Authors: Maureen Willett
Uncle Kalani said something to her father. Much to Malia’s amazement, her father laughed. Not just a polite laugh, but one of true merriment. She had not seen such a sight since she was a child when her mother was still alive. Malia walked through the work yard and over to the canoe under the aluminum roof, feeling funny about being there. It took a moment for the two men to notice her standing nearby, because they kept talking and laughing. Then her father looked at her and blinked.
“Malia?” he asked, wide-eyed. “Is that really you?”
“Yes, Daddy.” Before she could say something more, he had her in a bear hug and white dust filled her nostrils and stained her clothes.
“I don’t believe it! You look just like your mother. For a moment I thought I was seeing a ghost.”
She smiled, not sure what to say. In the past, any mention of her mother by her father was followed by tears and lots of drinking, but today it brought only smiles—heartfelt, warm smiles.
“My, my, girl, you do look like Andrea,” said Uncle Kalani with a shake of his head. She hadn’t seen her uncle in some years. He had the classic features of a full-blooded Hawaiian, with shoulder-length hair that hung in thick, wiry ringlets all about his beefy shoulders, and a face reminiscent of an ancient Hawaiian chief, with high cheekbones, a flat angular nose, and full, sensuous lips. His body, legs and arms were like muscular tree trunks, and his skin was brown, smooth and flawless. Even though he wasn’t Malia’s uncle by blood, but rather her
hanai
uncle, she loved and respected him as if they were related. His family didn’t have the means to raise another child when he was born, since he was their tenth, so her grandparents offered to raise him as their own. Uncle Kalani and her father grew up as brothers.
“What are you doing here?” asked her father. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but it is a surprise.”
“The house is finally paid off, so I thought you’d want a copy of the papers for your files.”
His eyebrows went up. She knew what he was thinking: She could have mailed them.
“Great. How long can you stay?”
“Only a day or so, and I can get a room at a hotel if it’s too much trouble.” She wasn’t sure where her father was living these days. For the last couple of years, he’d been crashing at Uncle Kalani’s house, with her uncle’s wife and five children. Prior to that, he had been mostly homeless and living on the beach, unable to do much of anything without being drunk.
“Oh no, sistah, you’re staying with us. Auntie Kealoha would have my hide if I let you stay at a hotel,” Uncle Kalani said. “Besides, there’s a room in the back now. We built it about a year ago, so you can stay out there. We’ll take the afternoon off, and we can grind on some of the ahi we caught Saturday and talk story, yah Veeks?”
Her father nodded with a smile.
Malia had forgotten about her uncle’s nickname for her father. It reminded her of happier days, when she and her parents came to this island every summer for family reunions with the entire Smalls clan, which was not small at all.
“I was just on my way home, so I’ll let Kealoha know you’re coming,” said Uncle Kalani, as he put his arm around Malia’s shoulders. “Walk me to my truck.”
It was more of an order than a question, so she went but with a glance in her father’s direction. He was dusting off the canoe with a large brush.
“He seems better,” Malia said with cautious hope. They stopped in front of the truck.
Uncle Kalani nodded and looked at her with intense dark eyes. “It’s good you are here, but keep an open mind.”
“What do you mean?”
“You look like someone who is in love.”
Her eyes widened. “Is it that obvious? I mean, I haven’t really decided that.” She had forgotten how intuitive he could be.
“No, not really,” Uncle Kalani said with a chuckle. “But I can see the emotions in your eyes. I don’t think Veeks will pick up on it, because he’s too concerned with what you will think.”
“Think? Think about what?”
“Malia, there’s a reason he’s happy now. So, as someone who is in love herself, don’t judge him. He’s suffered long enough.”
Malia took a deep breath as a small shock wave went through her. “He’s seeing someone?”
Kalani nodded and narrowed his large eyes, gauging her reaction. “He’s living at her place, which is why there’s enough room for you to stay with us. She’s a good person.”
“That’s great,” she said, trying to sound sincere. “No, really. I want him to be happy, and as you said, it’s been a long time.”
“Good. I’m glad you feel that way. So why are you really here?”
