4 Kaua'i Me a River (3 page)

“Huh. Are you sure you don’t
mind running me out to the airport before we go to dinner?”

 “I’ve been thinking about
that,” he said. “Why don’t I go to Kaua’i with you? I can add a vacation day to
my usual two-days off. We could hang out and relax before you have to go to your
lawyer thing. It’ll be fun. Kind of like a pretend honeymoon.”

I shot him my ‘
what the heck
does that mean’
? face.

He gave me a ‘
no worries’
shrug.

“What do you mean ‘pretend
honeymoon’? I said. The shrug hadn’t explained much.

“It means we’ll have a great
time. It also means we’ll probably get our room upgraded if we tell them we’re
honeymooners.”

We parked in the airport parking
lot and walked across the street to the Hawaiian Airlines departures area. The waiting
line for the ticket counter stretched through the open-air lobby and out on to the
sidewalk.

“This is going to take forever,”
I said. I looked up at the ‘Arrivals and Departures’ board. “Looks like they’ve
got a wide-body heading to the mainland in an hour.”

“Stay here,” said Hatch. “I’ll
be right back.”

I watched as he bobbed and
weaved through the crowd like a wide receiver sprinting downfield after shaking
off an entire defensive line. I lost him in the swirl of sunburned tourists
dragging bulging suitcases through the Disneyland-style check-in line.

Hatch returned less than five
minutes later waving two airline tickets.

“How’d you do that?” I said.

“We did a terrorist drill with the
TSA last week. I dropped a name and a ticket agent whose shift was ending offered
to stay a few minutes more.” He handed me my ticket. “Happy birthday, Pali.”

The ticket was for the twenty-fifth,
two days before my meeting on the twenty-seventh.

“I’ve got it all worked out,” said
Hatch. “If it all goes according to plan, by the time that meeting rolls you’ll
have forgotten what the word ‘urgent’ even means.”

I hugged him. This birthday was
turning out way better than I’d expected.

CHAPTER
3

The best way to describe Mama’s
Fish House is ‘heaven on earth.’ Anyway, I hope heaven’s got a palm grove flanking
a pristine beach with blinding white sand and soft turquoise water. And I hope in
heaven it’ll be possible to get fish so fresh it tastes like a breeze blowing
in off the ocean.  And I hope the meals will be served on gorgeous square plates
garnished with purple and white orchids. Maui’s got dozens of five-star restaurants.
Most of them are ridiculously overpriced, with lovely ambiance and creative
chefs. Mama’s Fish House is all of that, but with one small distinction: the setting.
Mama’s Fish House is in such a breathtakingly stunning location it’s nearly
impossible to grumble when the check comes.

While Hatch and I sipped twenty-dollar
mai tais we talked about our upcoming trip to Kaua’i.

“So we’re going over on the
Monday before?” I said. “You know June is one of my busy months.”

“It’s almost the end of June.
You can afford a few days off. You deserve it.”

“Care to elaborate on your earlier
reference to a ‘pretend honeymoon’?” I said.

He ducked his head. “Hey, I was
just saying we’ll have fun. We both work so much it’s hard to kick back and
leave it behind. One thing about living here is the visitors are always having
way more fun than we are. I say, let’s play tourist.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all.” He reached across
the table and squeezed my hand.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t
a tiny bit disappointed. Not that I was eager to become my own client any time
soon, but still it’d be nice to be asked.

From Mama’s we went back to
Hatch’s place in Sprecklesville. He lives on a sprawling multi-million-dollar compound
owned by an Australian film producer. Hatch occupies the caretaker’s shack,
which is no ‘shack’ at all. It’s a modern two-bedroom, two-bath house built in
the plantation style favored by old-time sugar barons and modern
Hollywood-types.

Hatch’s dog, Wahine, greeted us
at the door in a hail of barking and leaping. She’s the offspring of Farrah’s
dog so both dogs shared a lineage of hyper-activity and high intelligence. 

“Chill it, Heen,” Hatch said,
using his shorthand version of her name. He scooped the dog up in his arms.
“Pali doesn’t want to be licked to death. At least not by you.” He winked at
me.

This was a side of Hatch I loved
but rarely saw. Our relationship had started out kind of rocky, with
misunderstandings and ambivalence on both our parts. Now he seemed to be hinting
about taking it to the next level. Not that he’d admit it.

