Hula Girl

by Ward Cosio, Lara

  So, that’s it. That’s the extent of our relationship now. Impersonal but still gracious.

  And over.

  * * *

  It’s seven twenty-three the next morning when I hear from her again. I’ve just gotten into my car to make the drive to the firm when my cell buzzes. I flip it open and have to scroll through the tiny screen to read the full message.

  Good luck today. I know it’s a big day and that you’ll feel relieved to have it behind you.

  While it’s nice that she’s thought of me and remembered my task for the day, I don’t know what to do with it. I don’t want to get sucked into feeling like I’ve got a place in her life when I know that’s not the case. I decide to keep it simple with my reply.

  Thx

  * * *

  In the office, I go straight to the conference room that had been set aside for our purposes and find the table full of suits. My dad, my grandfather, and four people from legal who might as well be replicas of each other, are all there. And, as luck would have it, they’re all wearing some variation of a charcoal-gray suit. I’ve opted for jeans and a T-shirt again, wanting to feel like myself as I make this move.

  “Gentlemen,” I say and get a scattered chorus of replies. I take the open chair across from my father. My grandfather is sitting at the head of the table, stoic.

  “Larry, pass down the paperwork,” Senior says to one of the legal clones.

  I ignore the shuffling of paper coming my way, and instead, reach into my messenger bag. I pull out a manila folder.

  “I’d better get this to you first,” I say, proffering the formal resignation letter I’d written up and signed yesterday afternoon.

  “Noted,” Larry says. Looks like he’s the lead for the legal team.

  My grandfather picks up the resignation letter and scans it before shaking his head mournfully.

  “Such a waste,” he mutters.

  There’s no use in trying to make him understand the value of living your life to your own standards of happiness, not anyone else’s. I pull out a sheaf of papers from the folder next.

  “You’ll want to review this, but you can also trust that it is completely in order,” I say.

  “What is it?” Senior asks.

  “It’s how I’ve decided to divest my shares.”

  My father scoffs. “There’s only one choice in the matter. The bylaws are clear. You must sell to the managing partner.”

  “Well, that’s the thing,” I say. “It’s not as clear as you think. There is a clause that I am taking advantage of.”

  Senior snatches the paperwork I had prepared and scans it.

  “What is this? Charitable giving?” He looks up at me, fury in his eyes. I don’t look away, and after a moment he turns to Larry. “What is this bullshit?”

  Larry has a fine layer of perspiration on his upper lip. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

  My grandfather snickers. “Does this clause reference the change that happened around 2001?”

  I nod, impressed that he’s put it together so quickly. It took me days of research to sort out how I might do this.

  “What does that mean?” Senior asks, his voice betraying his panic. “Dad? Answer me.”

  My grandfather can’t keep from smiling. “It means that your Boy Wonder has bested us all in this little scenario.”

  Senior stands and rests his hands on his hips. “Someone better explain this to me right now.”

  I look up at him and lean back in my chair, crossing my legs, ankle over knee. “What it means is that I have taken advantage of the one time this firm decided they’d better do some charitable giving. That was right after September eleventh happened, and everyone seemed to want to do good. Funny that it doesn’t ring a bell, but I guess the press release you and Grandfather put out at the time was as far as it all went, anyway.”

  Recognition slowly dawns on him and I can tell by his face that I don’t need to go into detail. I don’t need to explain that after that tragic event, the firm had set up a way to transfer the revenue gained through shares, up to 100 percent, to a charitable cause. As far as I can tell, no one took advantage of it. But the firm sure did make a splash in the media with the announcement of their “giving back” program.

  “You’ll see here in the paperwork,” I say, “that revenue of one hundred percent of my shares will be transferred, in perpetuity, to the Inner-City Music Project here in Los Angeles. Of course, I reserve the right to extend this to other cities once I see that it’s making the impact I hope for. It should go a long way, though. Those kids are in desperate need for new instruments, good instruction, and even funds to go on tours to different parts of the state. Maybe they’ll even get the chance to travel the country. It’ll be incredibly enriching. At least, I hope so.”

  “And so, what is this, Ford?” Senior says through clenched jaw. “Your way of saying fuck you on your way out the door?’

  I lean forward and make eye contact with him. “It started that way, to be honest. I didn’t want you to have those shares because I knew you’d just turn around and push your own father out—”

  “I wouldn’t—”

  “I think we all know your intentions. Nothing is ever enough, is it? Anyway, I realized that sticking it to you wasn’t going to make me happy. In fact, I didn’t need that to be happy because I’ve already found what I truly needed. All I had to do was return to being the person I was before I ever got sucked into your world. And so, I thought about what I could do to help others with it. I want to make a positive impact in people’s lives, not just work the loopholes and flaws of the law to my own advantage. This is meaningful. This is going to change people’s lives.”

  “This,” Senior says, “will be challenged in court.”

  I sigh and shake my head. “You’ll lose. You’re fighting against your own rules. And you’ll lose in the public eye, too.”

  “What does that mean?”

