by Eden Butler
“Not yet, I know, maybe a couple more years, Aly Cat,” Kona nudged me, getting my attention. “Soon as you’re married, the two of you, I want a grandson. Ke aloha pēpē. He’d be nani, wouldn’t he? With your green eyes and keiki kane’s strength.”
I felt my face drain of color but Kona was too drunk to notice it. I realized that as soon as he turned back to the dancing still going strong across the room.
“We’re not even engaged and haven’t…we aren’t even thinking about…”
“I know, Aly Cat, I know.” Kona wrapped his arm around me, squeezing my shoulder as he wobbled a little. “But soon.” He leaned his head back, that smile widening as though he could see his future laid out in front of him and the sight of it made him giddy. “Grandsons and granddaughters and this house full of pēpēs. That’s what’s important, isn’t?” When he looked down at me, tipping a knuckle under my chin I made sure to smile, to keep my chin from wobbling or for those threatening tears to spill. “For our name to live on and on. For you to be part of us forever.”
But I couldn’t. It was still weeks before my doctor confirmed it. But I knew. There was nothing to be done. The endometriosis had gotten too bad. My only option was a hysterectomy. There would be no sons for Ransom. No grandchildren with green eyes cursing in Creole for Kona and Keira. Not with me.
Kona wobbled away from me that night, not realizing the damage he’d done. Likely not meaning to hurt me at all. He loved me, I knew that. They all did. He wanted me bound to them permanently. Forever. Ohana meant always to Ransom and his family. But that night I realized our always had an end date.
If
I had my way
There would be magic.
Spells that weave, conjure.
Enchantments that brings you back to me
If
I had my way
There would be time
Collecting spells, potions
Endless nights that make you smile.
Sixteen
At fifteen, I met my father. There was too much time, too much betrayal lying between my birth and that day he’d come to the lake house begging my mother to forgive him. Begging her to let him know his son. Mom was a stubborn ass sometimes. It’s where I got it from, but she’d always sworn I was the best of both her and Kona.
“The peacemaker,” she’d called me that first night after Kona had left and we sat side by side, feet propped up on those patio loungers watching the clear black sky above us. “You kept me from killing him.”
“Someone had to.”
But I’d known she protested too strongly. She’d sworn that things between her and Kona had died the day she’d left New Orleans for Nashville. Mom had promised me that night, that after the summer, I’d be the only one in a real relationship with Kona.
“I’m not interested in him…like that.”
But she couldn’t excuse away the way she’d watched him from the kitchen while he sat talking to me and Tristian that day or why, when she sang with me that night, she’d blushed deeper, shook just a little because Kona couldn’t keep from watching her. Not me, her.
And months later when the summer wore on and Kona inched closer to being a real father to me, looks began to pass between them. They didn’t realize I took it all in. They didn’t know I caught a vibe pulsing between them because I was a real, live human with a pulse and any real, live pulse-having human would have caught that damn vibe.
That summer we became a family. One small lie—a purported last minute invite to a concert—had left my parents all alone for the first time in sixteen years. No way two people sharing that vibe could be expected to behave.
And they hadn’t. I assumed. Never wanted the details about what they’d gotten up to that particular night, but since then, after a minor stumble or two, we were a family. A complete, full time family.
Thirteen years and two siblings later, that family was fractured. All because, I suspected, some dumb asshole who wanted something that wasn’t his, and had found some desperate bitches to see to it that he got it. Dad had a right to know, but first, I needed to be sure he was okay.
Almost four days he’d kept himself in his university office. It made sense. He wouldn’t go to a hotel, not with the media catching wind of the bullshit paternity suits. He wouldn’t camp out at a friend's house and drag their family into the middle of the shit storm. Besides, his office was private, secure. You needed a key card to get into the auditorium, you needed a security code to get into the staff offices along the back of the auditorium. I had those. Blue Devils for life, you know? But Dad wasn’t working in his office this late in the afternoon. A peek through the door and into the disaster he’d made of the place told me that much. Mom would kill him if she knew about the half eaten subs and abandoned pizza boxes.
