by Cathryn Cade
Yep, sounded like Shelle's idea of a cult. "So how long ago did she leave?"
"Lessee, it was the year I was born, so Moke was like ten, I think."
"Oh, my God." Shelle drained her beer, and turned the bottle in her palms, trying to imagine Moke as a kid. Chubby or skinny, all knees and elbows, she bet he'd been a really cute kid. "What a stone cold bitch."
"Fo’ sure!" Lele agreed. "My mama's nothing like her."
"So...is his dad with someone new?"
"We wish. He was bus' up when she left. Now, Mama says Timo Ahuelo only married to fishing, Kona gold and cheap beer."
"Kona gold?"
"You know, pot. Not legal here, but everybody grow it and smoke it anyways. Cops got mo betta things to do than chase ‘em."
"Oh, right." So, Moke's parents might both be still alive, but they'd essentially turned their backs on him. "Pretty nice of Moke to come all this way to see his dad, then," she said. Didn't sound like his father deserved it.
"Fo' shuah!" Lele agreed. "Hey, you wanna 'nother beer?"
Shelle yawned. "No, thanks. Probably put me to sleep. I need to call my friend, and let her know I'm okay. Be right back, okay?"
"No worries. I got games on my phone."
Shelle also wanted to be fixed up by the time Moke came back. If she had a pretty bikini, she'd totally lounge around in it, just tie the pareo on for a skirt. But since she didn't, she wanted clothing. Feminine armor.
She hung her wet things in the shower in her pretty bathroom, noticing for the first time that there was a real painting over the toilet, a big, lush red flower. Who had so much beautiful artwork they hung a picture like this over a toilet in a guest room? Just another way this place screamed money and class.
Made a mongrel like her feel even more out of place. But then Moke and Lele didn't seem to be super affluent. They dressed simply, and neither wore expensive clothing. Guess if they felt at home here, so could she, for a few days.
She used some of the flower-scented lotion on the bathroom counter, and re-applied mascara and lip gloss. Her skin glowed from being in the sun, and her tan had deepened. One good thing her father had given her, anyway. She tanned easily, and rarely burned.
Dressed in her cutoffs, white tee with a pink Nike logo, and with her hair braided loosely over one shoulder, she perched on the edge of the bed and texted Tawny.
'Hi, can u talk?'
'Can I talk?’ was the nearly instant reply. ‘Ur a fine one to ask me that, girl! Wher ITF r u? Have not heard from u since you landed. I worry, u know!!!'
Shelle winced. She could almost see Tawny's eyes flashing. 'U at work?' she typed.
Her phone chimed, and she answered the call. "Hi, Tawn—"
"No, I am not at work," Tawny said, her voice fierce. "I quit. Lost my mind and told Harry what I thought of his sorry ass. But not before I also told him that I had advised you to hire a lawyer, and that he would be hearing from one soon, so he best plan on some severance pay and have a bigger, better check ready to hand over, along with a shining recommendation for the both of us!"
"Uh..." Shelle gulped. "Oh, my God. You shouldn't have quit."
Tawny snorted. "Wasn't like I wanted to work at that place for the rest of my life. Me and Darren got plans to get the hell outta SeaTac. We are tired of the rain, and the crime. This thing that happened to you is just the last straw for me, honey."
Shelle sighed, guilt weighing her down so hard she nearly slid off the bed onto the rag rug under her feet.
"Okay, but forget the lawyer. I know you mean well, but I can't afford one."
"Now as to that, I got an idea," her friend told her, smirking. "Me and Darren were talking. Harry fired you over one complaint? That's not right. Say you were feeling righteous, you could sue their asses. I'm thinking, how about if they throw in some lost pay? That should help you get back on your feet, find another job."
Shelle was speechless.
"You—you are just mean," she said admiringly.
Tawny cackled. "I know. Now we just have to find us a nice, cheap lawyer to finagle this for you. One of those ambulance chasers who advertise on TV, you know?"
"Okay," Shelle said, chewing on her lip. "I still feel bad about you quitting, though."
"No, no, none of that. Tell me what you been up to. Are you sunbathing and drinking mai tais by a pool? Or taking surf lessons from some local hunk? Please tell me you found you some cutie-pie to make it all better?"