  I make a show of looking at the watch on my wrist that isn’t there. “A press release is being issued in about two minutes explaining the donation.”

  My father’s face goes red.

  “But it’s to your benefit to let it stand as is, Senior. I’ve put this out as being in the firm’s name. It’s got McAvoy & Associates as the backer. That’s fantastic PR for you. You’ll get more business because of it. So, really, it’s a win-win. The firm will do well, and the kids who need it will get a helping hand.”

  With that, I stand. “Well, fellas. That’s it for me. I do appreciate the education and the opportunity. This was just never my place. I’ll leave it to you and trust that your dedication and passion for this will continue as it always has.”

  Before I can get to the door, my father comes to me and stabs his finger into my chest. “You have always been a disappointment.”

  “Leave him be,” my grandfather says sharply.

  Senior looks startled and backs away.

  “It’s okay,” I say. “I can live with that. We’ve never seen eye to eye. That’s just the way it is. For the first time in my life, I understand that accepting that is better than fighting it. That goes for both of us. Give it a try, and you might find some peace.”

  He raises his eyebrows, not with some miraculous epiphany, but with frustration. “Get out,” he says.

  I flash a hang loose sign. And then I walk out.

  I’ve never felt freer in my life.

  36

  Ava

  I’m at my desk in my office when Tyler comes breezing in, looking like he’s bursting at the seams, eager to share one of his gossip scoops.

  “What?” I ask.

  He sits in the chair in front of my desk. “Your Ford has to be behind this, right?”

  My eyebrows come together in confusion. “Behind what?”

  “Girl, please stop hiding things from me! This whole secret love story and engagement is one thing, but to keep pretending—”

  “Just tell me what you’re talking a
bout. I’m busy, Tyler.”

  He rolls his eyes. “The press release from McAvoy & Associates. The one about their charitable endeavor.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Really? Like Ford didn’t tell you about this? Ford, your fiancé?”

  I sigh and do a quick Google search. It shows me the latest press release detailing a rather extraordinary and ongoing donation to a music organization for underprivileged kids. My eyes fill with tears as I read. This is what Ford did with his shares. This is how he managed to transform something negative—his disdain for being a part of McAvoy & Associates—into something positive. And not just positive, but life altering for kids in need. At the same time, I feel guilty for accusing him of wanting nothing but petty retribution. My heart feels too big in my chest. I press my left hand against it, trying to ease the emotion I’m being overwhelmed by.

  “Damn, that ring,” Tyler says with a whistle. “When is the wedding, anyway?”

  I look down at the ring. It’s odd how quickly it’s become a part of me.

  “I, uh, I don’t know.”

  “Well, fear not. Paige and I were talking, and we’ve got tons of ideas for the reception.”

  I don’t register what Tyler says. My mind is still stuck on the awful feeling of Ford slipping away. He’ll soon be on a plane to Maui. I have no idea if I’ll ever see him again.

  “She’s actually not as awful as you might think,” Tyler continues.

  “Who?”

  “Paige,” he says with exaggerated patience.

  “Oh, okay.”

  I look at my computer screen and click through to my calendar. I have multiple meetings throughout the day. But the most important thing I have scheduled is lunch with Randall. This is my opportunity to suggest to him that he step down. I’m going to as gently as possible point out the ways in which he’s lost a step and steer him toward understanding that his time is better spent in the company of his wife and family. That I, and others here at the firm he started, will be good stewards of all that he created.

  While I want to be the person to put these things to him as plainly as possible because I believe he’ll take it best from me, I am at the same time tempted to postpone the lunch so that I can run to the airport like some lovesick heroine in a Lifetime movie of the week special. I want to catch Ford before he even makes it through the security line, throw myself into his arms, and tell him he’s right. We can figure out a way to be together. That the universe did put us in the same place. That we’re meant to be with each other.

  I’m startled out of this fantasy when Randall walks through my office door. Tyler stands up and stares down at his phone.

  “Ah, yes, I have to get going,” he says. “Busy, busy.”

  I smirk at him as he backs out of the office with his hands raised in a helpless gesture. He’s never lost his healthy respect—and fear—for Randall like I have.

  “Randall, how are you?” I ask.

  “Good, good.” he hesitates. “Well, actually, I’m going to have to postpone our lunch.”

  I try to keep an impassive expression. “Really?”

  “I’m, uh, well, I’m not feeling great. I—I didn’t sleep well. So, I’m going to take some files home and work there. Maybe for the rest of the week.”

  He looks pained with this admission. I go to him and wrap my arm through his. “You know what?”

  He pats my hand and smiles at me affectionately. “What?”

  “I would love nothing more than to help you with those files. And how about I follow you home? I bet Alice wouldn’t mind the company. The three of us can have lunch and catch up.”

  I see his face light up at the idea. And that’s all I need right now. I just need to be able to help this man who has done so much for me, who has become so much to me.

  “Well, if you’re sure you have the time,” he says.

  “For you, Randall, I absolutely do.”

