heard the rumors about other women. Storm felt sorry for her. She’d experienced cheating boyfriends, too. “Will you tell me if you see him? And that package, if you find it, would you let me know?”

  Sonny looked at Storm out of the corner of her eye. Yes, her eyes were definitely wet. “Sorry, I need some time alone.” She got up and walked out of the room, but turned to look over her shoulder. “I’ll let you know, okay?”

  Storm and Ben let themselves out the front door. Ben hadn’t looked either woman in the eye for the last several minutes. Typical guy, Storm figured, paralyzed by a woman’s emotions.

  Ben slumped in the passenger seat of Storm’s car. “I’d better get home.”

  “Want me to call your mom and tell her you’re with me?”

  “No.” Ben’s voice was much more abrupt than it needed to be, and Storm once again wondered about the dynamics between him and his parents. There were secrets in that family, and Uncle Miles’ warnings about family secrets and how no one came out on top in a bitter divorce chafed like sand in a bathing suit.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Ben had only monosyllabic responses to any of Storm’s attempts at conversation on the way back to Haleiwa. He did direct her down the street where Nahoa lived, and they crawled past his dark, closed cottage. Two newspapers in their waterproof plastic bags sat on the front step where the paperboy had tossed them. It was obvious no one was home.

  Storm dropped him off at the townhouse where he and Stephanie lived and declined a polite, but perfunctory invitation to come in. On the way from Haleiwa to Laniakea, she stopped at the Food Town and bought a few grocery items, but her mind was occupied with whether she’d been as moody as Ben, Goober, and Sunny when she was their age. She’d probably been worse.

  At sixteen, she had endured the Big Island police department’s scrutiny for allegedly cultivating pakalolo, which she was definitely doing; they just hadn’t located her patch in the sugar cane fields—yet. Aunt Maile and Uncle Keone didn’t doubt her activities for a minute, so they shipped her to O'ahu, Miles Hamasaki’s household, and a much stricter high school. At seventeen, she was depressed enough to flirt with the idea of ending the struggle like her mother, with a bottle of pills. If it hadn’t been for the Hamasakis, Aunt Maile and Uncle Keone, she’d have checked out.

  With those thoughts, the beach cottage felt empty and lonely. She poured Yoshida’s Teriyaki Sauce over a chicken breast and settled it on the grill, then went back inside to call Hamlin.

  “Don’t you ever check your phone?” he asked her.

  Sure enough, there were four messages on her mobile phone. “I didn’t hear it ring. But I was running around quite a bit.”

  “Were you back in the mountains?”

  “Yes, Nahoa’s girlfriend, Sunny, shares a house with some other surfers in Pupukea. The signal is probably weak back there.” She went on to tell him about how Nahoa hadn’t shown up for a date Monday, so she and Ben had gone to talk with Sunny. She also filled him in on her cousin’s reputation with women, the upcoming tow-in surf contest, and Stephanie’s fears.

  “When are you coming back to town?”

  “Could I talk you into coming out for the tournament?”

  “When does it start?”

  “From what Stephanie told me, the holding period started today and the surf is coming up. If the swell is big enough, they’ll start the qualifying round Thursday or Friday afternoon.”

  “I’ve got two depositions on Friday, but I could leave town around five. Come back and we’ll drive out together.”

  “I want to hang around and see if I can find Nahoa. I’m worried about him.”

  “You need to talk to the police.”

  “I did. I talked to Brian Chang.” She told him about Matsumoto’s injuries and how she wanted to ask some of the locals if he’d received a package like Nahoa’s.

  “Storm, I worry about you out there alone, asking questions.”

  “Chances are, Nahoa pissed someone off over a woman. He’s probably lying low for a while. I’m mostly just going to surf. If I’m lucky, I’ll see him. At least I’ll see some of his friends.”

  “Be careful, okay?”

  “I will and I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  The next thing on Storm’s list was to touch base with Leila and see if she’d been able to pick up Fang. She felt much better after talking to Hamlin, and she unwrapped a musubi she’d picked up at the supermarket. When Leila answered the phone, Storm’s greeting was muffled by rice, Spam, and nori.

  “She’s already curled up with Pua,” Leila assured her. They made their usual jokes about why Pua, Leila’s grizzled English bulldog, let the fat cat into her bed.

  “Pua can’t see well enough to chase her out,” Leila said.

  “Nah, Fang’s like a warm blanket. I should know.”

  “And she puts up with Pua’s snoring.”

  When Storm hung up, the house felt considerably less lonely. Hamlin would be with
her in two days, and the grilling chicken smelled heavenly. After dinner, she’d curl up with a good book and go to bed early so she could make dawn patrol.

  Storm slept well until the crash of the surf and the watery morning light, filtering through the narrow blinds, woke her around six-thirty. Wind ruffled the gauzy white curtains and brought the smell of salt and sea into the bedroom.

  She brewed a pot of coffee, just to warm up in the cool, damp morning air, and downed a large mug while she waxed her board and pulled a heavier-than-usual rash guard over her head. She still shivered, and contemplated that she’d probably never be able to surf where the water temperature dipped below seventy. Some hardship.

  The morning was calm and the water glassy and smooth. There were already a couple of people out at the Laniakea breaks, but no one she recognized, so she tucked her board under her arm and strolled down the beach toward the break surfers called Himalayas. She set her surfboard in the sand and stood to observe for a few minutes.

  A tiny rider cut away from a curling wave that looked twice his height. Good move, Storm thought. But that wave was a monster. She picked up her board; the waves were too big for her here, but the morning was beautiful and she’d find a smaller break down the beach a bit. Even if she ended up just going for a stroll, the sky above her was the hue of a fine Tahitian pearl, and it met the horizon in a hazy blue line, where the sun glowed the color of pale hibiscus. In those moments, Storm knew why many of the North Shore population eschewed the bigger salaries and faster pace of Honolulu.

  Storm sighed with contentment and picked up her board. She’d heard Ben and some of his friends mention the Puaena Point break, and though she thought the waves might be too big for her, she would enjoy the walk and she might see someone she knew.

  Sure enough, when she climbed over an outcrop of lava rock and down the other side to a flat sandy area, she saw Goober and Gabe, ready to head out into the water. Goober saw her and waved. He seemed in a better mood than when she’d seen him the day before.

  “Storm, you going out?”

  “You think I can handle it?” She squinted at the waves, where they broke about two hundred yards off shore.