Ohana

by Dustin Stevens

  Dyson walked up behind the boys, finding himself in a pose resembling the boys as he gawked at the field in front of him. It was a reaction he had every time he first set eyes on a field, regardless the team or size of the stadium.

  "Did you play in a stadium like this Uncle Dyson?" Will asked, turning over his shoulder.

  "Our stadium wasn't this big, but we had a lot more people," Dyson said, mentally comparing Aloha Stadium to Bobcat Stadium in Bozeman.

  "More people than this?" Matt asked without looking back.

  "Oh, yeah," Dyson said. "Some games there were so many people they couldn't even sit down. They'd just stand the whole game."

  "That sucks," Nainoa deadpanned.

  Dyson coughed out a laugh. "Yeah, but it helps you keep warm. Besides, standing isn't a problem we're going to have today. Where do you guys want to sit?"

  "Down front!" the boy said together, each of them swinging beneath the rail and streaming down the aisle way towards the field.

  Sighing, Dyson lifted his hands from his side and offered a helpless shrug to the usher standing nearby.

  Laughing, the usher just shook his head and swung a hand towards the field, motioning for Dyson to follow the boys on down.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  The boys worked the front row like politicians on a campaign junket. They waved at the ESPN cameras that came by every so often, slapped high-fives with the golden eagle mascot for Southern Miss, leered at the cheerleaders each time they passed by, and cheered every time the PA announcer instructed them to do so.

  Dyson sat three rows above them the entire time, his arms stretched out onto the seatbacks to either side, his feet propped on the row in front of him. His attention was split between the game on the field and the boys below for much of the afternoon, the boys surpassing the game in terms of entertainment value midway through the third quarter.

  A steady trickle of characters came and went throughout, some coming down to get a better angle for pictures, others testing out the lower seats before deciding the sun was too hot and heading back up.

  At halftime Dyson paraded the boys all up to the concourse and bought them ice cream and soda, making them sit in the shade for a few minutes to eat and cool down. All four tore through the food as fast as they could, pulling Dyson back down to their seats long before the second half got under way.

  By the time the fourth quarter began, the sun had dipped behind the opposite side of the stadium, throwing long shadows across everything inside. The trade winds reasserted themselves at the same time, swinging up the coast from the south and enveloping the stadium.

  Thankful for the respite from the heat, Dyson remained in his seat watching the boys on the front row, oblivious to the lopsided affair on the field.

  As the game wore on and the afternoon started its tread towards evening, the thin crowd headed for the exits in droves. Steady lines formed up the stairwells, spilling out into the parking lots and leaving just a few thousand faithful inside.

  Not once was the topic of their leaving early ever broached, the boys remaining until the last player had trudged from the field.

  At half past five Dyson corralled them up the stairs and back into the car, the drive to town taking even less time than the trip out. What little crowd had showed up for the game was long departed by the time they set off, making for an easy trip along the coast.

  This time Dyson relented and changed the radio to something a little more modern, the boys singing along to the latest from Pitbull as they made their way back towards the beach. Outside the sun fought to keep itself above the horizon, its last few strands of light lying parallel to the ground.

  The beach was almost empty as they pulled up, Dyson sliding up behind Mahana's Accord as the boys spilled out and ran for the tent. Behind them Dyson slowly folded himself out of the car and stretched his arms overhead, the smell of grilled meat dancing on the wind.

  Stopping at the edge of the sand he kicked his sandals off and carried them in his hand, the beach warm beneath his feet. Inside the tent he could hear the boys all talking in unison, Ola trying her best to keep up.

  "There was a giant eagle?" Ola asked, shaking her head.

  "Yeah!" Nainoa exclaimed. "And I gave him a high-five!"

  "Me too!" Will yelled.

  Ola looked a question at Dyson, who laughed aloud and said, "The Southern Miss mascot is an eagle."

  The sound of his voice snapped Mahana and Rider's heads towards him, Ola's face breaking into a look of relieved comprehension.

