Ohana

by Dustin Stevens

  "Hey you," Mahana said from behind her mirrored sunglasses, a coffee cup in hand, her still-damp hair in a bun behind her head. She wore a denim skirt and a black spaghetti string tank top, the strings of a floral bikini tied behind her neck.

  "Hey you," Dyson said, running his gaze the length of her and blowing out a small puff of air.

  "What?"

  Dyson smiled at being caught, twisting his gaze to the city passing by outside. "Just aren't many views like that in Montana, that's for sure."

  "Better not be," Mahana said, accepting the compliment with a smile. "Is that where you're headed back to tomorrow?"

  "Tennessee," Dyson said. "Place called Murfreesboro, not far from Nashville."

  "So you're a country music boy. That explains the occasional twang I hear slip into your voice."

  "Yep. I try to hide it most of the time, but it still comes out every now and again. You should have heard it when I used to talk on the phone with pop."

  "Thick, huh?"

  "Jug of sweet tea and you'd think you were right home in Dixie," Dyson said softly, remembering the many conversations he and his father had about football, fishing, life.

  "Sweet tea?" Mahana asked. "You're one of those?"

  "I'm starting to think I should stick to telling you as little about myself as possible.”

  "Didn't mean it in a bad way, was just asking," Mahana said. "Because it just so happens the place we're going to right now has sweet tea."

  Dyson's face fell flat as he rotated at the neck to face her. "Don't tease me."

  Mahana did a double take at the look on his face and broke into a laugh, a bit of coffee spilling from her lips. "You jerk! You made me spill my drink."

  Dyson ignored the comment, his gaze locked on her. "Seriously, don't tease me."

  "Well," Mahana said, turning inland and cutting across the working neighborhoods of Honolulu, "I figured you would be pretty upset by what happened this morning, and what better way to get Christmas back on track than with food?"

  "You have my attention.”

  "Ever have a coco puff?"

  "You mean the children's cereal with the goofy looking bird on the box?"

  Mahana brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and shook her head softly. "Such a haole. No, a coco puff. Baked good."

  "Then no, I have not," Dyson said, watching as Mahana crossed over top of the H-1 and swung them into a residential neighborhood, pulling to a stop in front of a small bakery.

  "Lee-Lee-Ha Bakery," Dyson said, trying to phonetically sound out the name on the board.

  "Liliha," Mahana corrected. "Home to the best coco puffs in the world, and as it were, sweet tea."

  "Really? In the world?" Dyson asked, feigning dubious.

  "They sell eight to ten thousand of them a day," Mahana said, swinging open the front door and stepping inside. "That many people can't be wrong."

  Dyson followed her in a moment later, another wave of smells hitting him. Unlike Champion and Leonard's the smell wasn't of overwhelming baked and fried goodness, but a mixed bag of rich foods and coffees.

  A long counter stretched out to the right, running the length of the building and serving diner food to a handful of local patrons. Around the corner to the left was the bakery, an L-shaped collection of glass cases with a small cluster of people milling about.

  A handful of women worked behind the counter, calling out ticket numbers and rushing around to fill orders. Dyson's eyes bulged at the choices available, the offerings ranging from custard pies to cheddar-spinach rolls to their flagship coco puffs.

  "I'm hoping you're going to save me from myself and handle the honors again?" Dyson asked, leaning in close behind Mahana's ear.

  "Yes," Mahana said. "I can't let you get distracted and order a blueberry muffin or something. That would just be sacrilege."

  "That would never happen," Dyson countered. "I hate blueberries. And if I'm letting you introduce me to coco puffs, you have to take a stab at sweet tea as well. Only fair."

  Mahana started to protest, but was cut off by their number being called from a diminutive woman with rings of purple eye shadow around her eyes. Still shaking her head, Mahana stepped forward and ordered a half dozen coco puffs and two sweet teas to go, allowing Dyson to pay as they stepped outside and back into the car.

  Holding the Styrofoam container on his lap, Dyson began to open them, cut off by Mahana's hand weighing the lid closed.