We sat outside drinking wine and
not saying much for about half an hour.

“It’s nice to see you in a
dress,” he finally said. “How come you always wear pants?”

I stared at him. “Did you really
just say that?”

“Yeah. What’s wrong? You have
great legs. You should show them off more.”

“Thank you, and duly noted. So,
tell me what we’re going to do in Kaua’i while we wait for my meeting?”

“Well, I thought we could do
some beach stuff and eat at a couple of great restaurants. Maybe do a little
hiking and sightseeing. You know, pretty much the tourist full monty.” 

“If we have time, I’d like to go
up and see where I lived when I was a little kid,” I said. “It’s probably all different
now, but I’d still like to see it. It’s where my mom was laid to rest.” I
couldn’t go on. My throat had closed up so tight I was having a hard time
breathing, let alone talking.

“Hey, we’ll go wherever you
want,” Hatch said. “Are you sure you’ll be able to find the place? Thirty years
is a long time.”

“Yeah.” I barely croaked it out.
“I’ll find it. I remember it like it was last month.”

A few days after her death, my
mom’s friends had performed a ‘return to the womb’ ceremony while I watched
from the beach. I remember shaking my head ‘no’ when someone offered to take me
out on their surfboard to watch them release her ashes into the ocean. My most
vivid memory was trying to comfort my little brother. He was naked like most of
the kids whose parents had once lived at Taylor Camp. When the paddlers pushed
off he began running down the beach screaming ‘mama, mama’ as if it’d finally dawned
on him she was gone forever.

I’m still not exactly sure how my
mom died. I’d been told she’d died of ‘cerebral hemorrhage’ which sounded like
a stroke, but as I grew older I overheard whispered references to a drug
overdose and even suicide. It isn’t something I like to think about.

“Look, I want us to have fun,”
Hatch said. “But if it’s important to you to see some stuff from your past, we can
do that too. I just hope it won’t bum you out. Time and tide, and all that.”  He
squeezed my hand.

I nodded. “Oh, I forgot to tell
you something. The lawyer letter was addressed to my legal name.”

“But you told me hardly anybody knows
your real name.”

“That’s right.”

“You think the lawyer is going
to talk about your mom?”

“What else could it be?” I said.

“Well, whatever it is, I’ll be right
there with you. We can handle this, Pali.”

I stayed overnight at Hatch’s
but my mind was elsewhere. He was tender and considerate, but I picked up an
undercurrent of exasperation. I didn’t blame him. I was so consumed with ‘what
if’ scenarios about my mom I was just going through the motions with Hatch.

The next morning I started
lining up vendors for Eleanor and Charles’ beachside wedding on the Fourth of
July. I had two other weddings before I left on the twenty-fifth so I’d be busy
right up until it was time to get on the plane. But busy was good. Busy meant I
had no time to fret about lawyers and meetings and ugly revelations about my mom.

***

On the Friday before we were scheduled
to leave for Kaua'i I went to Farrah’s store.

“Hey, how’s it going?” I said
over the sound of the tinkly bell.

“If it was going any better,
it’d be gone,” she said. “You getting amped about your trip?”

“Yeah. I’ve been working so hard
this month it’ll be good to get away, but I still can’t imagine what the
‘urgent family matter’ could be.”

“Ours is not to wonder why,”
Farrah said. “In any case, don’t get bummed about seeking the truth. The truth shall
set you free, right?”

“Yeah, right. But I’m hoping the
truth isn’t so lousy it totally blots out any good memories I have of my mom.”

“We’re talking about your mother,
Pali. You loved her and she loved you. No matter what happened, she was a good
mom.”

“What kind of a ‘good mom’ OD’s
or kills herself when she has two little kids to raise? I mean, my dad was
already in the wind.  She left us
orphans
. If Auntie Mana hadn’t stepped
up and taken us in, we’d have ended up in the system.”

“I know. But don’t go jumping ship
before your feet are wet. Maybe you’ll find out something good. Like maybe she got
swept out to sea trying to rescue somebody. Or maybe she was helping sick
people and she got sick, too. You know, like Father Damien.”