I finally found him in the empty team gym. He was the maniac in the center of the weights area kicking and punching the stuffing out of the heavy bag suspended from the high ceiling. Music pumped from the surround sound and an old Jompson Brothers son, “Barley Alive” screamed through the speakers. It wasn’t exactly pump up, work out music, but it seemed to fit Kona’s mood.
Dad just hit forty-nine. You couldn’t tell by how well he kept himself. There was a spattering of gray along his temples and in the scruff of the beard he seemed to be working on. But otherwise, his hair was black, skin still as dark as it had ever been. My shoulders were wider than his, but his chest was bigger and his thighs put mine to shame. Point of fact: Hawaiians don’t miss leg day. Ever. It was something Dad had always joked when I whined about squats and lunges, but he probably hadn’t missed many workouts in twenty years.
Dad was an inch and a half taller than me—I made him measure a few years back when we were a little drunk and bragging about our stats—but his abs weren’t as cut as mine and his traps were maybe a few inches smaller.
Now his entire body was covered in a sheen of sweat. It dripped from his naked back, flung off his shoulders as he punched that heavy bag, brutalizing the black leather like it was nothing. Kona would punch right, then left, then sling a knee kick into the bag so hard that the chain rattled from the impact.
“Hey,” I tried, earning a grunt from my father as he battled that bag and whatever frustrated him. Well, I imagined a lot did. He had a hell of a lot to choose from. “Dad…” he swung again, releasing a loud grunt as I stood behind the bag, steadying it until he looked me.
“What happened?” he asked, lowering his hands until I shook my head.
“Easy…just checking on you.” I winced when Kona returned to pounding on the bag, the impact jabbing me a bit in the gut.
“Check…” he wheezed, kicking twice in a row, “on…your…” another punch, a faster kick, “mother.”
“She’s okay. Damn,” I winced, shaking out my hand when Kona stopped swinging. “She’s keeping herself in the studio, though Aly said she did bring Mack to practice while I did PT.”
“Good.” Kona returned to the bag, this time bouncing on his feet and I hurried to hold it steady just in time for him to pound it with punches once more. “Koa and Mack?”
“You haven’t talked to them?”
“This morning.” He moved quick, faster, I admitted to myself, than I probably could but I avoid cardio at all costs. Big as he was, Dad moved like a kid hopped up on Blueberry Kool Aid.
“They miss you.”
He paused, chest working quick as he looked at me, closing his eyes before he shook his head. “I miss them. I miss…all of you.” Kona’s jaw tensed, his nostrils flared and then he punched the bag so hard that I stumbled backward. Then my father sat down on the bench next to the bag, grabbing a bottle of water as though he wanted to drown himself. Water flew from his head, on the tips of his curling hair as he doused himself before grabbing a towel and scrubbing his face. “This is such a fucking mess.”
“I know it is.”
Dad looked up at me, watching me close and I wondered if he thought I blamed him for the
shit we’d all been thrown into. “Koa tell you about his fight?” Kona nodded, looking worse than he had just minutes before. “That’s not on you.”
“Isn’t it?” He threw the towel to the floor. “My kid catches shit from some punk telling him his father can’t keep it in his pants and he sticks up for me? Knocks out some kid’s tooth? And that's not on me somehow? He hunched over on the bench, and let his hands hang loose between his knees, eyes on the wooden floor. “It’s my ex…Simone…though I have zero ideas why she’s trying to lay her kid on me.” He looked up, stretching his shoulders before he leaned forward, keeping his gaze on my face. “The other one…I just, I got no clue. She’s has to be some groupie, right? Though, shit, I’ve been out of the league thirteen damn years. Why the hell is this shit happening now?”