  "Not yet," she said. "If we're going to do Oahu in a day, we're going to do it right."

  "Yes ma'am," Dyson said, raising his hands up on either side.

  Mahana shot him a quick sideways glance, to which he replied, "I'm sorry, but we kissed last night. Tennessee or not, I can't call you sistah anymore."

  Mahana laughed and shook her head from side to side, angling the Honda up the steep hillsides of the surrounding streets and rolling through the open gates to the Punchbowl Cemetery of the Pacific.

  Dyson watched in silence as the solemn scene stretched out before them, a large sprawl of manicured grass framed by rows of Chinese Banyan trees and row after row of symmetrical white headstones. On the far end was a plaza made from solid granite, a series of stairs culminating with a large statue of Lady Liberty and a complete diorama of the pacific theater of World War II.

  A few handfuls of people roamed the grounds as Mahana eased the Honda through, many of them placing bouquets or standing with their hands behind their backs. A small ball found the pit of Dyson's stomach as he watched, the images of himself standing like that in just a few days time already forming in his mind.

  "I know this seems like an odd place to come," Mahana said, following the asphalt driveway as it wound past the cemetery. "But believe me, it's worth it."

  "What is this place?"

  "Punchbowl," Mahana replied. "Think of it as an Arlington Cemetery for the Pacific. Over there you have the tombs of the unknowns, flanking the stairs on either side is the wall of memoriam holding the names of every islander to have died in the respective wars."

  "Wow," Dyson whispered as the car continued on the roadway, leaving the cemetery behind and coming to a stop at a trailhead. In front of them was a large concrete lookout, the view placing them at the midpoint of Honolulu, sprawling one hundred and eighty degree in both directions.

  Grabbing the box from Dyson's lap, Mahana motioned with her head. "Come on."

  A sweet tea in each hand, Dyson climbed from the car, walking forward and taking a seat beside Mahana on a bench overlooking the city. Just a few feet in front of them the ground fell away sharply, losing several hundred feet as it returned to sea level. On either side were palm trees loaded with coconuts, framing a sweeping panoramic of the city and miles of blue ocean beyond.

  "Not bad, huh?" Mahana asked.

  "Better than not bad," Dyson said, starting on one side and rotating his head through the entirety of the sweeping view. "Not where I thought you were going with this, but impressive nonetheless."

  Mahana popped open the top of the Styrofoam container and removed a coco puff for herself, holding the box out for Dyson to do the same. "I know Punchbowl can be a little jarring at first, but it's really quite beautiful. I still can't go within a mile of where my father is buried, but I come here all the time."

  Dyson considered her words for a moment before biting into the coco puff in front of him, the cool chocolate custard filling exploding in his mouth, off-set by a warm macadamia nut confection on top. The first one went down in three bites, the next one in four.

  "Good stuff?" Mahana asked, moving a little slower as she dabbed at the dollop of macadamia nut spread with her finger, licking it away in small swipes.

  "Only one thing that could make them any better," Dyson said, inserting a straw into his sweet tea and taking a long drink. A moment later he pulled it back and held it at arm's length, reading the label.

  "It's a little weak, but I've had worse."

  Beside him Mahana took a sip of her sweet tea, comin
g up coughing a moment later. "Weak?! You mean it gets even sweeter than that?"

  With a soft chuckle, Dyson went for his last coco puff. "You kidding me? The stuff back home is strong enough to pass for hooch. They wouldn't even let this inside the state line."

  "Well, you can have the rest of mine," Mahana said, sliding it over to him. "We've got a big day ahead. I don't need a heart attack slowing me down."

  Chapter Forty-One

  "Alright, where to next boss lady?"

  Mahana smiled at the term, sliding her sunglasses up onto her head as the Honda climbed up the Pali Highway, Honolulu falling away behind them. Dark thunderclouds formed as they pushed forward, fat raindrops beginning to spatter the windshield.

  "Though maybe I need to retract my previous statement," Dyson said, leaning forward to glance upward at the sky. "I'm guessing that would put a damper on things in a hurry."

