by MJ Brannigan
CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1 - Kamea
Chapter 2 - Rebecca
Chapter 3 - Kamea
Chapter 4 - Rebecca
Chapter 5 - Kamea
Chapter 6 - Rebecca
Chapter 7 - Kamea
Chapter 8 - Rebecca
Chapter 9 - Kamea
Chapter 10 - Rebecca
Chapter 11 - Kamea
Chapter 12 - Rebecca
Chapter 13 - Kamea
Chapter 14 - Rebecca
Chapter 15 - Kamea
Chapter 16 - Rebecca
Chapter 17 - Kamea
Chapter 18 - Rebecca
Chapter 19 - Kamea
Chapter 20 - Rebecca
Chapter 21 - Kamea
Chapter 22 - Rebecca
Chapter 23 - Kamea
Chapter 24 - Rebecca
Chapter 25 - Kamea
Chapter 26 - Rebecca
Chapter 27 - Kamea
Epilogue - Rebecca
What Happens Next?
Acknowledgements
About the Author
About the Artist
To Hold A Rainbow
A Maui Love Story
MJ Brannigan
“Would but I could,
I’d free my mind of her…
Would but for my heart.”
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Although… the rainbow incident is from the author’s personal experience.
Copyright © 2016 MJ Brannigan
All rights reserved. Paperback version printed in the United States of America. No part of either this digital book or printed version may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
ISBN-13: 978-1537044705
ISBN-10: 1537044702
Author Website: mjbrannigan.com
Book layout and Cover design by Rebecca McCall
Artwork and Illustrations by Kamea Connolly
Cover photography: Shutterstock.com
Publishing Agent: Plumeria Publishing.
August 2016
For Lovers of any Gender
Because Love is Love
PROLOGUE
The first wave hit her full force, body-slamming her face-first into the rocks. She rubbed her forehead with her free hand—as if that could ease the jarring pain—and the second wave wrenched the camera from her other hand. She lurched with an awkward grasp towards it, only to watch as it disappeared into the swirling foam at her feet. The collision of the third wave threatened her balance again, and her jumbled emotions—anguish at the loss of her favorite camera, fear for her life, and embarrassment at even being in this predicament—began to overwhelm her. She should have known better than to put herself in this position. She did know better.
The phrase ‘Never turn your back on the ocean’ came to mind. But remembering it now was too late to be of any help. A fifteen-hundred-dollar Nikon was gone for good, and she didn’t want to become the second casualty of the day from her utter foolishness.
The pain from her hip and right knee made her wince as she tried to move. Her scraped elbow ached, and a dull pain throbbed across her forehead.
“Jesus,” she muttered through quivering lips.
Out of view from the road and the parking area up above, she had circled the big rocks along the path to get a better shot of the crashing waves coming in on the north shore. The winter swells built higher as the morning progressed, and her excitement to capture them through the camera lens had soon turned to fear for her life when the rising tide and roiling surf swallowed the path she had taken. And now what? She was cut off from the only route to safety. She didn’t want to die this way. Not yet. Not like this.
Her legs shook and trembled beneath her as the realization sunk in: She was stuck. God, she was stuck. She wasn’t sure if she would be able to hang on much longer before a bigger swell came in and ripped her away. She had already been dashed against the rock face more than once, and she certainly didn’t want to be knocked unconscious, swept out to sea, end her life as food for fish. Over the sound of crashing waves, she thought she heard someone shouting to her. She scanned the rocks above, and looked to her right and left, but could see no one. Was she hearing things?
Too afraid to turn around and face more waves threatening to take her out to sea, she went back to looking for a handhold in the jagged rocks. Blinking to see better, she tried to wipe the water from her eyes, instead noticing the red rivulets trickling across the back of her hand, and down her wrist before dripping off her elbow. A mix of saltwater, mascara, and blood was slowly staining her blouse. The sight of it escalated her fears to the verge of panic. She grappled with the slippery rock, desperate to find a handhold to pull herself up. Looking to her left and right, she hoped to find a way to move back along the ledge that brought her here, but it was disappearing fast in the surf that swirled around her ankles and soon would be submerged entirely by the rising tide and the whipped-up waves rolling in from far out at sea.