  "How'd it go?" Ola asked, walking forward and giving Dyson another hug.

  "It was great," Dyson said, returning the gesture.

  She held it a second longer than usual, pulling him closer and whispering, "Thank you so much," in his ear.

  "Was my pleasure," he whispered back, pulling back and accepting Rider's outstretched hand above the grill. "Sir, Merry Christmas."

  "Merry Christmas," Rider said, releasing the handshake to turn a handful of lobster tails on the grill. He pulled the cigar he had clamped between his teeth and held it in his left hand, the earthy smell of high-end tobacco hanging around him in a cloud. "Hope you're hungry."

  "Lobster tails and Cohibas, this man knows how to celebrate a holiday," Dyson said, nodding in approval at the loaded grill.

  "Anything worth doing," Rider said, placing the cigar back between his lips.

  Already the boys had stripped out of their t-shirts and shoes, running about in the sand. Koi and Matt both went straight for the water, diving in headfirst, while Nainoa and Will took to reenacting plays from the game.

  "We listened to some of the game on the radio," Ola said, buzzing around as she sat out food. "I couldn't follow what was going on very well, but Paul tells me it was boring?"

  "It wasn’t that competitive, but we still had a great time," Dyson said, pulling a bottle of water from the cooler. "Besides, watching these four was entertainment enough for me."

  Dyson walked around the food line and fell into the chair beside Mahana, tapping her on the arm with the back of his hand. "Hey there."

  "Hey there," Mahana replied. "Sounds like I missed a good time."

  "You did indeed," Dyson said, noting a small undertone of worry on Mahana's face. He looked a question at her to ask what was wrong, but she drew her lips tight and shook her head from side to side.

  "Is it always so easy to go to games here?" he directed at the greater group, keeping his eyes on Mahana.

  "What do you mean?" Rider asked, pulling the lobster tails from the grill and setting them on an oversized platter alongside a row of hamburgers for the boys.

  "No traffic at all, we parked on the third row, they were basically giving tickets away," Dyson replied.

  "Didn't used to be that way," Rider replied. "Even just five or six years ago when June Jones and Colt Brennan were here they'd fill every seat in the house. These days, with the team in a bit of a down cycle and what not, interest just isn't there from the community."

  "Not enough to get them out on Christmas Eve anyway, huh?" Dyson asked.

  "Definitely not," Rider agreed. "Ola, are we ready?"

  "We’re ready," Ola confirmed, standing up behind the table and giving everything a final once over. "Boys! Come get your dinner!"

  As one the boys descended on the tent, materializing out of the gathering darkness. Within minutes all eight people were digging in to one of the more interesting Christmas dinners Dyson had ever experienced.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The sun was well below the horizon by the time Dyson slammed the tailgate shut on Rider's truck. Stowed neatly in the bed were his tent, table, and grill, along with the old red cooler and collection of cloth chairs.

  On the other side of the narrow street running along the beach Mahana helped Ola load the last of her grocery sacks into her trunk. The boys were already piled inside, Nainoa winning the front seat and the others stretched three across in the back.

  For the firs
t time all day, it appeared they were beginning to wear down.

  Dyson shook Rider's hand and wished him a Merry Christmas, then crossed over the street. Ola gave him another extra long hug and thanked him again for taking the boys that afternoon, Dyson reaffirming that it was his pleasure and wishing the entire car a Mele Kalikimaka.

  Together he and Mahana stood on the sidewalk and waved them goodbye, watching the respective taillights disappear in opposite directions.

  "Is everything okay?" Dyson asked, his hand still outstretched above his head.

  Mahana lowered her hand and wrapped her arms across her torso, concern plastered across her face. "Can we walk for awhile?"

  "Sure," Dyson said, following her across the street and back onto the beach, each of them kicking their sandals off and walking barefoot. Despite the sun having disappeared less than an hour before, the sand had already cooled considerably. Overhead a healthy splash of stars dotted the sky and a full moon threw white light across the water.

