Kaua'i Me a River Page 4

  I didn’t want to let on I’d gone on my first helicopter ride six months earlier with Ono Kingston, a friend of mine who’d made it clear he’d like to take our relationship to the next level.

  “I bet this island’s gorgeous from the air,” I said, avoiding the question.

  “Yeah. This is the perfect place for helicopters,” Hatch said. “Lots of inaccessible cliffs and tons of great waterfalls. You don’t think you’ll get airsick or anything, right?”

  I screwed up my face. “Airsick? Are you serious?” Hatch knew I’d worked as a federal air marshal after college. In air marshal training they’d thrown everything they had at us to make us get sick, disoriented or scared. I passed without a whimper. No way I’d give them the satisfaction. I still say they pushed the female recruits twice as hard as the guys.

  “Great,” he said. “Which company do you want to go with?” He plucked out three brochures.

  I put down my coffee mug. “Let’s take this one, Safari Helicopters,” I said. “They say they have the smoothest ride. I’ll be fine, but I don’t want you tossing your plate lunch if we hit a downdraft.”

  An hour later we pulled up at the helicopter tour office. The tour began with an entertaining FAA briefing about wearing the life preserver, how to enter and exit the aircraft and what to expect on the ride. I think ‘entertaining’ was the operative word, since it seemed they’d learned if you want people to pay attention to the safety information you need to present it in an amusing way.

  “Okay guys and gals,” said the briefing guy. “The ride you’re about to go on is all about color. We got green in the valleys and our beautiful blue sky and ocean. We even got pink, red and brown up in Waimea Canyon. But in the unlikely event of a water landing, do you know what your favorite color will be?” He reached down and picked up a bright yellow pouch the size of a hardback book. “That’s right, people—sunshine yellow!” He demonstrated how to don the vest over your head and clip on the waist belt. “Now for those who are worried about packing on a few inches on vacation, take heart. You’ll be wearing this baby around your waist for the entire flight today. When the ride’s over and you take it off you’re gonna feel so skinny you’ll feel like ordering both the mac salad and rice with your lunch.”

  The briefing went on like that for about ten minutes. Then we trooped out to the van and the guy drove us to a helipad at the edge of the Lihue airport tarmac. I looked up and hoped the helicopter pilot was as mindful of the planes swooping by overhead as I was.

  The briefing guy gave us each a number so we could be seated according to weight. Back at the tour office a potential female passenger who my Auntie Mana would’ve described as an ‘ali’i-sized girl’ had expressed dismay at being asked to step on a scale.

  “No worries,” said the equally ali’i-sized gal working behind the desk. “See? There’s no numbers on the scale.”

  She was right. The read-out was discretely positioned so only the gal behind the desk could see how much each person weighed. She’d assigned the seats accordingly and now we were taking our positions alongside the helicopter.

  I got number five and Hatch was six. I figured that meant we’d be in the back since the helicopter only held six passengers. But as they loaded everyone in, it soon became clear we’d be sitting in front. I was positioned next to the pilot. The large bubble window gave me a perfect one-eighty view.

  “Welcome aboard,” the pilot said as we got in and put on our headsets. I slipped into my shoulder harness and clipped on my seat belt.

  “Hey,” I said. “Good to be here.” But then I realized no one could hear me. Only the pilot had a mic on his headset. The passenger voices were lost in the whoosh, whoosh, whoosh of the slowly turning rotors.

  When the bird lifted off, I remembered how effortless flying in a helicopter felt. The pilot said it would feel like riding a magic carpet. I thought that sounded a little too cute, but kept it to myself. He said if we had questions to use the handheld mics in front of us. There was one in the front and one in the back. We flew up and over the resorts of Poipu. The pilot asked each couple where they were staying and he pointed out each resort from the air.

  We flew into brilliant green canyons cut deep with sheer cliffs on all sides. As we shot up the cliff sides to get into the next canyon I found myself lifting my toes to help the helicopter clear the treetops.

  Waterfalls and rainbows popped into view as we glided in and out of the canyons. Even though I’d scoffed at the pilot’s ‘magic carpet’ remark, I was starting to agree.

  We approached the North Shore and I peered down at the beach bordered by deep green jungle and tried to find a recognizable landmark. I picked up the handheld mic and pushed the ‘talk’ button.

