06-I'm Kona Love You Forever Page 5

  I roared up Baldwin Avenue toward home, pushing the Mini until the little engine whined in annoyance. I kept an eye out for Maui’s finest. Now that I knew being a local wasn’t going to necessarily grant me a “get out of jail free” card I’d need to be more observant. I made it home in twenty minutes flat.

  Steve was in the kitchen when I came through the back door.

  “I thought you’d be down at the Ball and Chain,” I said.

  “And good evening to you as well,” he said. He was tossing a salad with wooden salad servers that looked like hands. “I’m finishing up this salad for your party and then I’ll be heading out.”

  “How’d you know I was having a dinner party?”

  “I’ve got ears, don’t I? Don’t you realize anything that’s said at the Gadda might as well be broadcast over loudspeakers? Farrah can’t sneeze without half of Pa’ia yelling ‘gesundheit’.”

  “Mahalo for the salad,” I said. “So I suppose you know what she’s bringing for dinner?”

  “She’s picking up a couple of pizzas at ‘Pi R Squared.’ You can bet they’ll be vegetarian.”

  “Which Hatch hates.”

  “Yeah. That’s why you’ll find some pre-cooked turkey sausage—the Italian style—in the refrigerator. Throw some on his side of the pizza before you put it in the oven.”

  I gave Steve a quick peck on the cheek but he swiped it away. “Let’s not get sentimental over chopped lettuce and turkey scraps. I’m leaving now but I’ll be back by midnight.”

  I took what Auntie Mana called a ‘spit shower,’ a quick wash-up at the bathroom sink. It hit the high points but didn’t get my hair wet. I slipped into a clean pair of crop pants and was buttoning my favorite teal-colored shirt when the doorbell rang.

  “Coming,” I said. I checked the kitchen clock as I hurried to the door. Ten minutes ‘til seven. Since when had it become fashionable in Hawaii to show up early?

  I opened the door. “Hey, you’re—”

  I stopped right there. The person glaring down at me from the other side of the door wasn’t anyone I was expecting for dinner.

  CHAPTER 9

  The guy looked about seven feet tall. In his lifetime he’d probably heard every variation of “How’s the weather up there” and “I bet you play basketball,” so I politely chose not to comment.

  “Can I help you?” I said.

  “I’ve come to get my daughter.”

  “And your daughter would be…?”

  “You know damn well who my daughter is. You’re helping her marry that hula dancer kid.”

  I was unclear about the hula reference, but it didn’t take a Sherlock to figure out his daughter was Lili.

  “You mean Lili Kapahu?”

  “Yeah. I’m here to take her home.”

  “And you’re…?”

  “Do you mind if I come in?” he said. “I feel like a fool standing out here entertaining your neighbors.”

  I looked around and, sure enough, we had an audience. Hali’imaile’s great because the people up here watch out for each other. It’s not so great when my house is center stage.

  “Of course, please come in.” I stepped back to let him pass. “I’m hosting a dinner party in a few minutes but it can wait.”

  “Sorry to barge in on you like this. But I need to bring her home. She’s only seventeen, you know.”

  “She isn’t here, Mr. Kapahu.”

  “That’s not my name. I’m Craig Anderson.” He stuck out his hand and we shook.

  “But Lili’s name is Kapahu, correct?”

  “Right. It’s my wife’s name. When we adopted Lili my wife insisted the baby have her last name. She said a Hawaiian family name was the most important thing we could give her. I didn’t agree, but it wasn’t a hill I was willing to die on.”

  “I understand.”

  “So, where’s my daughter?”

  “I thought she was at home with you,” I said.

  He looked around the living room and we both fell silent. I figured he was checking out my story, hoping to hear a thump or a throat clearing or anything that would give him reason to call me a liar.

  “When do you expect to see her again?” he said.

  “Early next week, I’m sure. She comes in my shop every few days. Why don’t you call her on her cell?”

  “We’ve left at least a dozen messages,” he said. He dropped his head as if humiliated by his daughter’s lack of respect. “When you see her, will you ask her to call us? Or, better yet, will you call us? My wife’s out of her mind with worry.”

