Fire Dancer

by Linsey Lanier

  She needed some space, but before she could step away, a lanky man in a dark wetsuit appeared and put his arm around Olina. “Are you doing all right, honey?” He kissed her cheek. He appeared to be Asian and there were two young kids at his side.

  And a baby in his other arm.

  “I’m fine.”

  The little girl tried to hide behind the man’s leg while the boy jumped up and down. “Mama, Mama. When do we go in the water?”

  “Soon, sweetheart.” She turned to Miranda. “This is my husband, Daniel. And my son Makaio and daughter Kye.” She took the baby from Daniel. “And this is our youngest, Lanakila. Lana for short.” The little thing was wrapped in a pink blanket and had her eyes closed and her tiny fists balled.

  There was more handshaking. Miranda couldn’t swallow. Must be the sand clogging her throat. She had a half-brother-in-law? And two half-nieces and a half-nephew? Or whatever you called such relations.

  Just before she thought she might pass out from shock, a conch blew and everyone turned toward the beach.

  “Oh, it’s the priest. We’re starting.” Olina handed the baby back to her husband.

  “Mother’s going to watch the children while we go in,” he told her.

  “We can’t go in?” the little boy whined.

  Olina bent to stroke his hair. “You’re going in the boat with Gramma and Grampa.”

  Leilani took the boy’s hand. “Come, Makaio. Come along,” she said to Miranda and Parker.

  Daniel turned to Olina. “You go on ahead. I’ll catch up to you.”

  “All right.”

  Mikaele ran up from the crowd and wedged himself next to Parker. “Dad’s got your surfboards right over there.” He waved toward the water.

  They followed the family and found her father at the edge of the shore, standing next to five boards and a kayak laid out on the sand. He had his thick, dark locks tied back with a strip of leather and wore pure white swim trunks, exposing the tan and hair of his large belly and chest, adorned only with a lei. He looked perfectly at home on the beach.

  “There you all are,” He smiled as they reached him. “Miranda, Mr. Parker, I’m so glad you’re here. You’ve met…the family?”

  “Yes,” Miranda murmured, arms tucked around her waist.

  Sensing her discomfort, her father dropped the subject.

  At the edge of the crowd the man in a bright blue robe raised his hands. “We are gathered here this morning to celebrate the life of Keola Hakumele Steele. Family and friends, please feel free to join me in the traditional farewell to this beloved artist.”

  The people began to move toward the water.

  “Let’s get going.” Her father bent down, lifted a blue and white board, handed it to her. “I assume you know how to use this. You’re a pretty good swimmer.”

  “Guess so.” She took it from him and he gave the next one to Parker.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “You’re welcome. Oh, we’re having food at our house afterward for anyone who wants to stop by. Please come.”

  “We’ll see,” Miranda said, picking up her board.

  With a sad look, he swiped a hand across his brow as if forcing himself not to pressure her. Then he waved his big arms. “Let’s all stay together, now. You too, Miranda. You and your husband are part of us.”

  She nodded, kicked off her flip-flops and waded out into the ocean.

  When they were waist-deep in the water, she lay down on the board and paddled, following the others.

  She glanced over at Parker. His face was stern and set with determination, his muscled beauty glistened in the sunlight as he swam. How he could go out in the water again after yesterday, she’d never know. But Parker always surprised her.

  On the other side of her, Mikaele paddled with vigor, intent on the meaning of the ceremony they were about to participate in. Beside him, Olina and Daniel made their way over the waves on their boards while her father rowed the kayak and Leilani sat behind him, holding Makaio in her arms.

  They went out about a hundred feet or so and the crowd formed into a huge circle, the priest in the center. Everyone righted themselves, some sitting on their surfboards, and held hands.

  Miranda felt Parker’s strong grip on one side, Mikaele’s mild one on the other.

  Once again, the priest raised his arms, chanted in Hawaiian, then spoke in English. “Keola Hakumele was the beloved son of Edward and Leilani Steele. Many of us know Edward as Pumehana. I know he loved his son very much.” He turned to her father. “Edward, does your family have any words for us?”