Malia bit her lip, knowing she couldn’t lie to him. He had a way of detecting any insincerity. “I wanted to see how he’s doing . . . and I’m also running for cover, I guess. I’ve met someone who’s turned me upside down, and I just needed to get away to think.”
“It’s about time,” he said with a knowing smile. “I’m glad to hear it.”
“Please don’t say anything to Dad. I’m not sure I’m ready to tell him.” Malia felt her cheeks get hot.
“Well, then, you and Veeks will have a lot to say to each other, if neither of you wants to share what’s really happening in your life.” He got into his truck and rolled down the window. “Now, don’t tell him I told you about his girlfriend.”
“So there are secrets all around today,” she said with a smile.
Uncle Kalani laughed but then furrowed his dark brows as he looked at her. “Where did you get that necklace?”
“From my guy.”
He nodded but the lines in his face took on intense angles. “It’s just like one your father used to wear. Andrea gave it to him when they first met.”
Malia’s hand went to her necklace. “I don’t remember seeing it on him.”
“He threw it in the ocean after she died. Said he didn’t want it anymore.” He hesitated for a moment, still looking intently at the necklace. “What did your boyfriend tell you when he gave it to you?”
“Nothing,” she said with a small shrug, trying to lie convincingly. “It was just a gift.”
Uncle Kalani studied her a moment longer and then nodded as he started the truck. He pulled out of the driveway but glanced at her with a worried frown as the truck backed away.
He was laughing a rich, hearty laugh. Her father was laughing. Malia blinked. She couldn’t remember ever seeing him happy. She knew he had been when her mother was alive, but the actual image of it had faded from memory. In recent years, her father had been a broken shell of a man—a handsome façade with nothing behind it. Yet now here he was, laughing, enjoying himself, and telling stories about the trouble he and Uncle Kalani had caused as boys.
The cool breeze of the evening drifted through the canopy tent Uncle Kalani had set up in the backyard in case it rained. Her uncle had lit citronella
tiki
torches in various spots to keep the mosquitoes at bay and to add a soft atmospheric light. Their
pa’ina
consisted of grilled ahi with garlic, ahi sashimi,
lomi lomi
salmon that seemed more a mild salsa than fish, noodles in oyster sauce, corn on the cob, and, of course, macaroni salad and steamed rice—staples at any family’s feast. The air smelled of the gardenia and stephanotis bushes that lined the fence around the property, and the sound of waves lapping against the sand drifted in and out like background music. It was a typical late-summer evening in Kailua-Kona.
But for Malia there was nothing typical about it. She leaned back in the plastic lawn chair and enjoyed the sound of her father’s voice and laughter, knowing it was right that she had come to visit him. Every once in awhile he put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a little squeeze. Her father had returned—the strong, funny daddy she had known as a child was here again. He had broken in two and somehow mended. Hope for a bright future was alive in his eyes, filling her with a sense that life was as it should be, after all. And if her father could take a risk on falling in love again, why shouldn’t she?
“So what do you think, should we go see Madame Pele tomorrow?” he asked, breaking into her thoughts.
“Yes, that’d be great,” Malia answered, knowing the volcano would be a good place to analyze her emotions about Hunter. It was the most special place she had ever been, filled with
mana,
the spiritual power of the gods. Nowhere else could you walk right up to lava flowing into the ocean, forming the Earth before your eyes. It was truly magical. She would have to let Hunter know she did believe in magic, but it lived with the goddess of fire, Pele, in the volcano Kilauea.
It was a long drive to the volcano from Kailua-Kona, so they decided to get up early and make it there before lunch. She awoke to the smell of coffee and an opera of birds outside in the huge mango tree. Malia went into the kitchen where her father was making sandwiches and packing them into a soft cooler. He looked clean and fresh, and was dressed in red board shorts and a checkered flannel shirt, which made him look like a young man. Malia smiled at the sight, realizing he was still quite young for all he had been through in his life.
Since his truck didn’t have a working air conditioner, they drove down the two-lane highway with the windows open, making conversation impossible. The two-hour drive took them past field after field of coffee farms. Each one had a tasting room, but Malia had never stopped along this road to sample the finest coffee in the world.