Shelle reached out and caressed the sea turtle sculpture on the bedside table. The turtle smiled at her, satiny smooth under her fingers, soothing to touch. "Kind of," she admitted. "Except not in the way you're thinking."
She told Tawny about the infection she gotten swimming in the ocean, and how Moke had rescued her. She left out the part about her spending two nights on the beach, however. That would just worry her big-hearted friend, and there was nothing Tawny could do to help. Shelle would panhandle on the street before she'd ask her friend for money—especially now that Tawny had quit her job
"So he rescued you, and you're staying in his guest house?" Tawny breathed. "Oh, my gawd... is he rich?"
Shelle snickered. "No. Not really. But he is Hawaiian, and he's hot."
"Ooh, baby's gettin' her some of that light chocolate," Tawny crooned. "Oh, yeah, now that's what I'm talkin' about. Tell me every-thang."
"Oh, stop! I'm not...there's nothing to tell. He's just...being nice, that's all."
"Ah-huh." Tawny's tone suggested she doubted this. "Well, what is his name, and the address of that place? If he turns out to be a creep, I want some id to give the cops there."
Shelle gave her the requested info. "Anyway, I'll only be here another day or so. Vicky and her husband should be home any day now, and then I'll be moving in with her."
They chatted for a few more minutes, and Shelle promised to text again the next day, and call the moment anything fun happened between her and her big Hawaiian—not. Tawny was dreaming if she thought Shelle was going to do the nasty with him.
Still, she was smiling as she ended the call, and ran down the stairs to re-join Lele on the beach. Maybe she could get a lawyer to take her case. One of those willing to get paid if successful. She wasn't the type to sue, but having a cushion to fall back on while she looked for another job?
That would be awesome.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Moke did indeed bring back a big fish. He called it an ono.
Shelle winced as he lifted the long, fierce-looking fish up to show them.
Lele squealed with delight and whipped out her phone to take picture of him with his catch. He grinned, his teeth and the fish's silver scales gleaming in the sun.
Shelle kind of wanted to take a pic of him herself. He looked like one of the old time Hawaiian warriors she'd seen in a painting in town, bringing in his catch to show the women.
"Nice," she said.
"Wanna help me clean it?" he invited, waggling the fish at her.
She backed away, up the dock toward the beach. "That would be oh, no!" She'd had one experience with fish guts, on a fishing trip to a pond with a foster family, and resolved never again to get near the insides of a fish. The good parts of a fish were fine, once they were cooked. The rest, she wanted nothing to do with.
"You in charge of the fish, cuz," Lele announced. "Shelle and me will fix the rest of our supper."
"Heat leftovers, you mean," he teased, slapping the fish down on a counter at the end of the lockers.
"No way," Lele protested, hands on her plump hips. "We can cook, right, Shelle?"
"Cook? Of course, I can cook. Some home fries and coleslaw would be tasty with that fish. If anyone here knows how to grill it, that is."
Moke raised his dark brows. "Can I grill? Is the sun shining? Is the water blue? I'm Hawaiian—you betta believe I can grill. Better just hope you can keep up, tita."
"Oh, you'll be keeping up with me," she told him. "I mean, us. C'mon, Lele. Let's just hope your cousin's fish
didn't die in vain."
"Right," Lele agreed, giggling. Moke winked at her.
Shelle turned on her heel and sashayed away from the big, smirking Hawaiian and his ugly fish.
"I'll believe you can cook when I taste it," he called after her.
She made a rude gesture over her head without looking back. The challenge was so on.
Moke grilled his fish on the big gas grill by the beach lanai.
Shelle fried up a big skillet of crispy potatoes, carefully adding chopped onions and bits of the fresh herbs growing in a window box outside the kitchen's back door. Lele dished up leftover coleslaw, and fixed a plate of fresh fruits, pineapple, papaya and mango.
The three of them ate their supper together at the table under the palms, with the sunset turning the sky red, apricot and then lavender in the west, the sea turning to a sheet of ruffled silver, and a gentle breeze rustling the palms.
