Somewhere on Maui (an Accidental Matchmaker Novel)

by Toby Neal

  Having to think about that, and tell you that, when we haven’t even had a real date feels bizarre but good, too. It’s all out there on the table, what we really want and need and who we are.

  And just so you don’t feel bad: I’m also in therapy. I was referred for six mandatory sessions of anger management by my contractor’s association, due to losing my temper on the job. I could have fought the referral, but I realized I really was angry and struggling to manage my emotions in a lot of areas and I didn’t want to hurt anyone with that. I’m finding the counseling more helpful than I expected. My counselor has helped me review various areas I’ve been frustrated with and how that’s led to anger. I hope that doesn’t scare you off. Write me back if it doesn’t. Now I feel like this is grade school, when you passed a note to a girl you liked and hoped she’d read it and write you back. Best, Adam.

  Adam’s forthright words seemed to seep into her, blooming into a warm feeling that made her smile as she let go of the bit of hair she’d been brushing against her cheek.

  This. This was the speed of a relationship she could handle.

  Her writer’s imagination pictured herself and Adam as kids on the school playground or side by side in class. He an athletic sun-browned boy with a mop of black hair, always restlessly moving. She, that awkward knock-kneed girl she’d been, all hair and eyes. Passing notes back and forth, careful not to look at each other. Showing each other scrapes and scars, inching a little closer, but still a long way from touching.

  She’d be late for her final Internet date, but replying to Adam was too important to put off.

  Zoe typed rapidly. Stopped. Reread her message. Changed a few words. Hit Send. Shut down her computer, stood up in her sleek tank dress, and went to get her strappy “date” sandals on.

  Chapter 15

  The day had flown by for Adam. He’d gotten the kids up and out to an early-morning surf, which had tired them out like puppies needing exercise, and then gone home to pick lychees with the long bamboo picker, a ladder, and a tarp. The kids climbed into the branches of the five big old trees and shook the branches so the fruit fell onto the tarp, while Adam wielded the wire fruit picker on a long bamboo pole.

  The day passed quickly, and he had the kids working on an art project inside and eating peanut butter and banana sandwiches when he heard the sound of Charlotte and Ben’s big SUV.

  Mama was home.

  “Okay, kids. Aunty Charlotte, Uncle Ben, your baby cousin, and your grandma are here. I want you to stay put and eat until we get Tutu inside and see how she’s feeling. We don’t want to stress her out.”

  He’d talked with them about Tutu’s heart operation, and they nodded, eyes big. He left them at the dining room table and went to the door.

  Charlotte was already helping Mama out of the back while Ben unstrapped the baby from the car seat. Adam hurried over, taking his mother’s other arm, checking her over. “Welcome home, Mama.”

  She’d lost weight, but her color was good and her brown eyes sparkled as she reached up to touch his cheek. “So glad to be home, Adam. Where are my grandbabies? I can’t wait to see them!”

  “I told them to wait until you got settled. I didn’t want you to be overwhelmed by the hugging.”

  “Silly boy,” she said, but seemed to have to focus on getting her feet to work. Charl gave him a grateful look.

  Hanging over the front door, swaying in the breeze, was the crayon-decorated sign on architectural draft paper he and the kids had made. It trumpeted WELCOME HOME, TUTU!!! and was decorated with rainbows, hearts, and the sharks Diego had added for a boyish touch.

  “Oh,” she said, pointing to the sign. “Diego! Serena! Tutu wants a hug!”

  She managed to yell loud enough to make Adam cover his ear, smiling. The kids scampered from the kitchen to throw their arms around his mother, frail in her plumeria-print muumuu and bedroom slippers.

  “How’s she doing?” Adam whispered to Charlotte as Ben followed them, carrying a wriggling Kaden.

  “She’s doing about average, according to the doctors. She needs to take it easy. She gets tired so easily,” Charl whispered back. They trailed her into the kitchen, where Kalia Rodrigues exclaimed over the multiple bags of lychees they’d picked and Serena offered her half of her peanut butter sandwich.