  The two walked in silence for several long minutes, the time chewing at Dyson as he tried to determine what was wrong. A massive urge inside him wanted to just ask her, but through sheer willpower he bit back the temptation.

  When Mahana finally spoke, her voice was low and even, just a degree or two away from cool. "Dyson, why are you here?"

  Of everything Mahana could have said, very little could have surprised him more. "I told you, I'm not sure."

  "I know that's what you've told me," Mahana said. "And believe me, I'm trying hard to give you the benefit of the doubt and believe you."

  Dyson cast a confused look over at her, watching as her face remained pointed down at the sand. "What's this about?"

  "Please," Mahana whispered. "Please just be honest with me."

  Dyson's feet stopped moving beneath him, allowing Mahana to pull ahead a few feet.

  "I am, or I will," Dyson said. "But right now, I honestly don't know what we're talking about."

  Mahana stopped moving and half turned towards him, keeping her arms folded across her and staring out over the water. Slowly she took a deep breath, closing her eyes tight. "Connie told me."

  "Oh," Dyson said, remembering back to the conversation they'd had just that afternoon. "She asked me not to say anything. I wanted to, but I promised her I wouldn't."

  Mahana sniffed, nodding her head. Bits of moisture began to glisten around the bottoms of her eyes as she stood rigid in the sand. "You wanted to tell me, but promised her you wouldn't."

  "Well yeah," Dyson said. "She said it was in confidence and I figured if you wanted me to know, you'd tell me eventually."

  Mahana continued shaking her head for several seconds, finally opening her eyes and turning towards him. "I'd tell you eventually? What the hell are you talking about?"

  "Wait, what are you talking about?" Dyson asked, making no attempt to hide the confusion on his face. He hated seeing Mahana cry, but remained rooted in place trying to decipher what was going on.

  "I'm talking about you running away!" Mahana spat, tears now audible in her voice.

  The response stopped Dyson cold, his heart beginning to pound in his chest.

  "Oh. That's not what I thought we were talking about," Dyson whispered. "And even if it were, I would have thought you of all people would understand."

  "Why?" Mahana yelled, turning to face him, her hands clenched by her side. "Because I'm just some island girl? Because people roll through here every week, have some fun with the hotel staff, then go back to whoever they have waiting for them at home?"

  "What the hell are you talking about?" Dyson asked again, making a face and taking a step forward, holding a hand out towards her.

  With a huff Mahana jerked her arm back before he could touch her, her body trembling with fury. "I'm talking about Janice Bigam calling the hotel today looking for Hardy Nicks Jr. Saying she's been desperate to find him and had to run a credit card check to track him here. Telling Connie it was imperative you call her back, that you're needed at home."

  The news hit Dyson square in the face, taking his breath away. Any confusion or irritation he felt just a few minutes before melted away as his jaw dropped open and he stood taking in gulps of air.

  Mahana watched him for several long seconds, nodding her head as tears continued falling down her face. "You couldn't even tell me your real name," she whispered, spinning around and walking quickly away from him.

  Dyson stood rooted in place for several long seconds, his eyes unfocused in front of him. When he lifted them again, Mahana was almost twenty yards ahead and widening the gap fast.

  "It's not what you think."

  Without stopping Mahana pressed her chin to her shoulder and called, "That's what they all say."

  Dyson raised his eyes to the sky and took a deep breath, summoning the words that he'd never actually spoken aloud. "My parents are dead."

  They carried over the breeze, reaching Mahana and dragging her to a stop. Without turning around she stood in place, waiting for him to continue.

  "They died in a car accident three weeks ago," Dyson said. As the words left his lips he felt hot tears take shape and he turned to face the ocean. Without grace he dropped to the sand, resting his forearms on his knees and staring at the water lapping just a few feet away.

  Off to the side, he could sense Mahana slowly walking back towards him, her feet silent across the sand.