Once inside Volcano National Park the world changed. It was all steam and crusts of black lava, with an occasional small patch of green growing out of the once molten rock. There were enough interesting places in the park to spend a few days hiking the trails, but for Malia and her father there was only one destination: the Kilauea mountain. They stopped at the main ranger station and got directions to the newest lava flow, which was all the way at the end of the road, so it would take about an hour to drive there.
They passed miles of black lava rock from earlier flows that now looked like black balloons piled on top of each other, which together created a vast wasteland of charred, barren land that resembled the moon more than Hawaii. Malia was in heaven. She reached over and put her hand on top of her father’s where it rested on the bench seat. He smiled but kept his eyes on the road. She leaned her head back and studied his profile, wondering how a father and daughter could be so different in both looks and temperament. When he was his true self, her father was the much more jovial, outgoing one. Malia looked out the window, knowing her mere presence put a strain on him, because she was so like her mother. She wondered what he wanted to tell her but knew he’d get around to it in time.
As they got closer to the active lava flow the air became hotter and full of steam, and smelled of sulfur. Patches of blue appeared here and there where the ocean peeped through piles of black rocks on the horizon. The heat of Pele’s fiery wrath was almost unbearable in the morning sun as they parked the truck at the end of a long row of cars. Malia got out and put her small backpack on her shoulders and made sure her sneakers were tightly tied. The ground got hot, even with good solid shoes, and sometimes melted heavy rubber soles.
Her father put a couple of beers from a cooler into his backpack, but she decided not to worry about it. It wasn’t enough for him to get drunk. Besides a cold beer after a hike on steamy lava rock sounded like a good idea. Sweat already poured down her forehead. Malia looked at the mountain behind them, and even in the high sun, the red lava could be seen in trails down Kilauea’s face. Park rangers tried to keep hikers from going up the mountain and getting too close to dangerous areas, but they didn’t have enough numbers to police everyone. Occasionally, a hiker went where they weren’t supposed to and was never seen again.
If hikers followed the designated trail, they would get an oceanside view of red, molten lava flowing into the water in a wash of steam. It remained the most spectacular thing she had ever seen, although the view after sunset was preferable to midmorning. That’s when the entire mountainside lit up with red fire, a stark contrast to the black night. There were no lights anywhere in the park to light the way for visitors. Once the sun went down, Kilauea lighted the park and the might of Pele became apparent.
Malia followed her father on the trail, which was marked with little orange flags, but wondered if perhaps the trail markers were put in the wrong place because every few feet the red lava flowing underneath peeked through the cracks in the hot, black rocks. She didn’t remember ever walking directly over the lava flow before and hoped the rock was hard enough to hold them. Patches of steam periodically shot up through the cracks, and anyone in the wrong place at the wrong time would get burned. Her father didn’t seem to notice any danger, but she was very careful where she stepped.
Once they got to the end of the trail, he walked away from the crowd and sat down on a ledge overlooking the ocean instead of fighting to get a glimpse of the lava between the heads of other people. He took out a beer from his pack and offered it to her, which she accepted with a wary eye toward the one he kept for himself.
“Don’t worry. I don’t drink like I used to,” he said with a smile.
Malia sat down next to him and put the can to her forehead, needing something to cool the heat of her body.
“I love the magic of this place,” he said.
“Do you believe in magic, Daddy?”
He smiled at the rarely used endearment. “I do,” he said with a nod. “Especially when I’m with you.”
“No, I’m serious.”
“So am I,” he assured her. “The moment I met your mother, magic came into my life. And when I first looked at you, I knew its true power.”
A lump formed in her throat, making a response difficult. She looked around at the stark beauty of the charred land and the deep clarity of the ocean and took a breath. She could almost feel the goddess Pele whipping around them in silent wisps of wind with a hot breath of voice in her ear. Malia closed her eyes, taking on stillness to absorb Pele’s power, hoping to understand her words.
“I’m sorry about your mother,” her father said with sadness.