Again, she thought she heard a voice shouting to her. Where is it coming from?
She pressed herself against the rock face, fingers digging in tight to any crease she could find. If she glued herself to the rocks, at least she couldn’t be thrown against them again. But once more, there was that voice–this time she was sure it was coming from behind her, but she was too afraid to look back and see the waves that might soon take her away.
The next wave hit below her knees, barely pressing the weight of her body against the rocks. Smart girl, she thought as the sea foam rose between her legs. Maybe the next set will be small enough that I can get out of here?
She managed to work up the nerve to turn around, her fingers still clinging tightly to a crease in the rock face. Maybe the voice is coming from somewhere out on the water?
The fingers of her free hand wiped the blood and water from her eyes, and her blurred vision cleared just enough. That’s when she saw her—
CHAPTER 1 - KAMEA
Kamea’s last shot missed, falling short of the Ono by mere inches. She had misjudged the distance—this Ono was much bigger than she thought. The frustration made her body tense at first, but she chose instead to focus on her next move and conserve her energy. Ono could be such difficult targets. Stealthy and fast hunters in their own right, they could go from zero to fifty in just seconds. But she was tenacious once her mind was set to the task, and she headed back to the surface to fill her lungs and try once again.
Rays of sunlight streamed from the bright point of light above her, shimmering through the ever-changing liquid jewel of the topside waves. Beautiful. So beautiful, she thought. The kayak above was still 30 feet or more away. She kicked her long fins, taking her time as she rose to the surface to conserve the oxygen stored from her last breath, which according to her dive watch, was just under three minutes ago.
Kamea put her free hand on the kayak as she popped to the surface, lifting her speargun into the well with the other. A gasp of welcome air, and an audible “Grr!” followed, as she expressed her frustration at yet another miss. She had one Mahi-mahi secured in the boat, but once she had seen the Ono darting in and out of the bait ball, Kamea didn’t want to return home without one. That was her tenth—or eleventh—try of the morning.
As she hung to the side of the kayak, she felt the gentle rise and fall of the swells increasing as midday approached. She would soon have to get off the water before bigger chop would make paddling home a difficult journey. November on Maui meant the winter storms far to the north in Alaska pushed the wind and waves south to the Hawaiian chain. This year, though, was warmer than usual even in the north, and the seas around the islands were calmer than she ever remembered for this time of year. Still, the southern sun inching higher in the sky would soon coax bigger waves to kick up. The breeze was also picking up, evidenced by the fluttering dive flag swinging above the kayak, and she only had a little while longer before the day’s hunting window would close.
Setting and securing her spear line once again, Kamea looked up to see the Iwa and ‘A—frigate birds and boobies—still circling overhead. They had been the ones to guide her to this spot above the underwater ledge; the fish they fed on were the same baitfish eaten by the Mahi-mahi and Ono she hunted. She would hang near the baitfish as the other big hunters would, blending in not so much from her camouflage wetsuit, but from her appearance as one of them—one of the big hunters, a predator of the sea.
Kamea took a few deep, conscious breaths and cleared her mind. With each breath, she gave thanks for the day’s hunt. One fish was in the hull. Another one—an Ono—would be a welcome addition to the family gathering at Auntie’s tomorrow. With her last thank you to the Mana, Kamea took in several short breaths to expand her lungs and flood her blood with the oxygen needed for what might be as much as four minutes under water. Jackknifing forward, legs and long fins swinging up above the surface, she let the initial momentum of body weight carry her down into the deep blue, and then with a kick of her fins, propelled herself slowly to the underwater ledge below.
