April, 2013

Nearly Sixteen Years Later

        

The Market hadn’t changed in the eight years that Kona had been away from the city. There were still the bunched assortment of vendors: smiling salespeople pawning their beads, their silver jewelry and food. It was cleaner now, somehow bursting with more exuberance than had been the vibe in the Market before Katrina hit. But since that time, the city, the people, the entire attitude of New Orleanian pride had heightened, and everything was shiny in its own way— smiles, stores, enthusiasm. Kona really loved this new New Orleans.

Despite the few glances of recognition he drew, Kona felt good with his mother on his arm, taking in the bustle of activity around them, her with a wide-brimmed hat covered her small face. Kona smiled with the memory of his childhood here, the times he and Luka would run away from their mother to see if they could lift a loaf of French bread or a square of fudge from a distracted vendor. Kona shook his head, let a cool breath expand his lungs. That was the second time his brother’s memory had come back to haunt him. It was the city, the stinging recollection of the life he once knew that ushered in his twin’s ghost.

The air was cool with the sweet snap of heat just on the edges of the breeze and the humidity and moisture Kona had missed, living up north. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed home; the bipolar weather, the rich, decadent scents that hang on the breeze and the easy laughter of the folks around them all made him feel like returning to the place where it all began was the right decision. California had been great. Colorado had been freezing, but New Orleans wrapped him up in its heavy arms and reminded him that he hadn’t wanted to leave in the first place.

“Oh look, Keiki kane, they’ve got the hydrangeas in.” He meant to follow his mother, make good on those promises of buying her whatever she wanted, but more attention came his way. Two boys stopped him, thrusting a chewed-up pencil and slip of bare paper into his hands, and his mother nodded and walked ahead to pick out a bundle of flowers.

“What’s your name, buddy?” Kona asked the smallest boy, smiling at the missing teeth on the top row of his mouth and the snotty nose that needed a wipe.

“Matty,” the boy said, running his sleeve across his face.

“You like football, Matty?”

“I like you, Mr. Hale. Is it true you’re gonna play for us? You coming back home?”

He paused while several women drifted nearer, held an arm over Matty’s shoulder while phones and cameras snapped pictures, then he returned the gnarled pencil and paper back to the boy. “You never know, man. I just might.”

Kona signed several more autographs and moved away from the crowd, tossing a wave to Matty and his friend, and he smiled at the widening of the crowd, at the occasional nods he got here and there.

Ten tables ahead, Kona’s mother was speaking animatedly to a vendor, likely haggling over price, and Kona rolled his eyes, wandering toward a kiosk of Mardi Gras masks. Thinking idly that his manager’s twelve year-old would like one, a glimpse back in his mother’s direction—and the sight of long hair waving down a slender back, a small waist and endless curves— stopped his push forward.  

The woman was petite, with luscious, wide hips that had Kona biting his bottom lip. Simone, his girlfriend of two years, had left him, moved back to California the month before, and Kona had been busy with the options his managers keep feeding his way. He hadn’t had time to put much effort in dates or women. But the woman not fifty feet from him reminded Kona just how long that month had been.

There was something there; something in the way the woman shook her head, the way she moved her hands when she spoke to her friend standing at her side, that reminded Kona of the past, of the things he left behind all those years ago. He didn’t know why those gestures, that silhouette, gave him pause, or what about the woman had his hands shaking, but he stepped closer, needing a clearer look, needing to answer the question he hadn’t asked himself. Her profile was strong, it always had been, and when she turned, looked over her shoulder, Kona stopped wondering, stopped guessing about things that were familiar and forgot how to breathe. 

It had to be the light in the Market. The low yellow bulbs above him, the graying skies or his wild imagination. That couldn’t be Keira. He had just read about her mother’s death, which sent him straight back to memory lane, recollecting each moment of their past and holding those minutes close to his chest.

Something caught her notice, had her smiling broadly, had her moving her chin as she waited for a greeting, and Kona hung back, stepped behind the kiosk, and watched Keira and Leann laughing at whoever approached.

It was her. She was just feet from him after nearly two decades. Instinctively, he touched his chest, just over his heart. It’s where his tattoo was…the one he got for her. They’d been inked together, and even though they’d left things badly and years and distance had separated them, he’d never been able to remove the tattoo. She’d always been his beloved.

Sixteen years later and she looked the same. She was still elegant, radiant: her legs strong, toned, her waist had expanded but Kona was certain he could fit his fingers around it easily. God, she was still so beautiful—large, blue doe eyes, smooth, lineless skin. Time had taken away the soft curves from her hips, the slight bulges that seemed delicious to him as a twenty-year-old. She had a woman’s body now; all that beauty somehow enhanced, heighten.

All those years, searching. All the time and effort wasted on tracking her down and she stood feet from him; a ghost coming back to capture his clear thought.

He’d looked for her, a year after he returned to CPU, when his anger had vanished, when his grief stung him less. But no one would tell him where Keira had gone. Leann wouldn’t even look at him then; her mother had slammed the door in his face, and after a while, Kona reminded himself that he had done that damage to himself. After a while, he stopped searching every crowd, stopped hoping fate would have them meeting again.

But he’d heard the rumors. He’d hired professionals. She’d left the city after his arrest, had settled in Nashville, worked two jobs until she caught a break. She’d made it without him. She wrote songs that were full of angst and fire, a few that cut a little too close to home for him, but he was proud of his Wildcat, happy that she’d followed her dreams. He could have called. He could have approached, but, Kona was a coward where Keira was concerned, and the words, he knew, would never come. He could never find the right words.

Seeing her now, knowing that she was there, feet from him, had that tremble in Kona’s hand worsening, and he instantly wanted to touch her. He wanted to taste her again. He managed a step, but just one, before she seemed to sense him, to feel the crackle of energy, of eager sensation that they’d always shared. She had to know he was close, that he was drawing her in. How could he not? She’d been his first love. Sometimes, he thought, his only real love.

The smile on her face dimmed somewhat as her gaze moved all around the Market, to Kona’s left, above his head until finally their eyes met. For a moment, time was held captive by the tug of her stare, by the primal desire he felt to move toward her, to touch her, just to see if she moved the same; if she made the same noises when he ran his hands down her body.

In the noise of the Market and the stricken heat that flowed between them, he touched on those fresh memories, the ones he’d pulled from his mind just that morning and instantly it came back: how beautiful she was when she sang; the low, soft rasp of her voice when she was sleepy; the arcs and dips of her back; her hips when they moved together.

God. He still wanted her. Had he ever stopped?

Her expression was open;, shocked, and he wondered if she had the same quick flash of recollection, if all that they had been came back to her as it did to him in the gravid moment that they stared at each other.

He offered her a smile, hoping that by now she had forgiven him. It had been a long, long time, but Keira had a temper, always held a grudge. He hoped she had stopped hating him.

Tentatively, her shocked expression changed, and a small shake moved her mouth. He thought it would be a smile, something sentimental, something he could commit to memory in case they never saw each other after that moment. But then, her gaze flew to the left, to a kid jogging toward her and then her almost smile turned quickly to horror.

“Mom!” Kona heard the kid call, and he felt an instant wave of disappointment settle in his chest. She was married? Had she completely forgotten him and made a life with someone else? His eyes followed the kid, a boy around sixteen. He towered over her, and Keira had to stretch her neck to meet his eyes. Back to Kona, the boy spoke to Keira, moved his hands, but she did not seem to hear him. Keira’s gaze had already returned to Kona, and the look of fear darkened the slight shadows under her eyes.

They were joined by another boy, this one younger than Keira’s boy, with Leann’s strong nose and arched cheekbones. The kids spoke to Leann, asked Keira a question, but her answer was brief, hurried, as her gaze stuck to Kona’s and that worried, anxious look on her face exaggerated.

Kona wondered what had Keira nervous; what about seeing him had her nodding her boy away, had her distracted when he kissed her forehead and turned from her. And then, Kona saw it. Saw him. The cleft in his chin, the small, faint freckles on his cheeks, the same shape and color as Kona’s; the wide shoulders, the sloped nose. This boy could have been Kona at sixteen. And when the realization hit Kona, when his gaze followed the boy as he sauntered off with the same, distinct gait Kona had never managed to get rid of, his knees buckled and the quick burn of sick and bile clotted the back of his throat.

The boy was his. Keira’s son. His son. He knew it without catching more than a glance at him. It was Kona’s dark, hooded eyes he saw in the boy, just younger, brighter. It was Kona’s skin, just a shade lighter than his own dark complexion; it was his frame, wide and looming.

That was his son.