  "Oh yeah? The thought of being stuck inside with me for the day would just be unbearable?"

  "Yes, that is what I was saying," Dyson said, rolling his head to the side so she could see his exasperated expression.

  "Relax city boy, you aren't going to get wet. Well, too wet. It's always a little rainy up here. The clouds roll across the ocean and settle above the mountains, pretty much hanging out until the next batch comes in to push them out."

  "City boy?" Dyson said. "First time a guy that spends most of his time in Montana's ever been called a city boy."

  "Everything I just said, and that's the part you seize on?"

  "Just saying," Dyson said as Mahana angled the car up a short off-ramp to the Pali lookout, throwing the car in park and hopping out, motioning for Dyson to follow her.

  Tossing aside his seatbelt Dyson jogged behind, dodging a cadre of brightly colored feral chickens and heading towards a stone overlook. Stepping forward, an icy wind struck him full in the face, blowing his hair back and spraying him with heavy mist.

  Below stretched a rich green valley, extending north for miles. Mountains sat on either side of it, the opposing shorelines framing them beyond.

  "Alright," Mahana narrated, starting with her hand extended to the left. "Out here we have the leeward coast, which I believe you're already familiar with. Kapolei, Makaha, all the way out to Kaena Point. Running along them are the Waianae Mountains."

  "Got it."

  "In between here is one of the most fertile valleys you'll ever find, makes up the entire middle portion of the island. It's where all the sugar cane used to be grown, where Dole now has their pineapple plantations."

  "Check."

  "And out here is the windward coast. Kailua and Kanaohe to the far right, running north clear up to Kahuku, framed by the Koolau Mountains."

  "Very impressive," Dyson said. "So where are we heading?"

  "We," Mahana said, brushing the hair back from her face, "are going to drop down the opposite side of the Pali and go up the windward coast, across the North Shore, and down the H-2 through the middle of the island. Hit everything you haven't seen in one afternoon."

  "But if we do that, there won't be anything for me to see when I come back?" Dyson said, feigning innocence.

  "Are you kidding me?" Mahana said, turning to make a face at him. "Hawaii is an archipelago. There are five other islands to visit."

  "Ah, I see," Dyson said.

  "But first, we need to get out of this wind and see the rest of Oahu," Mahana said, taking off at a jog back towards the parking lot.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Dyson stared out the window as the Honda moved north along the windward coast, only a thin band of sand separating the two-lane road masquerading as a highway from the translucent waters of the Pacific. The midday sun poured down over the scene as they drove, palm trees swaying in the breeze, waves rolling in one after another in perfect three foot swells.

  Behind them lay the Byodo-In Temple, with its Buddhist shrine and perfectly groomed gravel garden.

  "See that silhouette up there?" Mahana asked, tapping her left index finger against the driver's side window. "Locals call that Crouching Lion, because, well, it looks like a crouching lion."

  Leaning across, Dyson picked out the silhouette and nodded, before going back to the crystal clear waters outside his window.

  "Hey, where you at?" Mahana asked, reaching over and poking at his leg with her hand.

  "I'm right here," Dyson said, grasping her hand and giving it a tight squeeze.

  "Kind of. Come on, what's up?"

  "Just a lot to process at the moment, you know?"

  "I do," Mahana said. She fell silent for a moment, before adding, "Process out loud, I'll try to help."

  With a half-smile Dyson rotated in his seat so his body was facing towards her, his eyes stretched out on the road ahead. "I don't know. On one hand I'm so thankful to be here and be seeing all this, but on the other I'm a little sad that this is what it took to get me here."

  "Maybe, but you can't really look at it like that," Mahana said. "I'm not going to give you that canned everything-happens-for-a-reason line, because everybody gave it to me and I hated it. I will say though, regardless of why you're here, you are here. That has to count for something."

  "Yeah, maybe," Dyson said, turning his head to watch a group of young boys body-surfing in the breakers off-shore. "My mother always wanted to come to Hawaii. Never got the chance. I think she would have liked it."