  Kaden set off to explore, Ben chasing him, while Charl went to check on Kalia’s room’s readiness. Adam supervised the general chaos in the kitchen.

  Adam saw the exact moment his mother began to tire by the droop of her mouth, the leaching of color from her skin. He picked her up over her protests and the giggles of the kids and carried her back into the master bedroom. Diego trotted after and, along with his Aunt Charl, helped prop Tutu up with pillows so she could watch TV. When his mother was settled in bed, Diego on one side, Serena on the other, Kaden on her lap, and Sesame Street keeping them entertained, Ben, Charlotte, and Adam were able to withdraw to the kitchen.

  Ben opened the fridge. “Damn, Adam. I want to come live here for a week. You’ve got some good grinds here!”

  “Take some. Every time I turn around, someone’s dropping something off. People from Mama’s church have been driving up at all hours the last few days, not to mention all Tami and Aunty June did. They cleaned the whole house. I can handle this evening and tomorrow; it’s Monday I’m worried about with the kids not in school for two weeks.” He filled them in on his legal progress so far, which was limited to filing a petition for guardianship based on parental abandonment. “I’m going to go ahead and reenroll the kids in their old school. No one will question it when I bring them by. I doubt I’ll even have to show any paperwork.”

  “I’m worried, Adam,” Charlotte said. “Not only is this a lot for you to handle, but what will happen if Cherisse fights you? And she might not do it directly. She might just swing by here when you’re not home and take the kids. Mama won’t be in any shape to stop her, and I worry about how stressful all this could be on her.”

  “Well, can whoever’s staying with Mama help with the kids too? I don’t want to leave them with their grandparents when they want to be with me.”

  “I don’t know, Adam. It’s one thing to sit with an elderly lady just out of the hospital. It’s another to watch two active kids, as well. But you can put me and Mele down for a day each, for sure, and I’ll work on the rest.”

  “Okay. I’ll take them to their Lahaina grandparents early Monday morning before work. So if someone can just watch Mama during the day?”

  “Yeah, I’ve got a whole schedule worked out.” Charl took a handwritten chart out of her jeans pocket, stuck it on the fridge with a couple of shell magnets. “Here’s the schedule. We’ve got you covered.”

  “Thanks, sis.” He hooked an arm around his sister’s neck, pulled her in, and kissed her forehead. “Couldn’t do it without you.”

  It was many hours later, when the house had settled into quiet, that Adam was finally able to log on to his computer.

  He went straight to his e-mail, scrolling past all the work-related messages to Zoe’s name. He paused, hovering the mouse over her name, savoring a feeling.

  Dr. Suzuki had told him to try to notice his feelings and identify them, and this one felt unfamiliar: a potent cocktail of anticipation and apprehension. Satisfied he’d sorted it out, he opened her e-mail.

  Dear Adam,

  It was so nice to hear from you and find you hadn’t been scared off by what’s definitely been one of the biggest struggles of my adult life. I am picturing you and your kids at Hookipa, surfing. That sounds so fun. They are lucky to have a dad like you, someone willing to really take the time to enjoy life with them. I hope it all works out for your guardianship.

  I plan to finish this piece for LHJ, send it off, and keep going to therapy and see where it leads me. Thank you for being so honest about your struggles. I’m a little afraid of anger. Raised voices meant bad things in my family when I was growing up. My dad was an angry man, and he left my mom and me w
hen I was five. We’re not in close touch. There wasn’t any violence—he never hit us or anything like that—but when the yelling started, it was time for me to hide, which I usually did with my head in a book.

  I hope your mother’s health continues to improve and you can keep all those plates spinning. Thinking about your situation makes me feel a little guilty. All I have to worry about is myself and Sylvester, my dog. But that doesn’t mean I’m afraid of dealing with a lot of relatives—in fact, as an only child, I always wished I had siblings and a big family with all the noise and fun of that. Aloha, Zoe.

  She had attached the picture from the dating site where she was holding Sylvester in her arms, the dog’s silvery coat contrasting with her rich brown hair, her eyes green as the sea in the background.