  * * *

  And so, I don’t rush to the airport to intercept Ford. I don’t make a wild, romantic gesture to declare my love for the man who so suddenly and completely won my heart.

  The best I can do is text him from the car while driving to Randall’s.

  I heard about the charity initiative. Well done. You are a hell of a lawyer. Anyone ever tell you that? Well, anyway, I’m proud of you. Hope you make it home safe and sound.

  Once at Randall’s, I watch the clock, watch the minutes tick by as they get closer to Ford’s eleven o’clock flight.

  In exchange, I get time with Randall. Real time. It’s the exact right opportunity to speak honestly with him and his wife, Alice. It’s when they both share that he has been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. I let them talk through all their fears and hopes in how they’ll deal with everything in the coming years. Years, that is, if he’s lucky. He’s got the best medical care and a great support system, so there is a good chance that he’ll be able to extend his quality of life. I steer the discussion toward next steps with the firm. It’s hard, I’m not going to lie. Randall is torn up about stepping down. But he’s also realistic. Together, we work out a plan that he seems to find comfort in. In the end, that’s the best that I can do for him.

  * * *

  It’s late by the time I say my goodbyes to Randall and Alice, but I don’t want to go home. Instead of heading to my place, I drive to my mom’s.

  When she answers the door, she’s already in her pajamas. But she doesn’t hesitate in ushering me inside.

  I sit at the kitchen table while she makes Tajin popcorn as I tell her all about my day.

  “I’m sorry, mija,” she tells me as she joins me. She puts her hand on mine and gives me a smile that says so much more. I don’t need words. I know she understands how I feel.

  “Did you know,” Mama says thoughtfully, “that when your father asked me to take a chance on him, it was in that same countryside you’ve been to?”

  This sounds familiar, but I can’t quite square it with the story she had told Ford and me about how they met at El Jardín.

  “Remember, mija, we told you before that he proposed to me under the shade of this big Encino tree out in a pasture. Though it was barely spring, the day was warm. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. It was so quiet. Well, except for the birds. And the wind in the tall grass. But besides that, all I could hear after he asked, after he gave me his theory about us and the universe, was my heartbeat. It was … unforgettable.”

  “I love that image. Oh, you and Papa were so perfect.”

  “Surely not perfect. But perfect for each other, I think.”

  I scoop another handful of popcorn into my mouth and nod. “Mama?”

  “Yes?”

  “Why did you bring that up?

  She shrugs. “I suppose I’ve been thinking of your father a lot more than usual lately. It’s nice to share these stories. To keep the memories alive. To cherish what a special thing we had.”

  We both have watery eyes.

  “But I’m not the only one who has been thinking of him more lately,” she continues.

  Tilting my head, I realize she’s remembering that I’ve confided in Ford about my father more than once. First, on our first date at Makai’s. Then, during our first night in LA when we stumbled upon Angel’s Flight.

  “It feels good to share those memories with someone you can trust, doesn’t it?”

  “I … it does,” I admit.

  She’s gently nudging me to understand that in Ford I have found an exceedingly rare thing—someone I can trust. Of course, she knows that I’ve spent a lot of years keeping that kind of intimacy at arm’s length, and now she seems happy to see that I’ve let down my guard. Let down my walls, as Ford would say. I’ve never done that with anyone else.

  All this makes me wonder if I could ever look back at the time Ford and I had together with as much satisfaction as she does the time she had with my father. Granted, it’s not the same. She had seventeen years with the love of he
r life. I didn’t even have seventeen days with Ford. Thinking of him makes me smile, but that soon fades because I know that we haven’t had enough time together. Our story isn’t over. I don’t know exactly how the next part of us will play out, but I do know that it has to.

  It has to.

  37

  Ava

  That certainty that Ford and I aren’t over hasn’t faded, but I haven’t come up with any grand idea for how to act on it. The next few days go by as I put in long hours at the office. Between my normal case load and working with Manny on the succession plan for Randall, I’m swamped. Being busy helps to avoid thinking about Ford as much as possible. It’s only when I return to my generic home, as Ford called it, that I disconnect enough to let my mind wander to him.

  He never did answer my text telling him I was proud of him for the way he handled his shares. I understand that he might need to take a step back. But it still hurts every time I look at my phone with the hope that he might have responded.

  I’m on the verge of sleep when I hear the chime signaling an incoming text. Exhausted, I almost don’t bother to look. But hope springs eternal, as the saying goes, and I groggily grab my phone.

  It’s from Ford.

  I laugh in surprise when I see that he’s sent a photo, because that means he’s given in and gotten a smartphone.

  I quickly click on the photo, and it comes into focus. He’s taken a selfie of himself holding the photograph of us that I had printed and mailed to him as soon as I returned from Maui. I had sent it to his mother’s music school because he doesn’t have an actual address. He must have only just now gotten it. In the picture he sent, he’s shirtless, his hair is wild, and his smile is wide. He looks like he just came from surfing. And he looks like he’s in his happy place, even if he does text: