Kai

 

I woke up the next morning to the pleasant sensation of delicate and feminine fingers tracing along the tattoos of my left arm. Opening my eyes, I grinned sleepily at Isla. The blankets were kicked down to my waist, just covering me. Isla, meanwhile, had found one of my shirts with a surfing pig on it and was wearing it.

“Why are you dressed?” I demanded drowsily.

Isla gave me a look and then went back to tracing my tattoos. “Have I told you how much I like these?” she asked. “Who inked them? They’re beautiful.”

I blinked, waking up more. “You didn’t, actually. I was wondering if maybe they were a turn-off. And a cousin of mine, back in Samoa. He’s amazing.”

A small smirk spread across Isla’s face. “At least I kept you guessing with a few things.”

“With most things,” I said, reaching up to play with her hair. “I like your hair, you know.”

“The color is fading,” she said matter-of-factly. “Maybe it’s time to let it go.”

“Aw, no. Why?” I asked.

“It’s a lot of upkeep,” Isla said. “And it’s a waste if I’m gonna be in the ocean all the time.” Studying me, she asked, “You’re Samoan? I thought as much.”

"Half-Samoan, little Hawaiian, and Icelandic, actually," I said. "Dad's from Iceland, Mom grew up in Samoa. They met in college in California – rest is history. What about you?” My fingers drifted to her hip where the tattoo was. “And is this why you don’t wear bikinis? Keeping it a secret?”

Isla made a face. “No. I don’t wear bikinis because I don’t have the body for it. They’re not supportive enough for a chesty girl.”

“Oh,” I said, trying not to sound confused. “Well, I think you’d look smokin’.”

Rolling her eyes, Isla leaned in and kissed my nose. “For you, maybe I’ll think about it.”

“Hey, don’t avoid the question,” I warned. “I wanna know!”

“I’m a bit of a mix,” Isla said. “Italian, Greek and Scottish. And while the tattoo is personal, it’s not a secret.” She paused and made a face.” “I don’t know if this the time to talk about it.”

“Isla,” I said, sitting up. “You tell me whenever you’re ready, but don’t think there has to be a perfect time for this stuff. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to know.”

Tucking her hair behind her ears, Isla sat back and gave me a soft look. Reaching down, her hand pressed against mine on her side. “It’s my grandmother’s handwriting. She’s the one who raised me... My parents passed when I was very young.” She paused and swallowed. “But when I was about twelve, she was diagnosed with ALS.”

“Oh, Isla,” I murmured. “I’m so sorry.”

She gave me a quick smile, but her eyes had become too bright. “Yeah, she um… She passed when I was fifteen. After that, I went to live with my dad’s brother and my cousin. In California. Before that, I’d spent my entire life in rural Pennsylvania.”

I took Isla’s hands and squeezed them. “Damn, that must have been hard.”

“It was and it wasn’t. He lives in Long Beach and put me in an amazing art school out there. But my aunt and uncle, who’d split up awhile before, were having some serious disagreements about my cousin’s future. And it began to affect all of us.

“My uncle wanted him to go to Berkley, but my aunt wanted him to go into the military. Frankie, he’s about my age and it was like he was stuck in the middle of a tug of war. We’d always been close, pen pals as kids and he really helped me when I first moved there…

“But he had some issues – ones he refused to deal with. And after about a year, with this choice looming up, Frankie started pushing me and his dad away, more and more. See, my aunt, she can be… single-minded.” Isla said this diplomatically. “She comes from a strict military family and she wanted Frankie to continue the legacy.

“Uncle Lionel, though, he didn’t think it was a good idea. It wasn’t that he was against the military, per se, but he was worried Frankie was more of a sensitive artist-type. Not a fighter. Never mind the fact that Frankie was being forced into it. Lionel’s kind of a hippie beach-bum–”

“Like me!” I said with a grin.

“Yes,” Isla said and I laughed. “So, usually Uncle Li isn’t one to argue, but he really put his foot down. He said cost wasn’t an issue – that Frankie should be free to choose – and my aunt refused to see it that way. She said she’d cut Frankie off, that his grandfather would no longer speak to him and all this other horrible stuff.” Isla heaved a sigh. “And eventually Frankie joined.

“It worked out though. Lionel had a friend in the service, so Frankie was sent somewhere where he did more outreach than actual fighting. Frankie came home, ready to retire and go to school. Everything seemed okay, we were all happy and going to live together again.”

Isla got quiet for a moment and I watched her. This was the most she'd ever confided in me and I didn't want her to stop. Rubbing her arm, I leaned in.

“That didn’t happen?” I guessed.

“No. Uncle Li got sick. Alzheimer’s. He had to move into an assisted care facility. To help pay for it, Frankie went back into the service. Only this time, he got sent into serious action. And he changed – he came back, but didn’t want to stay – only wanted to get back. This was about two years ago. Then he and his mother decided to move Uncle Li to a treatment center in San Francisco. I had no say in the matter and since my uncle barely recognized any of us the last time I saw him…

“I didn’t know what to do, so I just focused on graduating school.” Isla gave a shrug. “It was a lonely time. Frankie was overseas, barely writing or calling. But he promised to come to my graduation from UCLA.”

Again, she paused and now her eyes got teary. I said nothing but gave her an encouraging nod. And she smiled at me, squeezing my hand.

“A few days after graduation – I found out he’d been killed in action two weeks before. The day before he was supposed to come back on leave.” She paused and her voice became bitter. “In a way, maybe it’s good that Uncle Lionel got sick. I don’t think he could have handled losing his son.”

“What about your aunt?” I asked, my heart aching for Isla. She’d learned to contain herself so young and I now fully understood the cynical hilarity of her first few days here.

Shrugging, Isla plucked at the blanket. “She cut me out of her life. I know she still takes care of Uncle Li, so that’s something. Last I heard, she was having a statue of Frankie erected somewhere in North Cali.” She shook her head. “Anyways, this tattoo – my uncle drew it – and he has it. Frankie did too. But only mine has the writing.”

Letting go of Isla’s hands, I pulled her against me. She was small in my arms, but so strong. Like a tiny diamond that could bore its way through anything.

“Thanks for telling me,” I murmured after a while.

Isla said nothing. Looking down, I realized she’d nodded off in my arms and her face was serene. Smiling, I rested my cheek on the top of her head and let her sleep.

 

A few days later, I was sitting alone on my board and waiting for a wave. The water knocked against the fiberglass and the wind tossed up spray along the overheated skin of my back. Isla was at her desk, working on the pieces for the gallery and would be down later.

Everything was good. I was happy.

As a wave rolled towards me, I let it pass, even though it was about as perfect a swell as you could ask for. It was the first time I’d been alone in a few days and I realized there was something I was ignoring. A tightness in my chest and muscles. A nagging sense of guilt. Something off-kilter.

Imbalance.

Isla had told me about the darkness in her past. Maybe not the whole story, but most of it. And I hadn’t returned the gesture. I hadn’t demonstrated my trust.

Every time I went to tell her, I found a reason not to. Not the right time. We’re having fun right now. It’s too late. It’s too early. It can wait.

But I knew it couldn’t wait much longer. While Isla hadn’t pressed or even hinted at it, the weight of it dragging on me now was growing in intensity. And I knew it would haunt the sunshine of the days ahead, a shadow dogging the corner of my eye and stalking our happiness.

Reaching down, I splashed water across my face and sighed, gripping the edge of the surfboard. Maybe I should do it now, I thought.

Catching a wave in, I was dragging the board onto the beach when I realized Isla was walking towards me, a board under her arm. She beamed as she got closer.

I let my eyes travel over her familiar curves, reveling in the fact that she was here. The paint-splattered knuckles and knees, the dimples in her face and the wavy brown hair.

“You’re not getting out?” she asked, coming up and placing a hand on my chest.

“Only to catch my breath,” I quickly said.

She glanced behind me. “It doesn’t look that rough.”

“Not the ocean,” I drawled. “You.”

“Oh boy,” Isla said, meeting my eyes again. I pulled her to me and she squealed. “Kai, you’re soaked, stop it!” Then she let out a yelp as I picked her up and brought her into the water. “No, don’t you dare. Not again!”

“I made no promises,” I said solemnly as I dropped her into a wave.

She reared up, spluttering and tackled me. Laughing, I let her knock me down and then twisted away. Laughing, we splashed each other and then, tumbling together, landed in the shallows. Isla’s mouth slanted across mine and I gripped her.

Around us, the waves surged and tickled us. But I forgot everything. All I could taste was the salt and the sweetness of her, overwhelming me.

This is happening, I thought dazedly. It’s real.

A wave smashed into us at that moment and knocked us under. We rose up together, laughing and coughing, then collapsed on the sand together. Looking over at Isla, her sides coated in sand and her hair sticking to her neck, I thought, it can wait until tomorrow.