  He clicked on the photo. Blew it up and studied it like the architecture major he’d been.

  Zoe’s lips had a natural curve to them, like they were always smiling. Her brows were definite, angled frames for those changeable eyes. Her brows and eyes showed strength and intelligence, contrasting with her mouth’s sweet softness. Her arms, holding the dog, were toned and lightly tanned.

  He still remembered the way the turquoise shawl had slid down her back in Charley’s bar, exposing the graceful line of her back and bare shoulder in a way that made his groin tighten just thinking about it. He sent the photo to his phone and matched it with her phone number. Then he hunched forward and composed a reply.

  Monday morning, post beach walk, Zoe settled herself in the peacock chair. She’d brought Sylvester, deciding that Dr. Suzuki should meet the most important male in her life. She’d been surprised by the enthusiastic greeting her therapist gave the little terrier. Zoe had been prepared to put him back in the car, but the doctor insisted he stay, and now as she settled herself, Sylvester lay on her feet in typical fashion, curly pink tongue out as he panted happily.

  Dr. Suzuki flipped her notebook open. “Feels like it’s been a while since I saw you, and I can see you’re feeling a whole lot better than last time.”

  Zoe shook her head, remembering her tearful session on the couch. “You’re not going to believe it, but Adam and I are still in touch. We’re e-mailing, and that pregnant woman he was with was his sister.” She filled the doctor in. Dr. Suzuki seemed amused, a little smile hovering around her mouth, as Zoe went on to tell about her and Adam’s ongoing correspondence. “And then I met another guy,” Zoe concluded.

  “Who’s this?”

  “His name is Brad. He’s single, early forties, gorgeous, and a self-made millionaire.”

  “Wow,” Dr. Suzuki said. “Sounds like the whole package.”

  “Yeah, and he has a great dog too and drives my favorite car.” She told Dr. Suzuki about their two beach walks and his kiss. “It seems like he likes me and wants to move faster than I feel ready for. I mean, I’m attracted.” She felt her cheeks heat up, and she kept her eyes on Sylvester’s draped form on her feet. “But he kind of scares me too. He’s direct and kind of aggressive. I’m not sure what he wants from me, what I want from him.”

  “Do you have to know right now?” the psychologist asked.

  “I guess not. But it’s weird to have two guys I like in my life. That’s never happened to me before.”

  “You’re coming out of one of the hardest, most stressful things a person can come through. It’s no wonder you’re a little gun-shy.”

  “I guess.” Zoe found herself brushing her cheek with a bit of hair, dropped it and twined her fingers in her lap. “I told him I wanted to finish the article for LHJ, see how I was doing after that, and he told me he’d be in touch. He didn’t like the idea of me getting in touch with him.”

  “Sounds like a man who is used to getting what he wants.”

  “Exactly. And he’s single, or at least seems to be—not burdened with all these obligations like Adam.” She told Dr. Suzuki about all the demands on Adam and how he seemed to be handling them. “He told me he didn’t care that I couldn’t have kids, at least right now. He loves being a stepdad to his kids and is trying to get guardianship. Doesn’t seem like he has room or time in his life for a relationship, but he keeps writing to me. I feel like, if we finally get together, I will really know him. This thing with Brad—it doesn’t feel like he’s willing to take that kind of time.”

  “Hmm.”

  “So what do you think?”

  “It’s not my job to recommend a course of action to you—just to reflect your options and things you’ve said. So you’ve told both men you need to finish the LHJ piece. You said you had a final date for that last night?”

  “Oh yeah.” Zoe flapped a hand. “That was good for the article—a guy who considers himself a ‘serial dater’ who has no intention of ever settling down.” She described her drink with the fast-talking Realtor wearing a tan silk aloha shirt. He’d regaled her for ninety minutes with tales of all the “hopeless losers” he’d slept with using Internet dating. “Guy gave me the shivers really. Out there, preying on hurting, hopeful women to get laid. A real sociopath. I had to take a shower when I got home. A cautionary tale, perfect to round out the piece.”

