CHAPTER 15
JAMES
Present Day
June 27
Hanalei, Kauai, Hawaii
Julian and Marc climb into the rear seat of Natalya’s open-top Jeep Wrangler. It’s not lost on James she drives the same type of vehicle Carlos had owned. Claire grimaces when James orders Marc to scoot to the center. He insists Claire sit with the boys. “You wanted the chance to catch up with them.” He smirks.
Natalya glances at him when he settles in the passenger seat. He buckles up and smiles over at her. She blushes before her gaze slides away. She slaps on a sunscreen-stained, flat-billed cap with the Hayes Boards logo, which is a surfboard riding the company name where the letters H-A-Y-E-S are styled to look like a wave. She shifts the Jeep into gear, her movements rough, and the vehicle jerks forward.
Other than responding to his questions in clipped phrases, Natalya is quiet during the forty-minute drive to Princeville. Her reception as cool as her tone the other day on the phone. James reads her signals loud and clear. She isn’t in the mood to talk . . . with him. He turns his interest to the passing scenery. From azure waters, airbrushed clouds, Jurassic Park–like mountains, and skyscraper palms, the Garden Isle is breathtaking. After six months in the dry Mexican heat, the last place he expected to find himself traveling to is another beachside community. But this island is different, almost effortlessly beautiful. He can feel the mana. The spiritual vibe is almost tangible. The air is heavy with humidity and the scent of plumerias. He sees now why Natalya wanted Carlos to visit. Kauai is magical. A living painting.
Natalya keeps her gaze focused on the Kuhio Highway as they curve around the island. She doesn’t willingly talk to him so he steals glances at her profile. The freckled constellations across her cheekbones and nose intrigue him. The defined limbs that tell him she can probably keep up with him running trails as easily as she surfs the waves. And the hair that spins madly around her head like Indiana Jones’s whip. It all fascinates him. As does the woman. Would she be the same as the image Carlos painted in his journals?
Her row of sterling bracelets jangle as she downshifts, turning off the highway. They cruise through Princeville to the hotel, leaving the Jeep idling at the lobby doors. A valet assists Claire from the vehicle.
“Are you all staying with us?” the valet asks James when he unfolds from the car.
“No, just her.” He nods in his mother’s direction and slips the valet a bill after he points out her bag.
“Do you want me to pick you up later for dinner, Carla?” Natalya asks.
She hooks her purse strap on her bent elbow. “No, thank you. I’ll settle in here for the day. How about I join you in the morning for breakfast?” his mother asks Natalya, but her eyes are on James. He really doesn’t want her joining them for anything, but what can he say without raising questions he isn’t prepared to answer? Julian’s watching him closely, that inquisitive mind of his ticking.
James shrugs and walks to Natalya’s side. “What time should I pick her up?”
“Don’t worry about me,” his mother dismisses him. “I’ll take a cab.”
“Breakfast is at eight.”
“Wonderful.” Claire waves good-bye to his sons and gestures for the valet to follow.
Julian thrusts a chin in her direction and Marc waves back. “Buenos días, Señora Carla.”
“Do you mind waiting a second?” James asks Natalya.
She points to an empty spot in the parking lot. “I’ll be parked over there.”
James claps the door’s open window edge twice. “Thanks. I’ll be right back.”
Natalya drives away and James goes after his mother. He places his hand on her midback and shuffles her into the lobby. The valet hurries behind with the luggage.
“James,” Claire says between clenched teeth when he directs her off to the side. The valet hovers nearby.
“Excuse us a moment,” James tells the valet.
“Yes, sir. Ma’am, your bags will be at the concierge when you’re ready.”
James pivots back to his mother. “I don’t know why you’re here or what you’re up to—”
“I’m up to nothing more than a visit with my grandsons.”
His eyes narrow. She rolls her eyes. “Fine,” she huffs. “I’m here to make sure you don’t give up those boys.”
He jerks back. “Why would I do that?”
“Carlos was afraid you’d do something like this. He told me things. We had a good friendship.”
“Because he didn’t know who the hell you were.”