  Her father turned to Leilani. She took one of the white peace lilies she’d brought and held it over the water. “I named him Keola, ‘the life’ because he was my first-born son. I named him Hakumele, which means ‘to weave a song.’ He lived up to that name. He was a poet of the fire dance.” She tossed the lily onto the water.

  “Yes, Keola was a poet,” Edward said, taking a second lily from his wife. “A moody temperamental, artistic type. I didn’t always understand him, but I loved him with all my heart. And I will miss him.” He tossed the flower on top of the first one.

  Olina took the next lily. “I was so proud of my brother. Yes, he was an artist, but he cared about others, especially his family. We all loved Keola very much. And all his friends loved him, as well.” She tossed in her lily and handed the last one to Mikaele.

  The poor boy was sobbing and Miranda couldn’t help but reach out to touch his shoulder. “Just speak from your heart,” she whispered.

  He nodded, his hair over his eyes. “My brother died trying to save me from a very bad man. I love him for that and will miss him…so much.” He tossed his flower into the water and put his hands over his eyes.

  The priest began to softly chant. He drew a white urn from under his robe, raised it up and poured its content into the ocean.

  Keola’s ashes. Her brother.

  And then everyone took off their leis and tossed them into the circle, close to the ashes. Miranda did the same, her heart breaking.

  People began splashing and the performers from the luau started to sing the most beautiful song she’d ever heard.

  Her throat went tight and tears welled up in her eyes.

  “I ke ala i ho'i 'ole mai.” She didn’t understand the words, but as her tears rolled down her cheeks and dropped into the ocean, she knew they must be something about the body returning to the earth from whence it came and the spirit rising upward to Heaven.

  And deep in her heart, she felt assured that whatever God there was, He would take care of her brother and perhaps from time to time let him look down upon her and smile.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Miranda couldn’t get out of going to the house. So after they’d showered and changed into jeans and T’s, they followed the procession to a two-story bungalow on a peaceful residential street of Lahaina.

  In the backyard Miranda’s father manned the grill while Leilani made sure her plate was full of roasted pork, guava barbeque chicken and grilled vegetables and her glass was filled some sort of mango drink. She and Parker were introduced to all of Keola’s friends and everyone who’d ever been in Coconut Rum.

  For an hour or two everyone gorged on the delicious food and told stories about Keola. The awards he’d won, his girlfriends in high school, how he’d begun fire dancing at the age of ten and knew he had found his passion.

  Miranda learned that Olina’s husband was an intern at the medical center in Wailuku when he insisted on checking Parker’s eye and made sure his ankle was elevated. He said he only wished he could have treated him yesterday.

  Her father, in full, gregarious Pumehana mode, told the tale of how Parker hunted down and battled Ha’aheo and nearly beat him. And how his ace detective daughter had braved the inky waters of the sea cave to rescue her ace detective husband. He made it sound like an ancient island legend.

  Embarrassed, Miranda slipped into the kitchen where Leilani and Olina were doing d
ishes.

  “Need any help?” Miranda offered.

  The women turned to her with welcoming smiles.

  “No, you’re a guest,” Leilani said. “Please, just sit down over there.” Her hands in soapy water, she nodded to a small kitchen table in the corner.

  “Thanks.” Miranda saw homey wooden booths had been built into either side and slid into one of them.

  “Did you get enough to eat?”

  She rubbed her midsection. She was as stuffed as the roasted pig. “More than enough.” There was a long moment of silence while the women worked. “It was a beautiful ceremony today,” Miranda said at last.

  Leilani turned on the water to rinse a dish, then stuck a pot in her dishwasher. “Yes, it was. Keola would have been pleased.”

  “He would have loved the singing.” Olina said.

  They chatted awhile about the various people they’d seen today while Miranda listened.

  Olina put the plate she was drying into a cabinet, then came to sit down in the booth across from her. “May I ask you something?” There was caution in her tone.

