“Are you and Mr. Kalani close friends?” I don't recall Dad mentioning anything personal about Mr. Kalani.
Dad's index finger stops orchestrating and wraps around the steering wheel. “He's one of the best employees I've ever had. I trust him completely.”
“Why does he live here but Caleb lived in Hawaii?”
Dad hesitates. He doesn't want to talk about this. “It had something to do with his wife's death.”
“Caleb's mom died?”
Dad glances at me curiously then his eyes return to the road. “Cancer, I believe. They came to a cancer center in Portland. Then she passed away and Ben didn't want to be in Hawaii anymore. Too many memories, he said.”
“That's so sad.” We ride in silence for a few minutes. “Why didn't Caleb come with him?”
“I'm not positive, but I think Caleb was doing competitive surfing and attending a school there. Ben asked to work for me for a few months to get away. He ended up staying and moving his daughter over.”
“Caleb has a sister?”
“A younger sister, Gabrielle. Caleb stayed with his grandfather until coming here.”
“Ms. Liberty asked me to be Caleb's school escort.”
Dad continues to stare forward. “Why you?”
I don't want to stir up any trouble for Ms. Liberty. With my luck, I'll end up doing further penance. Plus the woman does mean well.
“I think because of the inn. Since we have a connection there already.”
Dad nods. “He'll probably be working today. Mr. Kalani called in the crew to help clean up.” Dad glances at me. I act as if I don't care one way or another.
“It's interesting that he'd transfer this close to the end of the school year.”
“Yes, it is.” Then dad picks up his iPod and a moment later Willie Nelson is crooning through the speakers. “Willie Nelson makes me think of your grandmother. She was such a fan. She attended his concert on every tour. Your grandfather didn't like that muchâhis New York wife in love with a longhaired, pot-smoking hillbillyâthat's what he called Willie.” Dad tells me some version of this story nearly every time he turns on the music.
“Dad, do we have some old family feud with the Kalani family?” I blurt out before we get too far off track.
A dark expression clouds his features.
“It was a long time ago,” he says.
“Why haven't I heard anything about it before?”
Dad turns Willie off in the middle of a long twangy note. “It's not something that comes up at dinner. It was decades ago.”
“But there's still bad feelings between our families?”
Dad pulls up to a stoplight and suddenly appears tired. Lately I've noticed Dad looking older. His usual quick steps have slowed. Jake and I have teased him a few times, but an edge of worry nags at me. He's blamed the long hours on the recession, but is there something more serious going on?
“Sweetie, it's complicated, and it's in the past.”
“Just give your general overview and then I'll leave it alone.”
Dad smiles at this. “Using my words against me, I see? Okay. Ben's father owned the land where your grandfather built the Monrovi.”
“Oh, okay?”
“They were partners at one time. Caleb's grandfather paid a priest or something to perform a traditional Hawaiian ceremony of cleansing and blessing on the propertyâthat's why the cove is called Aloha Cove. But some things happened that caused a rift in their friendship. In the end, they had a legal battle over the land. Your grandfather started building the resort while they fought over it in court. It's obvious how it ended.”
“Was Grandpa wrong?”
“No, but he wasn't fully right, either.”
“And that caused a family feud?”
“Well, the land was pretty important to the Kalani family. It was deeded to the family in some old grant or bet or something. It was the first piece of property on the mainland they owned. Most full-blooded Hawaiians weren't thrilled to become U.S. citizens. They are very proud of their heritage and many feel the Americans stole their rights. Your grandfather and Mr. Kalani had been best friends during the war and afterward. I think there was a woman involved in their fall out. It's complicated. But it mostly comes down to pride and the inability to forgive and move on. I don't think your grandfather ever stopped hating his old best friend.”
This was a lot to process.
“Why would Mr. Kalani want to work here then?”
“After your grandfather died, I extended an open invitation to the Kalani family to stay here whenever they wished. Ben brought his family here to vacation every year. After Ben's wife passed away, he contacted me about working the land.”