“The whole Taylor Camp thing was
pretty sick. A bunch of hippies living in tree houses smoking dope and picking up
welfare checks. They weren’t ‘do-gooder’ hippies, Farrah. They were selfish
degenerates. When the State kicked them off the beach they just went and squatted
somewhere else.”

“Even so. We’re talking about your
ohana
. And as screwed up as family can be, it’s still family.”

Only Farrah could make the
absurd sound almost rational.

I told her I wouldn’t be coming
in to my shop over the weekend. “I have a wedding in Kapalua tomorrow and then
another one at Napili on Sunday. Our plane leaves early Monday morning.”

“Well, have a great time with
Hatch,” said Farrah. “And don’t worry about that meeting at the lawyer’s.
Whatever it is—it is, right? When are you coming home?”

“After the meeting. I think the
flight’s at five o’clock.”

“Give me a shout when you’re
back, okay?”

A customer came in and Farrah
leaned in and gave me a quick hug. I darted out the back. No matter what
happened in Kaua'i, I knew my true
ohana
was right there on Maui.

CHAPTER
4

On Monday morning the plane left
bright and early. We flew into Honolulu and then caught a flight to Lihue. We
arrived in Kaua'i at eight in the morning. Most of our fellow passengers spent
the short flight pecking away on computers so I figured the first flight of the
day must cater to people going over on business. When we landed, Hatch and I
exchanged a glance before racing across the street to the rental car building.
Everything moves slow on the neighbor islands, including the rental car lines.

“Who’d you book the car from?” I
said as we sprinted down the row of rental car kiosks.

“Oh man. I knew there was
something I forgot.”

We screeched to a halt. I looked
around and noticed chickens in the airport parking lot.

“Look,” I said. “Someone’s chickens
escaped.”

We started at the first counter
and worked our way down asking each clerk if they had any cars available and if
they offered
kama’aina
rates. We ended up with a nondescript white Nissan
Altima. Hatch got a discount because he was a local firefighter. My Auntie Mana
used to say, ‘
You don’t ask, you don’t get
.’ Locals are never shy about
asking for deals and special favors. It’s as much an island tradition as
shooting the thumb and pinkie
shaka
sign instead of waving.

“It’s too early to check into
our room,” said Hatch. “You want to do some sightseeing?”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Since we’re staying in Poipu
let’s check out the West Side. If we get back to the hotel around three they
should have the room ready.”

We headed west on Highway 50
toward Waimea Canyon, but Hatch first wanted to stop and see the ‘Spouting
Horn’ in Lawa’i Bay. We knew we were at the right place when we saw three tour
busses lined up in the parking lot. We got out and there were chickens pecking
in the grass strip next to the lot.

“What’s with the chickens?”
Hatch said.

I shook my head. “No clue. Chickens
running around like this on Maui would be
teriyaki
by now.”

The locals had fashioned a
make-shift craft fair with a gauntlet of tarp-covered tables on the path to
view the sight. At first I looked away as I marched past table after table of hand-made
jewelry and cheesy souvenirs, but about halfway down something caught my eye.
It was a glass Christmas ornament decorated with a glittery sun, moon, and
stars. Three cut crystals had been tied on the hanging string about an inch
apart. A shaft of light hit the crystals creating a scattering of tiny rainbows
on the ground. It looked handmade, but it was tough to tell if it had been made
locally or in a sweatshop in China.

“I’ll bet Farrah would love
this,” I said.

“It’s pretty. But what is it?”

“It’s a Christmas ornament.”

“But it’s June. Christmas is six
months away.”

As a firefighter, Hatch lives almost
exclusively in the present. The bell sounds and off they go. They don’t plan
ahead, they react when needed. Although they’re constantly training so they’ll
be effective when the call comes, their everyday work life is pretty much
dictated moment to moment.

“Believe me, she’ll love it.
She’ll hang it in her window until it’s time to put up her Christmas tree.”

I bought the ornament and we
continued toward the fenced shoreline.

The “Spouting Horn” is a
blowhole in a lava tube formed when volcanoes were still erupting on Kaua'i.
The tube runs all the way to the ocean. Every few minutes the waves force water
and air through a shelf in the tube and create an upward spray of water that
looks like a geyser. A posted sign describing the site said water can shoot as
high as fifty feet, but it looked like only half that high to me.