  “So how soon do you think you can finish it?”

  “Well, I’m going to be done with the draft today, and I plan to be done with the Internet dating today. But I’m wondering if I want to leave my identity up on the dating site, see what happens.”

  “I like that idea.” Dr. Suzuki waggled her pen at Zoe. “You don’t have to do anything with it right now, but it’s almost a symbolic gesture that says you are open to new things, new people. You can also change the settings to “seeking friends” if that makes you more comfortable.”

  “Yeah. So whatever happens with Adam and Brad, I think it’s good for me to keep myself out there. It’s funny how my true profile attracted more interest than my fake one.”

  They discussed that for a while; then Dr. Suzuki stood, signaling the session was over. “So how are you feeling about pregnant women? Have you spotted any this week?”

  “I haven’t, but honestly, I feel a lot better. I’m going to try to look at some pregnant ladies, maybe even interact, if I spot any this week. I think that visualization thing you did was really helpful.”

  They set up another appointment for later in the week, and Zoe and Sylvester headed out.

  Back at her cottage, Zoe wrote up the “date” with the man she’d seen the night before. Clay Romirez had been a darkly handsome, well-dressed man whose manipulative characteristics emerged from behind surface charm as soon as Zoe made it clear to him that she was not interested in dating, only in interviewing him about his experiences as a “serial Internet wolf,” as he’d called himself in his message to her.

  After securing her promise to conceal his name and identity, he’d waxed expansive, bragging of his conquests and techniques. Zoe had begun to tape it after her hand couldn’t keep up with his disclosures. Now, in summarizing it, she bulleted his favorite lines to gain trust and access to a woman’s emotions and hope, what he used to get them into the bedroom on the first date.

  She shuddered, remembering the sparkle of pride in his eyes, the arrogant tilt of his chin. He profiled his targets, as he called them: women who’d recently divorced or been dumped, plain women, intimidatingly intelligent women, women with a caregiver complex. He had a different persona for each type of woman, and it seemed never to fail to get him into bed on the first date.

  Zoe wondered if any of the readers of this article would be able to avoid men like this and if he was doing any real harm. Sure, he was a slimy bastard who was after only one thing, but it appeared (at least, according to him) that he did that one thing very well.

  Zoe had been repelled by him, but she could objectively see both his appeal and the possible benefit of having some revenge sex right after her divorce, something she’d thought of but had been too shell-shocked to follow through on. So if Romirez was a sexual predator, at least he was good in bed, and maybe these women did
n’t want more from him.

  “So do they want to see you again?” she’d asked, her turquoise shawl tight around her shoulders.

  “Always.” Romirez smacked his lips over his drink. “You’re recently divorced. Have you slept with anyone since the ex?”

  “No.”

  “Very therapeutic, all the women tell me. You should consider it.” His teeth were very white and sharp, she remembered. A wolf indeed. She included that detail.

  It was time to wrap up the article, and now she was stuck. She really didn’t have a conclusion yet. She didn’t know how she felt about the experiences she’d had so far—it was as if her choice to write the piece and enter the Internet dating arena from there had polluted her opportunity to really experience it herself, unbiased, as a customer.

  Still. Her mind wandered to Adam, to his unforgettable smile. To Brad with his aqua-blue eyes.

  She’d met two amazing men there, along with some duds. In the scope of things, that was more, and potentially better, than meeting no one in the same amount of time. Thinking of Adam, she logged into her e-mail, her heart picking up speed. Sure enough, he’d sent her a message.

  Hi Zoe. Thank you for your picture. I put it in my phone with your number. For later, whenever we both feel ready. So I feel silly, but here’s one of me. My sister took this one just yesterday.

  He’d embedded a photo. In it Adam wore a black tank shirt that read RODRIGUES BUILDS BEST with a pair of shorts, and his feet were bare. His arms were each around a brown-eyed, dark-haired, smiling child, and he was gazing up at the camera, the remarkable smile she’d spotted in the emergency room lighting the picture.