  “Have you ever heard of Taylor Camp?” I said.

  “Sure,” said the pilot. “It’s pretty much gone now, but back in the seventies a bunch of hippies lived up there. They built amazing tree houses. The guy who owned the land, Howard Taylor, was the brother of actress Elizabeth Taylor.”

  “Isn’t it around here somewhere?” I said into the mic.

  “Yep, hold on.”

  He pulled the joystick back and left and the helicopter wheeled into a tight turn. Even with my headset on and the rotors roaring I could hear the people in the back go, “Whoa” as my stomach lurched with the turn.

  “It’s right down there. Do you see that stretch of sand? That’s Ke’e Beach Park. Taylor’s Camp was around there somewhere. I think if you want to see it, the trail’s still visible. But I’m not sure. I’ve never been up there.”

  We swooped over a cluster of buildings and homes set along a wide bay. “That’s the little town of Hanalei down there,” said the pilot. “Anybody know what Hanalei’s known for?”

  I let someone else get credit for knowing about “Puff the Magic Dragon.”

  The pilot nodded. “Yeah, that’s from the old days. How about more recently? Did anyone see the movie, ‘The Descendants’? Hanalei is where George Clooney tracked down the guy who was having an affair with his wife.”

  The large-size woman in the back picked up the mic. When she got it to work she said, “That woman should get her eyes checked. You’d have to be blind to cheat on George Clooney.”

  We flew straight toward a thin ribbon of waterfall streaming down thousands of feet from a dark green cleft in the side of Mount Wai’ale’ale. As we headed deeper and deeper into the canyon the pilot said, “Mount Wai’ale’ale is one of the wettest spots on earth. Its reported rainfall is over four hundred inches a year.” At the last possible moment he nimbly turned the chopper around and headed back out and I allowed myself to exhale.

  We left the mountains and skimmed over flat green fields on our way back to the airport. The pilot said, “Anyone want to guess how fast we’re going?”

  I looked at the gauges and saw one labeled “KIAS.” In airspeed the value is measured in knots per hour, not miles per hour. In air marshal training we’d been given a rudimentary flying lesson. They’d told us they never expected us to fly a jumbo jet or anything, but they wanted us to at least be able to communicate with air traffic control. I took the lesson seriously. It wasn’t that hard for me to imagine I might be asked to land a plane someday.

  “Eighty miles an hour?” said a guy in the back.

  “Nope,” said the pilot. He looked over at me. “How about you? Care to take a guess?”

  I flicked on the mic and checked the speedometer again. “Well, it reads one-hundred thirty knots indicated airspeed. So, that would be about a hundred and fifty miles per hour.”

  “You’re pretty good,” he said giving me a big smile. “Are you a pilot?”

  Hatch tapped me on the shoulder and gestured for me to hand him the mic. “No,” he said. “She’s not a pilot; she’s a wedding planner. She’s used to answering dumb-ass questions.”

  The pilot shot a look at Hatch. Then he squinted in concentration and dropped the bird dead-center on the landing pad.


  ***

  “Whew. That was great,” I said after Hatch and I had gotten far enough away from the rotor wash that we could hear each other.

  “Glad you liked it. Now let’s see how much of this island we can cover from ground level.”

  We stopped in a few of the funkier shops in Kapa’a and then drove up to Kilauea. At the lighthouse overlook we peered through the binoculars and saw albatrosses and red-footed boobies on the massive rock cliffs. On our way back to the highway, we turned in at the historic Kong Lung shopping center and Hatch bought me a gorgeous silk-screened kimono with flamingo-pink lotus flowers.

  “I think we should drive up to Hanalei so you can check out where you’ll be going tomorrow morning,” said Hatch.

  I agreed, but as we descended into the Hanalei Valley from cliffs of Princeville I felt my heart rate increase and my fingers turn to ice. At the one-lane bridge on the outskirts of Hanalei we had to stop for road construction.

  “You okay?” said Hatch, reaching over to take my hand. “You’ve been awful quiet. You know I’m willing to come with you tomorrow if you want. I can poke around town while you’re at the lawyer’s.”

  “Mahalo, but I’ll be fine.”

  We crossed the bridge and made our way into town. By the time we found the address of the attorney’s office, my stomach was roiling.

  “You want to stop and check it out?” Hatch said as we slowly drove past the brown two-story building.

  “No, thanks. But I sure wish that lawyer would’ve told me what this was about. Being back here brings up a lot of stuff I’d rather not think about. I remember thinking if I could hold my breath long enough, I could die and go be with my mother. A suicidal five-year-old. How sick is that?”

  “It’s not sick,” said Hatch. “You were a little kid. Little kids need their moms.”

  Hatch pulled into a parking spot at the Ching Young Center. “Hey,” he said. “You want to look around or have you had enough?”

  “I had enough of this place thirty years ago.” Where had that come from? As soon as it was out of my mouth I felt like I’d disrespected my mother’s memory. “I didn’t mean that. What I meant was…” I stopped, unsure of what to say next.

  “Hey, no worries,” he said. “Let’s head back to Poipu. You’ll be back here soon enough.”

  I nodded.

  ***

  That night as we got ready for bed, Hatch leaned over and kissed me. “It’s been great hanging out with you,” he said. “I, uh…” He didn’t go on.

  “Are you okay?” I said.

  “Yeah, I just like being here with you, that’s all.”

  We got into bed and, as usual, he was his loving, tender self. But I could tell something was on his mind. I had my own stuff rattling around my head, but I’d promised myself I wouldn’t allow it to take over. Farrah would’ve been pleased I’d finally taken her advice about ‘staying in the present.’ Distracted or not, Hatch and I both managed to ‘stay in the present’ for more than an hour.

  CHAPTER 6

  Wednesday dawned overcast and cool for an end-of-June day. If I’d been working I’d probably be trying to convince a tearful bride that rain on her wedding day meant good luck in the marriage. I don’t have any evidence it’s true, but I’ve used that line more times than I can count since island showers occur much more frequently than the Hawaii Tourist Bureau will own up to.

  Hatch got up and made coffee. While I was finishing my shower he brought a cup into the bathroom. I wrapped a towel around my head and put on my new lotus flower kimono which I’d already dubbed my ‘lucky kimono.’ Without a word he took me in his arms and I nuzzled into his chest. All I could hear was the drip, drip, drip of the shower and his strong slow heartbeat.

  “You gonna be okay today?” he finally said.

  “Yeah. I’m good. How about you? What are you going to do while I’m gone?”

  “I called the fire station up the road and they’ve got a softball game against some off-duty cops from Lihue. They said they’d loan me a glove if I wanted to play.”

  “Will you be finished in time to make our flight at five?”

  “It starts at ten-thirty so even if it goes to extra innings we should be done by one. Then we’ll probably grab some pizza. Worst case, I’ll be back here by three.”

  I bit the side of my lip.

  “I know, it’s not fair,” he said. “Me playing while you suffer. But the offer’s still open if you want me to go up there with you.”

  “Mahalo, but I’ll be fine.”

  While I got dressed Hatch made breakfast. Fresh papaya with lime, scrambled eggs and Hawaiian sweet bread toast and guava jelly.

  I pushed the eggs around on my plate for awhile but couldn’t bring myself to actually take a bite.

  “You really ought to eat something,” he said placing the plate of toast in front of me. His own once full plate was now nearly empty.

  “I know, but I’m so nervous.”

  “That’s why you need to eat something. Nothing worse than bad news on an empty stomach.”

  I forced down a few bites of toast and then checked my watch. It was nearly eight-thirty.

  “I should get going,” I said. “The meeting starts at eleven.”

  “That’s two and a half hours from now. It doesn’t take more than an hour and a half to get to Hanalei.”

  “But there could be traffic.”

  He laughed. “On Kaua'i?”

  “Remember that construction at the Hanalei Bridge?”

  “All right. You’re probably better off driving than sitting here stewing. Call me when you get there.”

  I promised to call and then leaned in for another long hug. “I’m sorry to be acting like such a baby,” I said. “I’ll make it up to you.”

  “Good. I’m counting on it.” He gave me a quick kiss.

  I went out to the car and had to shoo a chicken away so I could back out of the parking spot. I drove out of the resort and made my way to Highway 520. The highway goes through a tunnel of eucalyptus trees on the way to Lihue. In the cool green of the tree tunnel I began imagining how good it would feel to just drive wherever the road took me and forget about going to the lawyer’s office. If I made a left once I passed Lihue I could go up and see Wailua Falls. Or I could head south and visit the harbor at Nawiliwili. The cruise ships come in at Nawiliwili so there would probably be shops and restaurants I could poke around in while I bided my time pretending to be at the meeting. I’d tell Hatch the meeting had been uneventful and that Valentine Fabares hadn’t told me anything new.

  But as I continued past the turnoff to Nawiliwili and then past the road to Wailua Falls, I knew I wouldn’t be playing hooky after all. As Farrah had wisely observed, “The truth shall set you free.” I guess I wanted freedom from the nagging questions about my mom more than I was willing to admit.

  ***

  I arrived in Hanalei a few minutes after ten. It was too early to show up at the lawyer’s office so I found a parking spot and sat in the car. I put in a call to Hatch but he must’ve already left for his game because I had to leave a voicemail. I did some deep breathing exercises I’d learned in martial arts to take my mind off agonizing over the meeting ahead but it was useless. Had my mom been so selfish she hadn’t given a diddly-damn about me or my brother and had taken her own life? Or had she chosen feeding her drug habit over feeding her kids? What if I learned she’d died from a gruesome genetic condition that I’d probably inherited?

  As I sat there dreaming up morbid scenarios, I felt the weight of not knowing gnawing on me like an insect burrowing underneath my skin. I became desperate to find out what happened. I got out of the car and took the stairs two at a time. The sign on the door said, “R. Albrecht and Associates, Attorneys-at-Law.” No mention of ‘esquire’. Looked like the associates had overruled Albrecht on the signage but he’d refused to budge on the letterhead.

  I went inside and a smiling receptionist looked up from pecking on her computer.
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  “Aloha. May I help you?” she said. Her teeth were blindingly white. In order for me to get teeth that white I’d have to give up coffee for the rest of my life. Nice teeth, but no dice.

  “Aloha. My name is Pali Moon and I’m here for an appointment with Valentine Fabares at eleven.”

  “Certainly. Please have a seat in our waiting room. Would you like coffee or tea?” She started to get up, but I declined anything to drink.

  “Then go on in. Most of the other family members are already here.”

  Family members? What family members?

  I went through a doorway into the small waiting room. Chairs were positioned around the walls. Four women were waiting; none seated next to the other. In the far corner a pimply-faced teen-aged boy muttered into a cell phone.

  I sat in the only remaining chair that wasn’t next to someone. I tried to discreetly check out the other women, but they were busy checking me out so eye contact became awkward. I picked up a magazine from a stack on a low table in the middle of the room. It turned out to be a months-old copy of People with a cover photo showing a smiling Sandra Bullock and her bad boy ex-husband, Jesse James. In my business I’d seen plenty of goody-goody women desperately in love with guys they thought they could ‘make over.’ By the time the couple showed up at my door, the guys had been house broken enough to agree to the concept of marriage—most notably the benefits of having someone to do their cooking and cleaning and the promise of sex every night—but it was easy to spot the guys who’d already mentally deleted the vow about “forsaking all others” before they’d even taken it.

  I flipped through the magazine, not focusing on either pictures or words. Instead I used it as a blind to peek over while I scoped out my so-called ‘family’ members. Who were these people? None of them looked even vaguely familiar nor could I detect any family resemblance. Did my mother have step-sisters? Maybe cousins?

  By the time eleven o’clock rolled around the tiny waiting room held six women, including me, and the one sullen teen-age boy.

  A door on the other side of the room opened and a woman stepped into the doorway. She was definitely someone Farrah—or probably my hippie mother—could relate to. She had waist-length brown hair, parted in the middle. The hair looked a bit oily; like it got washed once a week and this was day six. The woman wore a long orange Indian-print cotton wrap skirt and a plain white scooped-neck tee. I looked down and expected to see worn rubba slippas on her feet but instead she wore bright yellow Crocs; those clunky molded-plastic shoes that look like something Minnie Mouse would wear on a date with Mickey. But unlike Farrah, the woman standing in the doorway wasn’t curvy. In fact, she looked like she hadn’t eaten a decent meal in weeks.