  "Yeah?" Mahana said, smiling. "What was she like?"

  Dyson began to speak, but stopped short, thinking. "You know, I don't know that I've ever tried to describe my mother, or my father, before. I mean, how often does one actually have to tell somebody about their parents?"

  "You'll be surprised how often it happens after their gone.”

  Along the left side of the road a small stand was set up advertising handmade carvings, an oversized dolphin on display as proof.

  "Alright," Dyson said, "you first. Show me the way."

  "Papa was a very traditional guy," Mahana began without preamble. "Native Hawaiian through-and-through. Loved living by the land and sea as much as possible. Always had a garden, always fished.

  "His family was from the Big Island, all fishermen, but he wanted something different. Joined the navy as a young man, traveled around a bit, met my mother in San Diego, brought her out here to Honolulu and settled down.

  "Owned a convenience store in Kahala for almost forty years. Finally retired and sold it when I was a senior in high school, only to find out two months later he had cancer. Didn't last long after that."

  Mahana fell silent as Dyson chewed on the information, nodding softly. "You've done that before."

  "More times than I care to remember."

  "Okay," Dyson said, exhaling. “My dad moved around a lot through his childhood, meeting my mother in grad school at Vanderbilt. He was studying to be an orthopedic surgeon and she was a scrub nurse in the OR. I guess it was quite a scandal around there for a while, but neither one of them cared. Six months after meeting, my father proposed and never left Tennessee again.

  "Growing up, they worked a lot, but they were always accessible. Mom took off to look after me while I was little, only returning to work once I started school. Neither one of them ever missed a single ballgame or weren't around when I needed them."

  Dyson fell silent for a moment, his eyes again drifting out over the surf. "You know, it's funny. As you get older, you go your own way, you almost convince yourself that you don't need them as much anymore. It's not until they're not there that you realize that couldn't be further from the truth."

  "Yeah.”

  "And to make it even worse, at some point they kind of switched over from being my parents and just started being my friends."

  Mahana sighed again. "Yeah.”

  Dyson shifted his gaze over to her and ran his hand along the back her head, her silky hair soft against his skin.

  "I'm sorry. I don't mean to make this hard for you. You asked where I was at. It's all still pretty raw. L
ot to process."

  Reaching up, Mahana took his hand and drew it around to the front of her face, kissing his palm. She folded her fingers between his and dropped them to her lap. "Don't apologize. It actually does me good to hear it."

  Again an easy silence fell between them as the road veered off the coast and moved inland for a few miles. A dense canopy of forest pressed in on all sides, almost blocking out the sun from above. The temperature around them dropped a few degrees as the car moved ahead, passing by a macadamia nut farm on one side and a series of roadside produce stands on the other.

  "One last question, and then we won't discuss it again," Dyson said, squeezing her hand.

  "Shoot," Mahana said, her voice raised another decibel or two.

  "It gets easier, right?"

  Mahana released his hand for a moment and lifted it to her face, pushing her sunglasses up on her forehead. She blew out a puff of air, dropping her hand back to his.

  "It does. There are still days when I feel sad, or the smallest thing will have me in tears, but it does get easier."

  "Hmm," Dyson said, nodding and returning to his window. Outside the ocean came back in to view as the trees parted overhead and sun streamed into the car.

  "Do you remember what I was telling you the other night about Hawaiians belief in ‘ohana?"

  "Yeah," Dyson said, turning back to her. "Family, even if not by blood."

  "Right," Mahana said. "It took me a long time to embrace that concept after Papa died, which I think made it a little harder. Only in the last six months or so, and even then just a bit at a time, have I started to allow that to form around me."

  "But it helps?"

  "Tremendously. Connie, a few friends from high school, my aunts on the Big Island. You. It's all been more help than I could have ever imagined."

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Dyson held Mahana's phone at arm's length, positioning himself so she was aligned perfectly before snapping the picture. Once he did, she bounced forward giggling, scrolling back to make sure it worked.