  “I will,” I said.

  He handed me a Hawaiian Airlines business card. Under his name it read, “Captain.”

  “You’re a pilot?” I said.

  “Yeah. My wife’s blaming me for all this. She says if I’d been home more Lili wouldn’t be doing what she’s doing.”

  “I don’t know. Lili’s pretty strong-willed. She met a guy and fell in love. It happens whether or not there’s a dad home to enforce a curfew.”

  “Lili and I are close,” he said. “It’s not like her to be rebellious like this.”

  “I’m sure she doesn’t see it as rebellion. She sees it as feeling ready to go out on her own.”

  “But she’s not ready.”

  “She’ll be eighteen in a few months, Mr. Anderson. You still see her as a child, but at eighteen the State of Hawaii considers her an adult.”

  “Maybe you could talk her into at least waiting until then?” he said.

  I toyed with telling him about the birth certificate mix-up and how his wish might be granted, with or without my help, but I had dinner guests coming.

  “I’ll ask her to call you,” I said

  He gave me a short nod and left.

  ***

  Farrah and Ono arrived before Craig Anderson had a chance to get back to his car. Hatch showed up a couple of minutes later. I gave everyone the TV Guide version of events—I’d booked an underage couple with a bride with a muddled birth certificate. Now it seems the bride has run away from home. Everyone clucked their concern and then we got down to eating and drinking.

  “How was your trip?” Hatch said. He’d devoured his half of the pizza with the sausage and was eying the last vegetarian piece.

  “Go ahead and take it,” Farrah said. “I’m going to have more of Steve’s yummy salad. You want some, sailor?” She held the salad bowl out to Ono. He looked from the bowl to the last slice of pizza.

  “Sure,” Ono said. “Nothin’ better than a big ol’ pile of salad.”

  “We had a totally rad time on our honeymoon,” Farrah said. “It was all, like, so pretty. Glittery, you know? Especially the sand. It was the whitest sand. It looked like snow.”

  I was pretty sure Farrah had never seen snow in her life. I couldn’t recall her ever even going up to Mount Haleakala to witness the occasional dusting we’d get up there. She didn’t drive and didn’t fly, so her spending almost six weeks on an ocean catamaran was still mind boggling to me.

  “I haven’t been everywhere,” Ono said. “But I can’t imagine any place on earth being more beautiful than the South Pacific.”

  “It’s beautiful here,” I said.

  “Yeah, but this is home. Here we’ve got work and bills and traffic and tourists.”

  “You don’t think they’ve got all that in Tahiti?”

  He shrugged. “Probably. But down there I’m the tourist. I see only what tourists see—perfect white sand beaches, gorgeous green mountains, and a French-speaking maid coming in to make the bed every day.”

  “You stayed in a hotel?” said Hatch.

  “Sometimes,” said Farrah. “When we were in Pago Pago we stayed in one of those grass huts on a dock over the water. It was totally awesome.”

  “But wouldn’t that be like being on the catamaran?” I said. “I mean, you’re in a small room with water all around. You’ve even got water underneath you—like on the boat.”

  “No, it was totally diffe
rent,” Farrah said. “Ono took a ton of pictures.”

  Ono went out to his car and brought in an iPad. He and Farrah fiddled with setting it up so the photos would play on the TV in the living room while Hatch and I cleaned up the kitchen.

  “You seem a little off,” he said. “You worried about your runaway bride?”

  “Yeah, but I’m trying not to think about it. Isn’t it great Farrah and Ono seem so happy?” I said.

  “Yeah, I guess. I suppose marriage works for some people.”

  “But…?”

  “No ‘buts.’ I’m just saying it works for some people and not for others. Don’t you agree?”

  I wasn’t about to high-five him on that one. Since I make my living marrying people I tend to be a strong believer in marriage. I know half the marriages I do probably end in divorce, but I choose to not think about it. I don’t think the poor success rate is due to a flawed institution as much as it’s due to lousy choices of the people involved.