Claire averts her gaze. “Fair enough.” After a moment, she breathes deeply and pushes back her shoulders. “I’m going to check in and have lunch. A manicure sounds nice, too.” She inspects her nails, then walks away.
James rubs his face. He needs a shower and a shave. And food. What he doesn’t need is his mother’s dramatics. He groans into his cupped palms and leaves the hotel.
Back at the Jeep, he runs into more drama. His sons moan and groan. They rub their stomachs, complaining about unbearable hunger pains.
“We don’t have any grocery stores or restaurants on the island,” Natalya tells the boys as he slides into his seat. She catches his gaze and her eyes sparkle. “We have to pick our fruit from trees and slaughter our chickens.”
His sons look at their aunt in disgust.
“Eww,” Julian says.
“Haven’t you seen the chickens running wild?”
The boys nod.
“Catch one and it’s yours. We’ll eat it for dinner.”
“I was wondering about that,” James remarks. Chickens and roosters dotted the roadsides and flocked in parking lots. He’d noticed the feral birds during their drive.
“Hurricane Iniki in ’92. It wiped out the chicken farms,” Natalya explains, shifting into reverse. James grips the dashboard as the car lurches. “Chickens aren’t easy to catch and the island doesn’t have any natural predators so their population exploded. Now they’re just annoying pests begging in parking lots.” She points at a flock.
“More like built-in alarm clocks,” James quips, thinking of how many roosters he saw.
“You have no idea.” Natalya shifts into gear and they leave the parking lot. “I know of the perfect spot to grab lunch.” She yells at the boys over her shoulder.
“Do we get to kill chickens?” Marc excitedly yells back.
“No,” James and Natalya answer in unison. They glance at each other. He skims his eyes over her face and she frowns. He sighs, running a hand through his wild, wind-blown hair as he settles back in his seat, and wonders what about Carlos had appealed to her because she certainly wasn’t liking him.
They eat from a food truck parked on the main road that runs through Hanalei town. He watches how his sons interact with Natalya as she guides them through the menu of kalua pig, poi, and taro smoothies. She handles their disgruntled faces and objections over the unfamiliar food choices as he assumed she would navigate a rogue wave, with skill and finesse. Despite their complaints, Natalya insists they be adventurous. “Trust me,” she says, and they do.
Carlos trusted her implicitly, and watching her with his sons is like the pages from his journal coming to life. For a brief moment, he looks away, the pang in his chest burns hot and deep. He wants his sons to trust him, to love him like they’d loved him when he was Carlos.
He pinches away the moisture from the corners of his eyes and takes a deep, calming breath. Then he places his own order, leaning over Natalya’s shoulder. The cashier totals their bill and he hands her a few bills at the same time Natalya pulls out her credit card.
“I’ve got it,” he tells her.
“I’m quite capable of paying.”
“I’m sure you are. Money’s not the issue. This is—” He stops. Natalya’s face has gone blank. “What is it?”
“You’d mentioned that once, as Carlos. Apparently, money isn’t an issue with you.” She slaps the card on the counter ledge.
James frowns and tucks his money away. He bites back the urge to correct her. He’s not swimming in an ocean of cash. More like a rain puddle. He joins his sons at a metal table and sits on a plastic patio chair. They eat quickly. The boys are anxious to see Tía Natalya’s home and go to the beach. He follows them to Natalya’s car and grabs her door as she goes to close it. He positions himself in the triangular space between her and the door. “Hey, back there, I wasn’t trying to flash my cash.”
She grips the steering wheel with both hands and sighs. “I know. It’s just . . .”
“I wanted to take care of lunch. You’re my host.”
“And you’re my guests.”
James smooths a hand over his head and grips the roll bar. “Look, I know I’m not Carlos—”
“No, you’re not.”
“—but I think it’s in the kids’ best interest we at least try to get along.”
She flattens her lips and nods. “You’re right. It’s just . . . this is hard. And honestly,” she says, rolling her hands on the wheel, exposing her open palms, “I don’t agree with what you’re doing.”
His chest goes cold. “Which is what?”
“I don’t want to talk about this now. Get in the car. The kids want to swim.”