I’d debated telling him anything. It was a decision that up until that moment I thought maybe I should rethink. At his core, my father was aggressive. It was his nature to defend. It’s what made him a great lineman and better father. I knew telling him about Cass, about my suspicions, would trigger some huge alpha asshole in Kona that I could not contain. But I’d never seen my father this torn, looking this damn helpless. It scared the hell out of me.
“Dad…”
“I guess it doesn’t matter, right?” He worked that towel over his face, scrubbing his hair dry. “Aly’s got her man working on some things.”
“What?”
“She didn’t tell you?” I shook my head, a little blown away that she’d reach out to Dad despite how cold he’d been to her, despite how tightly she held onto whatever grudge she had against him. “She called me last night. Told me that she had Ethan looking into Simone and the other girl.” The muscles around Kona’s mouth hardened when I remained silent. “Why wouldn’t she tell you?”
“Why would she?”
“Keiki kane no matter what’s happened between you, she’s still family. How long have you known her? Has she kept anything from you?”
“I used to think she didn’t ever, but now…”
Dad didn’t seem to like my hesitation or the way I’d stared across the gym debating doing a little pounding on that bag myself. Kona nudged me, moving his chin at me. “What happened?”
Burdening my father with something from the past was pointless. It would only add to his guilt if he thought something he’d done to her had made her angry, had kept Aly angry. Besides, I didn’t know enough about her anger to make any real sense. “Nothing that matters right now, Dad.”
“I wish I could fix this for you.”
“You’ve got your own shit to worry about.”
“Yeah,” he said, drinking from his bottle, “that’s the God’s honest truth, brah.” He glanced at me, head shaking. “You and Aly aren’t…” I stopped him with a shake of his head.
“Mom said I should just let her be. I should be there for her and let her figure out on her own that she wants me. Let her make that decision.”
Dad didn’t speak, but looked at me for a long time, thoughts he kept to himself hardening the muscles around his face. Finally, he returned to the bag, punching it with less effort than he had before. “She said that?”
“Yeah. The night of the recital.”
A few more strikes on that bag, these harder, stronger and then Kona growled, kicking and punching until he backed away, hands on his knees to settle his breathing before he stood up, scowling at me. “Fuck that.”
“What?”
Dad came at me then, pulling off half-gloves with his teeth, dropping them to the mat on the floor so he could grip my neck, shaking me once. “No, Ransom. Don’t you dare do that.”
“Then what should I do?”
“You fight, keiki kane. You fight like hell. Your mom wants you to give Aly space. She thinks she needs time but that’s because she believes that there is so much time. That we all have this ample amount of time to do what we want when we get to it. I know better. You do. I know there is so little time left for any of us.” The grip on my neck hardened and Dad shook his head. “We’re racing toward an end that no one can stop. We’re speeding toward it with every breath that leaves our lungs. The only thing any of us can do is make the most of the time we have. So no, brah, don’t you dare wait around for Aly to figure out she wants you.”
He stepped back, but moved his hand to my shoulder. “You go get her. You fight for her. You pick her up and lock yourself alone with her if you have to. You be with her because you want her because, dammit, she wants you too. You fight. You fight for your woman today, Ransom and tomorrow and you damn well don’t stop fighting until you have her. And even after that, even when you’re old and your dick doesn’t work anymore and Aly can barely move or dance with you because she’s gone old and feeble, even then, you still fight. You fight for her because you love her. You fight and you don’t listen to a fucking soul who tells you it’s pointless. It isn’t. It isn’t ever pointless when it’s real and Ransom,” Dad touched my face, holding my head still so I couldn’t look away, “my beautiful boy, it’s real what you have with Aly. It’s so damn real.” He tapped my cheek, smiling for the first time in weeks then started to leave me behind. I had to run to catch up to him.
“Wait, Dad, where are you going?”
He stopped, grinning broader. “I got some fighting of my own to do.”