  We watched photo after photo of sapphire water, tall green mountains and blinding white beaches. After a while I wondered if they were recycling some of the same pictures since they all started to look the same.

  “Why didn’t you get any shots of people?” Hatch said. I put a hand on his arm as if to say “be nice.”

  “Hey, excuse me,” Hatch went on. “But I think pictures are a lot more interesting with people in them.”

  “You want people?” Ono said. He fiddled with the iPad. The TV went dark for a moment and then a shot of a very naked, very tanned and smiling Farrah filled the screen. She was lounging au natural on the deck of the catamaran and she looked about as content and pleased with herself as I’d ever seen her.

  It took some doing for me to avert my eyes from her remarkable bare bosom but I focused on her face. In the past couple of years she’d endured heartbreak, loss, and physical assault, but in her honeymoon photo she looked radiant. If I ever doubted the validity of good karma coming back around to those who deserved it, I realized I was gazing at living proof.

  “Like I said,” said Hatch. “The very best pictures have people in them.” I nudged him and he draped an arm around my shoulder.

  “Hey, here’s an idea,” he said, pulling me close. “Maybe I should get a boat.”

  ***

  Farrah and Ono left soon after the slide show. Hatch lingered at the door. “I’d like to stay, but I’m on duty in the morning.”

  “I understand.”

  “I can’t seem to get that picture of Farrah out of my head,” he said.

  “I’m sure it’s difficult.”

  “It’s not the naked thing; it’s that she looked so darn happy.”

  “Right,” I said. “And the guys at the fire house read Playboy for the articles.”

  He wrapped me in his arms. He smelled like oregano and pizza sauce with a hint of citrus aftershave. I longed to entice him to stay the night but it was hard for him to get to work on time when he stayed with me up in Hali’imaile. And since I had a full day of work ahead of me myself I wasn’t about to offer to go down to his place and sleep on his rock-hard mattress.

  “Love you,” he said.

  “Love you, too.”

  We stood like that for a minute and then I said, “Do you think I smell like toast?”

  CHAPTER 10

  Friday morning I arrived at the Palace of Pain just before daybreak. I was surprised to see Sifu Doug’s car in the lot. Usually I was the first one there. As a black belt, I’d been given a key which was a huge endorsement of trust. I’d already decided if I ever get car-jacked I’ll swallow the key rather than let it fall into the wrong hands.

  “Aloha,” Doug said as I came inside. As usual, he was practicing in the dark. I’m not sure if his failure to turn on the lights was more about focusing his concentration or keeping down the electric bill, but it was fine with me. I love the shadowy peace of early morning.

  We took to our respective corners and, for nearly an hour, we managed to ignore one another. I heard Doug pad across the mat and quietly close the door to his office a few minutes before I finished. When I slipped my lance back onto its hook on the wall, he called out to me.

  “Got a minute?”

  “Sure, Sifu. What’s up?” I walked over to the office.

  “How about some coffee?” He pointed toward a coffee maker that was making an almost indecent groaning noise.

  “Thanks, but I’ve already had two cups,” I said.

  “I want to show you something.” He picked up a shiny smart phone from his desk. “I got this yesterday. Latest model. What do you think?”

  The phone looked pretty much like every other smart phone I’d ever seen.

  “It’s got a great camera. Twenty megapixels.” He held the phone up and clicked it.

  “Did you just take a picture of me?”

  “I’m not sure, let me check.” He smiled and turned the phone around so I could see it. In the photo my eyes were half-mast and my hair a sweaty tangle.

  “Sifu, I haven’t had a chance to shower yet. That looks downright scary.”

  “Yeah, well speaking of ‘scary,’ Lani and I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done for Kaili. Her mom’s gonna have a cow when she sees her.”

  “I hope you’ll spare her the indignity of taking a picture of that.”

  He laughed. “According to Lani’s sister, Kaili’s been nothing but ugly since they moved here. I doubt she was much better in Los Angeles, though. That’s one reason she came to Hawaii; to get Kaili away from the bad influences.”

  “Don’t you think there are bad influences everywhere?” I said.