Natalya’s house could have been a short walk from where they ate lunch. After a couple of quick turns, they’re on Weke, a road that parallels Hanalei Bay. Many of the homes are modest, villas reminiscent of vintage postcards, but the properties are large and the location premium. Natalya turns onto a long driveway. They pass a small bungalow and stop in front of a larger island-style home painted the color of the lush, tropical foliage surrounding the property, which is narrow and deep. Beyond the yard is the greenery of Waioli Beach Park and the Pine Trees surf break.
And she has issues with his wealth?
She explains the house has been in her family for several generations. Her grandfather purchased the property decades ago. Her father now owned the house, but he lived in the bungalow situated in the front corner of the property with mountain views.
So what if they both lived in the homes they grew up in? At least they have one thing in common. Not that he’s looking for any, and living in his parents’ old house isn’t something he plans to continue doing.
The main living quarters are on the second level. Downstairs is the garage, a workshop for her boards, and Natalya’s home office, where James would be sleeping on a sofa bed.
“Come on, kids. I’ll show you to your rooms.”
“Then the beach, right?” Julian takes the suitcase James hands him.
“You bet.” Natalya playfully punches Julian’s shoulder. He tries to punch her back and she dodges him. When he goes after her again, she wraps him in a headlock and smothers his face in kisses. He squirms and whines like a baby and once again, that green little snake of envy slithers through James. He slams shut his door.
Upstairs, an open-air lanai stretches the rear length of the house. Both the master suite and living area open to the lanai and face the bay. The kitchen and boys’ rooms, decorated as though they live there permanently, which gives James pause, face the mountains. The furniture is Spartan with a Bohemian flair, but the stainless-steel appliances and media center are top-notch. A staircase leads down to the office and a full bath for his use. Another staircase off the deck drops to a patio with a barbecue and smoker. From his perspective, James thinks as he takes his suitcase downstairs, Natalya’s house is equipped with the right essentials.
Forty minutes later, rooms assigned and inspected, bags unpacked and bathing suits on, they traverse the yard and park to the fine, tan sand of Hanalei Beach. The water’s rough, so they walk toward the pier until Natalya finds a spot where she’s comfortable for them to swim. The boys drop their towels and crash into the surf, thrilled to be back in the water.
“The ocean calls to them,” Natalya says beside him.
He glances down at her capped head. She wears the same dirty baseball cap that looks as if it belongs on a trucker. The hem of her multicolored cover-up floats in the breeze, dancing around her thighs. Long, muscular, tanned thighs. He swallows and looks back toward his sons as they splash each other. He relishes the heat of the sun and warmth of the sand under his feet. Considering how desperately he wanted to get as far away from Zicatela Beach as he could, he wants to dive into these waters and forget what little he could recall of the last seven years and just be.
“La’i lua ke kai.”
He swings his head toward Natalya as she peels off her cover-up. “What does that mean?” He forces his gaze away from her athletically lean form, but not before he catches the matching puckers of scar tissue just inside her hip bones. His hand involuntarily touches the scar on his face.
“‘The sea is calm. All is peaceful,’” Natalya translates.
Marc splashes Julian. Julian dunks his younger brother. “That’s not peaceful,” James says with a laugh.
“But the energy is. They love the ocean. Everyone in my family does. Water is life. Life is family.” She squints up at him from under the bill of the cap and flicks his shirt collar. “I don’t think Carlos owned one shirt with a collar.”
James takes in his white Under Armour polo and gray flat-front swim trunks that look more like stylish shorts than something he’d wear to the beach. His attire isn’t anything different from what he usually wore to the beach, and it isn’t what he would have worn in Mexico.
“I’m not Carlos,” he murmurs. It comes out sounding like an apology, and in a way, he regrets he can’t be the man she loves.
“I know. I have to keep reminding myself of that.” There’s a touch of melancholy in her voice and something shifts inside him. He reaches for her but she steps out of reach, her back already turned toward him. She whips off her cap and charges into the ocean, grabbing his sons around their waists, and all three of them go under.
James watches from the shore, feeling overdressed and out of sync with his family. Out of place in his own life.