“He brought Caleb? Here?”
Dad nods. “When they did the blessing, a guy cemented a symbol on top of Seal Rock that belonged to the Kalani family. The land means something to them. But Ben doesn't speak with his father now either. A number of his family members live in the area already, and to abbreviate this long story, I hired him and he moved here.”
“Interesting,” I say and realize we're pulling up to the entrance of the hotel. This entirely new world is created around my thoughts about Caleb. It's stunning just to think that over the years he vacationed at the Monrovi Inn. We've walked and played on the same ground since childhood. I try remembering any time that we might have met before, and suddenly I think I remember some.
That was Caleb
?
“Kate,” Dad says as we pull up to the valet parking. “It wouldn't be a good idea to get too close to Caleb. This thing between our families, it's not all the way over. Even though I trust Ben Kalani and respect him, we aren't friends. That's just how some things should be.”
CALEB
My head is clear and uncluttered again as I return home. Last night I prayed until I fell asleep on the beach, and I feel like I've successfully disciplined my thoughts. My senses are invigorated by the freshness of predawn light. I make the walk home with a renewed strength.
Before Dad and Gabriella wake up, I make coffee in the old Mr. Coffee machine, cut up some strawberries and a poor excuse of a papaya, pour rice and water into the rice cooker, and then fry up hamburger patties and some eggs.
The scent of my cooking wakes Dad and Gabe. Before long, we're at the table and I realize this is the first breakfast I've cooked for them since Mom was sick.
“You made loco-moco? My favorite!” Dad says when he sees the rice, burger patty, and eggs. “Who taught you how to cook like this?”
I pour coffee into his mug, and half a cup for Gabe, my tomboy sister, who says, “It wasn't you who taught him, Dad, that's for sure.”
“Mom did,” I say and it's not a sadness that grips us like usual, but a rather nice comfort. We're here together, and she'd be happy to see this moment.
Gabe eats almost as much as me and talks nonstop about a new sci-fi movie she and Dad watched the night before.
I sit with them in plastic chairs at the round Formica table. A small sprig of flowers decorates the center of the table in a chipped coffee mug instead of a vase. I belong here. Every day, I remember to be grateful for this. I shouldn't have waited so long to join them.
Dad and I head in for work after dropping Gabe off for the day with Aunt Gigi and our cousins.
The night crew has already started in on the prom cleanup. Luis and I clean random places on the property and make discoveries of empty bottles and beer cans, scatterings of cigarette butts, a few piles of vomit, and a few even more vile remnants of last night's activities in the dark.
Luis holds up a pair of girl's silk underwear with a stick and laughs. “You find who lost these, send my way,
si
,
amigo
?
I shake my head at him. “I doubt you'd really want whoever left those.”
“You not know me,” he says and laughs at his own joke.
A few hours later Luis deems our work done and takes off for home. He's become a Seattle Redhawks fan and they're playing against a California team this afternoon. I was already on the schedule this Sunday, so I head back to the maintenance building to get the small Kubota tractor and a little apple tree I'm going to plant where Dad says an old one fell over last winter.
For a moment, I remember Kate being here last night, looking over the pictures in Dad's office. I brush away thoughts of her. Not thinking about her takes a lot of work, I realize. But when I do think about her, it's like a wrestling match with my thoughts and emotions. Maybe Finn slipped me something in my Coke last night, some drug that made me feel like I was falling in love. I wonder if Ecstasy would do something like that.
I pull on work gloves and carefully put the apple tree in the bucket of the Kubota. The engine rumbles to life, then I put it in gear and drive the tractor along a gravel road. Spring's in full swing all over the property. When I reach the row of apple trees, they are white with blossoms. It looks like it'll be a good year, and I remember Mom saying how it would be nice to be here during the local apple festival in the fall. Mom always wished we lived in the Pacific Northwest so we could experience the four seasons. In Hawaii, we had three: the hot season, rainy season, and tourist season.