  “Sure,” he said. “I had an old sifu who used to say, ‘The pain outside is a mere shadow of the pain inside.’ Anyway, it’s great to see Kaili finally coming around. She’s even talking about taking up martial arts.”

  “Really? That’s great. Will you be training her?”

  “Nah,” he said. “Bad idea. I called a buddy of mine on O’ahu. She’s welcome to practice here when she comes over, but she needs to start her training over there first.”

  “Makes sense. Say, mind if I change the subject? I need some advice.”

  “Shoot.”

  “I’ve got an odd situation with a couple of underage kids who want to get married. Seems the girl was born on Hawaii Island but raised hanai over here. The birth certificate she’s got isn’t hers; it belongs to a baby who died. And, to make matters worse, it looks like neither set of parents is onboard with the marriage.”

  “Yeah? So where’s the question? I thought you couldn’t get married before age eighteen without parental approval. Seems like a non-starter.”

  “Maybe. But these kids are a perfect match. They love each other and the girl told me they’ve been holding off on sex until they get married. I feel like I should help them since they’re trying to do the right thing.”

  Sifu Doug shot me his “gimme a break” look. “You’ve been doing your job too long, Pali. You’re confusing romance with real life. Do either of these kids have a job? A place to live? An education? It’s not like you to get teary-eyed over puppy love.”

  “I know. You’re probably right. It’s just there’s something about these two that makes me want to help them. Silly as it sounds, I think this is a solid relationship. One that will last.”

  “If it’s real, they’ll be able to keep their shorts on a little longer. And if it isn’t, you’ll be saving them from a big mistake if you stay out of it.”

  ***

  At nine o’clock that morning a stranger showed up at my shop door. I looked out the window and saw a girl with short brown hair styled in a pixie cut, a bright smile, and a flawless complexion. Her brown eyes sparkled with anticipation.

  I love that look. It’s the glow brides radiate from the first day of their engagement until about a week before their wedding. Around a week prior to the event most of them trade the glow for a deer-in-the-headlights look. Of course, I wouldn’t exa
ctly know what a deer looks like as it faces down an on-coming car since we don’t have deer on Maui. In fact, we don’t have much of anything in the way of forest mammals except an occasional wild boar. But from what I’ve heard, deer are masters at looking terrified. And so are only-a-week-away brides.

  “Hi, Pali,” the girl said. “Open up; it’s me.” The voice was familiar. Kaili’s mainland accent.

  “Wow, I hardly recognized you,” I said as I unlocked the door to let her in. Truth was, I hadn’t recognized her at all. But I wasn’t willing to cop to being so clueless.

  “Aunt Lani helped me with my hair. You like it?”

  “It looks great. And here’s another lesson in ‘blending.’ Here in Hawaii we refer to our aunts as our ‘aunties.’ It’s just the way we say it. In fact, we call any older woman we like ‘auntie’ as well.”

  “Should I call you ‘auntie’?”

  “Don’t push it, sweetie. I said an ‘older woman.’ I’m talking about someone you can tell is at least fifteen to twenty years older than you.”

  She raised her eyebrows as if to say, “and your point is…”

  “Anyway,” I went on. “Calling a woman ‘auntie’ shows you like her and you think of her as ‘ohana.”

  “What’s‘ohana? I remember your friend Keahou used that word.”

  “It means ‘family.’ You’ll see it everywhere. It’s a big deal in Hawaii. Nothing’s more important than family.”

  “Not at my house.”

  “Oh?”

  “My mom and dad got divorced and I don’t have any brothers or sisters—well, not any real ones anyway. My mom moved us over here so she wouldn’t have to deal with my dad and my dad’s new wife. So I guess my ‘ohana is kinda sad—just two people.”

  I chuckled. “You wish. Over here you don’t get off just counting your parents and siblings as family. In Hawaii all your relatives up to fourteen steps removed are blood‘ohana. That includes all your aunties and uncles, your grandparents and their grandparents, second- and third- and even fourth-cousins. Add in all the special people you choose to consider ‘ohana and before long, everywhere you turn you’re bumping into ‘ohana.”