Shelle sighed as she took another bite of flaky white fish, perfectly seasoned. "This is so good. I guess you can grill, Moke."
He grinned smugly, but then saluted her with a forkful of potatoes. "And you girls can cook. Good grinds."
She and Moke drank beer with their meal, and when he offered her another, she took it. Turned out she shouldn't have. She yawned through their cleanup of the supper things and the kitchen. Then, back at the beach to watch the sunset, she fell sound asleep on one of the beach loungers.
She woke with a start to Moke's deep voice in her ear. "Wake up, haole girl. Betta get up to your bed, unless you wanna spend another night on the beach."
"Wha'?" she mumbled, then sat up, blinking. "Oh, where's Lele?" The beach was dark, only the moonlight reflecting off the waves.
"She went on up to bed."
Shelley nodded, her gaze on the velvet black of the sky. "Oh, wow. The stars are so bright. Look, there's the Big Dipper." She hardly ever got to see the stars, with the night-time glow of lights in the SeaTac metro area.
The lounger next to her creaked as Moke sat. "Pretty, huh?" he said quietly. "That one there, to the south, that's Orion, the hunter."
"Oh, okay." Shelle curled her arms around her upraised legs and admired the brilliant white bits of light. "And look out there, you can see the moon on the water. So pretty."
"Really nice on a full moon," he said. "Makes a path so bright you wanna walk out on it."
She smiled at this fanciful notion. "You could swim it, I guess. Except no, because you said sharks hunt at night." She shivered, goosebumps rising on her skin as she pictured the ocean hunters gliding silently beneath the dark waves.
"Good fishing at night," he said. "Moon fish, opah. And you look back at the island, and see the lights twinkling, showing you the way home."
That was almost poetic. "I might like that, if the boat was big enough."
He chuckled. "Yeah. But you know, the only time Pop and I ever had a shark bother us was during the daylight. I was pulling in a nice little tuna, and then I saw a big fin cut the water behind my fish. I reeled fast as I could go, and Pop got the net ready. That shark struck just as the tuna got to the boat. Pop slapped the net in the water, and musta whacked that shark right on the nose. Was a young shark, or he wouldn't have given up so easy. We got the fish—minus his tail."
"Oh, my God," she mumbled. "You must've been so scared. How old were you?"
He shrugged. "Twelve, thirteen I guess. I wasn't scared then, I was so excited. Beat out a shark for my catch, you know? Pretty cool. But that night, I woke up hollering. Mano, he followed me into my dreams—coming for me in my own bed. I was sure glad to wake up and be safe and dry."
A chill ran down her spine, and she hunched her shoulders, remembering her own bad dreams lately. "Yeah. Nice to wake up," she mumbled.
He looked over at her, a big dark outline against the sea. "Hey. You have any bad dreams here, just holler."
She looked back at him, warmth chasing the chill out. "Okay," she whispered. "Thanks."
Then she yawned again, her jaw cracking.
He rose. "Okay, time for bed. You gotta get healed up the rest of the way, and I got work to do tomorrow."
She followed him up across the lawn. The short, tough grass was cool and prickly under her feet. "What work do you have?" she asked. "Here at Nawea?"
"Nah, the family has a yard service comes in," he told her. "Wouldn't mind trading for what I'm doing. Fixing up my family's property, up on the mountain. Clearing out weeds, and vines, and garbage."
"Oh, is your dad too sick to do it?"
He snorted. "He's sick all right, but not the way you mean. Anyways, I'll be up there most the day working."
"I could, uh, help you," she offered. "Do that yard work you mentioned, for payback—for you letting me stay here."
They'd reached the house. He reached out a long arm and held open the screen door for her. "You don't have to pay me back for anything," he said, scowling. "Now go on up, I'll lock up."
Feeling rebuffed, and thus embarrassed, Shelle put her head down and hurried away, scarcely noticing the gracious sitting room or the lovely statue rising in the foyer. Fine, then. Last time she'd offer to do anything for that big, grouchy pineapple. Matter of fact, she'd figure out a way to get gone, tomorrow. So there.
She washed up in the pretty bathroom, donned her sleep shorts and tank, and climbed into the big, comfy bed. She left the curtains open, so she could see the stars over the palms. Gaze on the stars, she resolutely thought of other things than him.
Being young and healthy, she soon fell asleep. And as had happened the other nights after the attack, she dreamed, harsh vivid dreams.
But this time, the figure who walked through her dreams was not Grinder or his henchmen.
Shelle was in a boat, a little boat, adrift on the dark sea. And though she looked and looked, she could see no lights of land. The moon shone down, but its light was cold and far away, no help to her.
"Wahine," called a soft, yet terrible voice.
Shelle whirled on her seat, so fast the little boat rocked precariously, and sea water splashed in. Then she froze. A woman stood on the moon trail over the surface of the sea. She was Hawaiian, with long black hair, and skirts that glowed dark red. She wore a crown of leaves, and they glowed as well.
At first, the woman seemed to be facing the other way. But suddenly, her head spun around, Exorcist style.
Her face was beautiful and terrible, her gaze merciless. She lifted her arm and pointed at Shelle. "You must show your true face to be truly known," she said, and her words sank deep in Shelle's psyche, slicing like the biker's knife had cut her skin.
Shelle screamed in terror, and the woman disappeared in a waft of smoke. Leaving Shelle alone in her little boat, on the dark sea.
"Hey, hey," a deep, familiar voice said, close by. Two huge, warm hands closed on her shoulders. "Wahine, wake up. Wake up, just a bad dream."
Shelle's eyes flew open wide, to find Moke sitting on the side of her bed, leaning to hold her arms.
With a sobbing gasp, she threw herself into his arms. They closed around her, warm and powerful and safe. She buried her face against his throat.
"It's okay," he told her, his voice a soft rumble against her ear. "I got you. Just a bad dream."
He stroked her hair, and she burrowed closer, her fingers tangling in his hair hanging down his back. "Oh, God. I was so scared. I—I was out in a little boat, and it was dark. And then she came...she walked right across the water. And she was on fire."
His skin was hot and smooth against her face, and against her bare arms and her palms. He smelled of man and soap and sweat, and he was so big and hard and solid against her. A bulwark against the terror of that dark sea.
"She?" he repeated, his arm tightening on her back. He stroked her hair again, and then slid that arm around her too, his hands hot through her thin tank. His hip was hard, his thigh solid against hers. She could feel the sparse curling hairs on his legs tickling her bare legs. "There was a woman involved in this attac
k on you?"
"Huh? Oh, no, no. That was bikers."
He stiffened, his big body going strangely tense in her grasp. "Bikers. Bikers did that to you."
She nodded, shivering again. "But, this woman...I don't know. I never saw her before. I mean, I know she wasn't real, you know? But she was in my dream. She wore a leaf crown, like your statues do, and skirts of fire."
"Huh. Sounds like Pele," he said. "Goddess of our volcanoes. You must've seen David's painting of her, in the sitting room."
Shelle frowned, then shook her head. "I don't think so. Maybe." She hadn't seen any scary paintings here, and this woman had been scary as all hell.
"Anyway, with the volcano and all," he went on, his voice a soothing rumble. "I can see how she might walk through your dreams. Get mixed up with everything else that happened to you, yeah?"
He moved, easing away from her, and she clung to him. "Wait. Uh, I mean...thanks. Thanks for uh, waking me up. I'll be fine now."
She forced herself to let go of him, clenching her hands into fists to keep from hanging on to him, and sat up straight.
He let her go, but made no move to rise from the bed. Instead he sighed, which turned into a mighty yawn. "This bed's plenty big. I can stay for a little while, if you want."
She nodded jerkily. "If you...if you don't mind." Her voice ended on a quaver, and she clenched her teeth, because even she could tell that sounded weak.
But he merely patted her sheet-covered thigh, and then lay down on the side of the bed, on top of the sheet. It was testament to the quality of the mattress, that it only sagged a little under his weight.
Shelle looked down at him, a dark length of man in the moonlight, and gratitude nearly swamped her.
"Thank you." She leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek...except that it landed on the corner of his wide, plush mouth, and they both froze. Did somebody turn up the heat, she wondered hazily, because suddenly the air around and between them seethed with heat.