“Shit,” I shouted running after him. “Hang on a second, I’ve got to tell you something.”
He only paused long enough to hold the door open for me as he jogged down the hall, heading for his office. I followed, realizing I needed to hit the gym myself when I got a little winded trying to keep up with him. “I think Cass has something to do with all this shit.”
Dad stopped just in front of his office, whipping a glance over his shoulder as though he wasn’t sure that he’d heard me correctly.
“You wanna say that again?”
“Cass. I think he’s messed up in this stuff.”
“Why do you think that?” Dad leaned against his office door, looking cool but fucking lethal as he folded his arms over his chest.
“You gonna actually listen to me and not haul ass out of here to go find him?”
“What? You think I need an assault bid added to the supposed baby mama drama?” Dad swung open the door, waving a hand toward his office. “Come inside and tell me. Just do me a favor and remind me how I’m too old to be beating on some wannabe cowboy.”
I laughed, then, and it felt good. “Like I could.”
Kona stood there for one heartbeat, and then he laughed, too. "Point, brah," he drawled, and barreled forward. He almost looked like his old self again.
It felt damn good.
I could have loved you.
Sweet girl.
My mouth spoke lullabies
Soundless now.
Silent as the grave.
I could have kept you
Still
Next to my breast
Songs older than my blood
Older than time.
I could have held you
Beautiful boy
Tender strokes in those sweet, soft curls.
Vacant now.
Blood to ash
Into the earth
I could have
But I can’t.
Seventeen
Never drink by yourself.
Grann told me that once, when she needed an excuse to have the small congregation of girlfriends invade her Tremé cottage on the rare occasions Papa had to work over.
“People always discover when you drink on your own, mon dous, because most folk are damn nosey,” she’d say, solemn and serious as though she wanted me to commit that bit of advice to memory. I did. I also used too much lemon juice and not enough Cognac while making the Sidecars she wanted for her parties. It wouldn’t do for grann and her friends to turn one afternoon gin rummy game into some sort of middle aged lady sleepover. Papa’s constant brooding would have been downright vicious had that happened.
T
he memory came to me from nowhere really. Nowhere but the poorly-disguised worry in Mack’s voice when she’d called me an hour before.
“Mama is drinking wine, Aly.” That in itself wasn’t a worry, but Makana’s voice still went shaky, a hint panicky as she spoke. “It’s not even two yet.”
“It’s Sunday, sweetie.”
“Koa said to leave her alone and let her pout, but Koa is a stupid boy and stupid boys don’t know anything. Besides, it’s cold out there, even by the fire pit.” Then, because she seemed annoyed that I hadn’t caught the gravity of the situation, the little girl exhaled, clearing away any remaining cracks in her tone before she continued. “She won’t come inside.”
The fire pit is precisely where I found Keira, huddled under a thick purple and green quilt with a wedding ring pattern woven into the squares and thread and what looked like one of Kona’s CPU hoodies. As I came closer to her, I knew it was his—it still smelled of his cologne and there were spots along the front that looked suspiciously like barbeque sauce. That man never could keep from a mess when he ate. Though, from the half empty bottle of Moscato resting against Keira’s hip, I supposed those spots could have been wine.
“Did my baby rat me out?” Keira didn’t bother to look at me as I approached, pulling that quilt further up her shoulder as though the flame from the pit wasn’t blazing full blast.
“She’s worried, cheri.” She went on watching the low tide of the lake, the soft current brushing against the shore as I leaned over her to lower the flame. “You gonna stay here all day?” Keira didn’t react at all when I tilted the bottle away from her, holding it by the neck. But when I looked down, waiting for her to look at me, her sigh and the flash of her gaze clued me in on the semblance of life flickering behind those dormant, mildly buzzed blue eyes.
“It was already open. I haven’t been out here drinking myself into oblivion.” She demonstrated this point by nodding at her feet to the full wine glass next to the leg of her chair. “I’m depressed, not drunk.”