I pull the apple tree out of the bucket and hop back in, turning the seat around to the scoop side. Within a few minutes I have the roots of the old tree removed, and a nice place for the new tree.
When I turn off the engine, a voice makes me jump.
“Hi.”
It's Kate. She looks up at me and her hair shines in the sunlight with strands of gold. She's wearing jeans and a blouse, and she looks way better than she did in her fancy dress from last night. My peace is immediately shaken.
“How did you find me? I'm half a mile from the hotel.”
“I followed the sound of the tractor. Did I almost give you a heart attack?”
“Of course not, I have the reflexes of a ninja warrior,” I say as if offended. I notice the golf cart parked by the road.
“That's why you almost jumped out of your seat?” She laughs. Maybe we could be friends. Nothing more, of course, but friends would be fine.
“I don't have your number,” she continues. “I would have called.”
“Is there a problem?”
“No. I just thought I'd say hello. And”âshe twists her foot back and forth, looking downâ“and thanks for saving Katherine last night, and for everything. You know.”
She's nervous and doing that lower lip-biting thing that unhinges me.
“Any time.”
“So why did you transfer with school almost out?”
I hop out of the tractor and pick up the small tree. The roots are bundled in a gunnysack. Dad gave me strict instructions on how to plant it. “It's complicated. Long story.”
“I have time,” she says.
“It's not that interesting.”
“Can I help?” she asks from close behind me, and on reflexâ maybe also to keep some distance between usâI hand her the tree without thinking how heavy it is.
She nearly drops it, and dirt is smudged across the front of her light yellow blouse.
“Sorry,” we both say.
I brush off her arm but stop before helping with the dirt across the front of the shirt.
I step back awkwardly then try covering it with a joke. “I'd buy you another one, but let me guess, it's from somewhere exotic?”
“Yeah, Macy'sâreal exotic. You aren't buying me a shirt.” She shakes her head. “Stain Stick will take care of it.”
I raise a doubtful eyebrow. “And you know this from years of laundry experience?”
“Okay, I've been told Stain Stick takes care of it. I have done laundry a few times, but yes, we have a housekeeper who will make this blouse pristine clean once again. She's a miracle worker.”
“I might have to send her over some shirts then.”
Kate puts a hand on her hip. “So you don't like personal questions?”
I smile. “Are you going to help me plant this apple tree or not?”
“It's an apple tree?” She unbuttons her blouse, and I quickly turn to the gaping hole I've dug with the tractor. The poor tree will be swallowed up.
“Presto, I'm ready to work.” She's down to a tank top, and I shake my head in consternation. It's almost comical how good she looks.
I reach for a shovel from inside the tractor bucket.
“I talked to my father about our family differences.”
This interests me. Dad never discusses it, but Grandfather had plenty to say. After forty-something years, he's still determined to get the hotel back.
“What did he say?'
“Well,” she hesitates. “Just that our grandfathers were friends and they had a falling out. It was over a woman or over the land, something like that.”
To put it mildly
. I start filling the hole back up with soil, chopping it up so that it's well aerated.
“There was a legal battle, which left the two families bitter toward each other.” She sits on the edge of the tractor.
“I think one family is a little more bitter than the other.”
She opens her mouth in surprise, understanding the implication.
“Why did you move here?”
“My grandfather and I had a disagreement. He's a difficult man. I can understand some of why your grandfather didn't see eye-to-eye with him. He expected a lot from my fatherâ that didn't work out so well. Now he expects a lot from me. I needed some time away from him, and I missed my father and sister.”
Before she processes that and seeks her next question, I say, “Are you ready to plant your first tree?”
She puts her hands on her hips, and I catch the scent of that perfume of hers again. “This isn't the first tree that I've planted.” “Really?” I don't believe it.
She tosses her hair back over her shoulder. “Talk about me being judgmental. I did a charity tree planting event a few years ago.”