  "You keep asking what I'm doing here," Dyson whispered. "Well, you answered your own question. I am here running away. I couldn't bear the thought of facing Christmas alone in that big empty house so when I got to the airport, instead of flying home I bought a ticket to the furthest place I could go without a passport."

  He waved a hand out in front of him.

  Mahana edged a little closer beside him, lowering herself to her knees in the sand. Dyson could just see her on the edge of his periphery, her face still wet as she watched him from a few feet away.

  "Janice Bigam is our family's attorney. Has been for years. I assume she needs to speak with me about the estate, but I don't know for sure because I've been avoiding her calls."

  Mahana edged a little closer, but remained silent.

  "And as far as the name goes, my full name is Hardyson Nicks, Jr., after my father. He went by Hardy. I've always been Dyson."

  Dyson fell silent for a moment, dropping his head towards the sand between his knees. "It's been three weeks, and this is the first I've spoken of it to anybody. I don't know that I'm ready to do so, but it was important to me that you knew the truth. That you didn't believe I would do that to you."

  Mahana's hand slid across his back, her head resting atop his shoulder as she pulled herself close beside him. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm sorry I thought you would do that. I'm sorry if I forced you to talk about this before you were ready. And I'm very, very sorry about your parents."

  Again Dyson felt moisture rimming the bottoms of his eyes. "I'm sorry about your dad, too."

  Mahana pulled him even tighter as the two sat in the sand for a long time, neither one saying a word.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  The moon shined bright overhead as they retook their feet and started walking again. The incoming tide pushed the water higher, passing to within inches of their feet as they trudged across the wet sand.

  Each of them continued to carry their sandals in either hand, their faces just a second or two from tears at any moment.

  "Connie told you huh?" Mahana asked, her gaze glued to the sand in front of her.

  "Yeah," Dyson said softly. "She asked what all we'd been doing, and I told her how great you've been to take me under your wing, show me around and everything. From there she kind of took it upon herself to fill me in."

  "Interesting segway.”

  "I thought so. Especially given I'd just told her we didn't talk about much personal stuff, we were both pretty respectful of privacy."

  "Yeah," Mahana agreed. "I guess I can kind of see why she did it though,
even if it was a stretch."

  "Kindred spirits?"

  Mahana twisted her head. "Yeah. You keep wondering why I've spent so much time with you. I guess she felt the need to help you figure it out."

  "Be honest though, until about ten minutes ago, did you have it figured out either?"

  "No," Mahana admitted, glancing over at Dyson. Ahead of them they could see the white sand of the beach coming to an end, giving way to the thick grass of Magic Island jutting out into the ocean. "Do you remember how I acted when we first met?"

  "Yeah, you hated me."

  "I didn't hate you," Mahana said. "I just assumed you were like most of the other people I encounter. Either you were trying to protect me, which is what everybody here has done since Papa passed away, or you were trying to get with me, which is what most of the guests who come through try to do."

  "Not a very good set of people you've surrounded yourself with.”

  "Exactly," Mahana said. "Over time, I've just learned to keep everyone at arm's length. It wasn't until I saw you punch Snowman in the lobby that I recognized some of my own angst in you."

  "My phone is filled with text messages from my mother, voicemails from my father," Dyson whispered. "The laptop has most of the pictures I have of them on it. When he mentioned he'd gone through them..."

  "And then later I went up to tell you you could stay because I wanted to get a read on you."

  "And?" Dyson asked, his head still down as he kicked at the soft sand beneath him.

  "You were happy to stay, but I picked up right away that you could really care less.”

  "Sorry," Dyson said. "It wasn't personal."

  "I didn't take it personally," Mahana said. "It was then, standing there watching you with your bags packed, that I picked up on that same despair I felt. That I still feel."

  Dyson went silent for a moment, replaying the night over in his head. "You're good. After everything that had happened since I'd been here, the only thing I was concerned with was where I could go next. Where I could go and not be reminded of them, or the fact that I was spending my first Christmas alone."