He had a child. He’d had a child for sixteen years, and she never told him.

That nauseous wave quivered around his gut, but Kona held it off, watched the boy disappear into the Market crowd, gaze transfixed by the similarities, how familiar this strange boy was.

Finally, he turned, seeking her out, and despite his shock, the unbelievable realization that had him questioning what to think, to say, to feel, he was unsurprised to find Keira standing just in front of him.

How could she not tell him? All this time and she never told him.

“Kona…” she said, a quick, forced smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as though she hadn’t completely betrayed him.

He was scared. Keira saw it in the way his gaze moved around; that frightened, fearful desperation she’d seen in the mirror for years. Kona did not know what he should feel and that heavy weight of shame, of guilt doubled in size and set right on Keira’s chest.

She thought of reaching for him, a small touch that would calm him, but then Kona took to raking his fingers over his face and Keira knew hers was the last touch he needed. Finally, he blinked, head shaking, eyelids narrowing. “You did this. You…I can’t believe you did this to me.”

Keira didn’t like how loud he spoke those words. There were too many people in the Market. Too many eyes that recognized his face. Too many people that could glance between him and her son and make an automatic connection.

Ransom knew nothing about his father. For years she’d fielded questions, put him off with vague responses about his father’s identity. He was a bright kid, of course he was, but as he grew older, the questions stopped. He didn’t want to search because, she liked to think, he’d realized the topic wasn’t one that made her comfortable. She’d kept her boy safe. She kept him guarded from his father’s tyrannical mother. She’d kept him in a bubble that threatened to burst right there in the Market.

Kona drew nearer, and his voice didn’t lower. Keira took a breath and a step, entered his personal space. It was something she could never avoid doing when they were younger. He pulled her in. He always pulled her in, and sixteen years later, he was doing it again.

“Please,” she said, unable to meet his eyes. She watched the quick movement of his chest, the quiver of his collar as his breathing accelerated. “Please, Kona. Not here. Not now.” She said the last word and forced her gaze up, caught the deep anger between his black irises.

She watched him guarded, tried to measure if it would return; that twisted, deadly connection they had. It was a virus, a plague on sense. He wasn’t only capable of pulling her to him, drawing him into his space like a magnet. Them, together, had been a very bad thing. It always had been. The it of them was electric; it had transformed her once. It had freed her, made her forget, for a moment, who she wanted to be. It made her forget sense and reason and logical behavior. That it of them was like a fuse flirting near a lit match, inches away from igniting fully.

His eyelids became so narrow that she could barely manage to see the whites of his eyes and she knew the it was teetering between them; a familiar, dormant danger that she had no intention of recharging.

“Please,” she said again, hoping that her voice was soft. Hoping that he could hear the desperation in her tone, that worried need for reason in this situation. It…Them…could not be contained once rekindled, and she would not let things happen there. Not when her son lingered feet away. Not when every eye in the Market watched them.

Finally, Kona’s features relaxed and she saw the tight set of his shoulders lessen. But when he spoke, his anger was a full bodied well of near rage. “Fine,” he said, nodding once, as though his mind was sorting through the information, the realizations, and tried to calmly organize them into logic and sense. Again his head moved and his hackles went up—arms crossing so tightly that the thick veins in his biceps bulged against his tan skin.

When he pulled out his wallet to retrieve a card, Keira stepped back, unable to make her gaze continue to meet his.

“My cell is on this.” He extended his hand and the card trembled between his fingers. His anger she understood. Him being calm, being rational, was something she’d never seen from him. “I expect a call this afternoon.” She would have never expected him nervous.

“Okay,” Keira said, reaching for his offered business card. When their fingers brushed and she felt the smooth zip of electricity that had first pulled them together all those years ago, her gaze moved on its own, straight into his. She knew he felt it too. That, at least, had not been buried with time. The attraction, the chemistry that she once excused away as first love.

“I…I—” she couldn’t find words sensible enough, worthy enough of this situation. How do you excuse away something like this? What reason was rational enough for keeping someone’s child from them? Nothing she said would erase the scowl from his face, would make their bodies relax.

Kona attempted a step away from her, a shuffle of his feet that he didn’t quite manage before he turned around, before he was inches from her face. “Of everyone…everyone, I never thought you could be this cruel.”

“It’s complicated, Kona.”

“It’s cruel. Complicated or not, Keira, it’s fucking cruel.”