  Miranda’s stomach tensed. “Sure.”

  “How did you know Keola had been killed? The police thought it was suicide.”

  She didn’t know how to answer that. She thought of the dream she’d had of someone calling to her for help. “I saw his last performance.”

  Her pretty eyes went wide. “Really?”

  “I didn’t know who he was but there was a point in the show where he stopped and looked at me.”

  “He did?”

  “It was if he knew who I was and I felt some kind of…connection. And after I found him, I just knew it wasn’t suicide or an accident. I know that sounds silly.”

  “No, it doesn’t. Keola was intuitive like that. Sometimes he could sense things before they happened.”

  She wondered if they had the same gene. “Maybe he did this time.”

  “I will miss my brother so much. We were close.”

  “I wish I could’ve known him.”

  Olina looked up at her with those wide inquiring eyes. “I should have said ‘our brother.’ Oh, Miranda, you must hate me. You must hate all of us. All this time we’ve had your father and you’ve had nothing.”

  That was the last thing Miranda expected her to say. What did she feel? She barely knew. “I don’t hate you. I just…it’s a lot to process.”

  “Yes, it must be.”

  A low moan of grief came from the other side of the room and Miranda looked up to see Leilani leaning over the sink, weeping.

  Olina shot up and went to her, put her arms around her mother and wept with her.

  Quietly, Miranda got to her feet and slip out to leave the grieving women to their sorrow.

  ###

  In the living room she found her father saying good-bye to the last of the guests. He closed the front door and reached for a trash bag to clean up the empty cups and plates some of the kids had left.

  There was no one else here now.

  “Where’s Parker?” she asked.

  Dressed in flip-flops, cutoff jeans and a red Aloha shirt that gave his tanned skin a ruddy glow, he deftly shoveled paper plates and cups from the coffee table. “Out back with Mikaele. I think he’s giving him a pep talk.”

  “He’s good with kids.” Miranda reached for a gooey plate on an end table and stuffed it in the bag he held open for her.

  “Thanks.” His brow furrowed. “By the way, why do you call him by his last name?”

  Another question she didn’t know how to answer. She shrugged. “Guess I just got used to it.”

  “Sorry. It’s none of my business.” Shaking his head at himself, he tied up the bag, put it near the door, then moved behind a small bar in the corner. He washed his hands and reached for a glass from an open cabinet on the wall. “Would you like a real drink? I’m a little tired of mango and ginger ale.”

  “Was that what that was? Yeah, I guess so.” She could use one after today.

  He set two tumblers on the counter and picked up a bottle. “Jack Daniel’s good?”

  “Sure.” She slid onto a stool.

  He poured two fingers and placed the glass in front of her.

  Miranda took a swallow. It had a stinging punch but was just what she needed. She set the glass down. “Your wife is a wonderful lady.”

  “The love of my life,” he said with a tender smile, pouring a drink for himself.

  “She’s very nice. And so is Olina. And Mikaele seems…content.”

  “First time I haven’t seen a surly scowl on his face in I don’t know how long. He told me last night he wants to work on his surfing. Maybe compete professionally or teach when he’s old enough. And he’s determined to get back into school. Says his brother would have wanted him to.”

  “That’s great.” She looked at him a moment, took in that big frame, that familiar face, then dropped her gaze.

  They were silent for a long while. Miranda was thinking it was time to find Parker and get going when her father cleared his throat.

  “There’s something I need to say to you, Miranda.”

  Her shoulders tensed. So much for the Jack Daniels. “What?”

  He wrinkled his bulbous nose and took a swallow from his glass. “I want to explain why I left your mother.”

  The liquor suddenly felt like it had scorched her stomach lining. “Dad, you don’t have to—“

  He shot up a big hand. “Please. I need to say this.” He took a deep breath, followed it with another swig of booze. “Your mother and I—I married her because I thought she’d be good for me. But—hell, she was always so serious. Don’t think the woman cracked a smile the whole time we were together.”

  Miranda couldn’t remember her ever cracking a smile, either.

  He grabbed a rag and began wiping the top of the bar, even though it didn’t need cleaning. “Whatever I did was wrong. Do this, don’t do that. I’d just gotten out of the Army. I was young and headstrong. Didn’t want to put up with that kind of crap. Didn’t want to fight over everything. I got fed up. Life’s too short to be so grim all the time.” He took another drink, put his glass down on the table with a slap. “In short, Miranda, your mother was a bitch.”

  She gave him a bitter smirk. “Call the news station.”

  “Yeah. So I left. That’s the long and the short of it.”

  She watched him wipe the rag across the bar until she thought he’d rub a hole in it. Then dared to ask the question that had burned inside her for three decades. “Why did you leave me with her, Dad? Why didn’t you take me with you?”

  He stopped wiping and raised his head to stare at her. His deep blue eyes glowed as if he’d never thought of that before. “Take you with me?” He shook his head. “I—you were five years old. I went on the road. I didn’t even know where I was going. I couldn’t take care of a child.”

  “Where did you go?” she asked softly, hoping her voice wouldn’t break.

  “I worked my way to California. I cooked in any restaurant that would take me, then switched to bartending because the money was better.”

  She had a sudden flash of her father’s big arms reaching out for her when he’d come home late at night from work, smelling of smoke and char-grilled steak.

  “Finally, I made it to LA. After a year or so, a fellow looked me up and served me with divorce papers. Your mother had hired a detective to find me.”

  Miranda reached for her drink and took another gulp. “She never told me that. She never allowed me to mention you.”

  He nodded, his face lined with sorrow. He wiped the counter some more. “I decided what I’d always wanted was to see Hawaii, so I worked and saved and finally had enough for a one-way ticket. I came here, settled in West Maui because I heard it was a hotbed for wealthy tourists. They’re good tippers. Easy to get a bartending job. And that’s when I met Leilani. Fell in love at first sight. I worked some more, saved some more, finally bought my own place and asked her to
marry me. So that’s my story, such as it is.” He looked up at her with an apologetic grin.

  She didn’t smile back. “You left me with her,” she said in a hoarse croak.

  “Aw, honey.” Tears started to fill his eyes. “I screwed up. I was wrong. I know I hurt you.”

  “You never wrote. I thought you were dead.”

  Tears fell down his cheeks and onto the bar. “I know. I was a lousy father. That’s really what I wanted to tell you. I’m sorry, Miranda. Can you ever…forgive me?” His watery blue eyes tore at her heart.

  She opened her mouth but couldn’t find her voice. She felt as if a noose were tied around her throat. Forgive him? After all the pain he’d caused her? The sense of loss and abandonment?

  Three days ago, she would have kicked him in the balls and walked out. But now?

  “I—I don’t know, Dad.”

  “Well, I didn’t think it was possible. But I had to ask.”

  The deep sorrow in his voice twisted her insides. If he hadn’t gotten her released at the police station, if he hadn’t helped her get to Parker yesterday, she’d be a widow right now. And he’d just lost his son. Her brother. How could she add more pain to what he’d already been through?

  Once more she remembered those big arms holding her when he came through the door. They’d always felt so good.

  She took a deep breath and somehow got the words out. “I don’t know if I can forgive you, Dad. But—I’ll try.”

  He looked up, sheer joy on his ruddy face. “Sweetheart.” And then those big arms were real and here now. They slid around her in a bear hug.

  She hugged him back, overcome with emotion and wept against his shoulder while he wept against hers.

  At last, he pulled back and swiped at his cheek. “That felt good after everything that’s gone on lately.”

  “Yeah, it did. You have a tissue?”

  He found a box under the bar and set it down before her. She grabbed a sheet and blew her nose.

  Watching her, his face grew somber. “Isn’t it funny how life sometimes hands you joy and sorrow at the same time?” He had a faraway look in his eye.

  “Yeah.” She had a feeling he was talking about something else.