After forty seconds she saw the loose-knit school of ‘Opelu hanging just above the ledge. The Ono would not be far off, and would hunt them along this ledge as before. Kamea moved closer, gliding silently and weightless, as rays of shimmering sunlight danced a curtain around her.
The ledge of black rock, hardened lava from many thousand years past, lay below her. Beyond the ledge and to her left, out to sea, the blue became deep, almost purple and seemingly endless. This ledge caused the waves along the north shore to become so immense further to the west; waves like Jaws, known to Hawaiians for centuries as Peʻahi. The swells coming from the north had nowhere to go but up as they hit the seamount below. Spectacular to watch from shore—dangerous as hell to surf in the winter months. But Kamea was a little further east of where the major swells crashed against the shoreline. She knew her home, her Maui, knew the coastline she had surfed, paddled and hunted for the better part of her young adult life; ever since she fled Oahu and came to live with her Auntie.
Suspended weightless in the blue, she could see them coming in—three, perhaps four Ono moving in her direction. They appeared as shadows at first, emerging from the blue veil of deep ocean, taking turns darting in and out of the midst of the ball of ‘Opelu to snag their meal. Kamea looked at her dive watch. Only fifty-seconds had passed—plenty of time to glide in closer, and let the Ono get closer too. And there, there—a big Ono had just skirted the edge of the ball of baitfish on the other side and turned towards her.
She hung suspended in stillness; waiting, watching. One-minute ten-seconds passed. Carefully, Kamea raised her long speargun, steadying it with both hands and sighting along its length, leading the Ono as it swam broadside in front of her. This time, she would be a better judge of distance. This time, she would raise the tip of the spear point just a little more. Her heart pounded in her ears.
One-minute twenty-seconds: With a squeeze of her hand, the spear shot out with a muffled squeak and found its mark, hitting the Ono right behind the gills. The weight and thrust of the fleeing Ono pulled against Kamea as it swam away in a flurry of bubbles and blood. The ‘Opelu scattered in all directions. She kept a firm grip on her line as the fish pulled, fighting, not wanting to give in. The quivering of sheer muscle and fins telegraphed through the taut line as she pulled it closer, and as the Ono tried to pull her further from her boat. But Kamea had rigged her line up above to the kayak, lest the fish pull her further down into the depths along with it.
Two-minutes ten: Still fighting the pull of the Ono, Kamea brought the immense fish closer as she slowly rose toward her kayak, slipping her hand under the gills and avoiding the rows of sharp teeth. She kicked her long fins with a burst of effort as she turned and headed for the surface; the life in her hand still struggling to pry its way free of her grip, and away from the spear that held it prisoner to the hunter. Once her head broke the surface, she took another breath to fill her lungs. As she had done so many times before, she reached for the knife strapped to her calf and in one fluid movement, inserted it through the top of the Ono’s head. The Ono ceased its struggling and went still. Kamea stroked the long, silvery fish and gave thanks to it in silent prayer for giving up its life to nourish her, to feed her Ohana—her extended family.
Kamea held the now-still Ono with genuine respect, even love. She said a prayer of thanks once again—to the Ono, to the ocean, and to the Mana, Spirit Power of all-that-is, for giving her this gift of food and nourishment. And with that, grunted as she lifted the huge Ono into the hull, sensing the sadness pass and the elation of success fill her once again.
“Yes! Mahalo! Thank you!” she shouted, smiling a big broad grin to the sky, as she pulled off her mask and dropped it into the kayak. “Yes!”
As she hung to the side of the kayak to collect her gear, and herself, for the paddle home, she noticed the swells rising and falling, higher than just an hour before, and knew it was time to head back to shore. It would be an hour or more paddle back to the beach she had launched from, and there was no time to waste getting around the dangerous rocks that lay on either side.
After lifting herself into the seat, Kamea reached behind to grasp the lead of the zipper on the back of her wetsuit, pulling it down around her waist and freeing her arms and upper body for the paddle back to shore. She paused a moment to reflect again on the morning’s successful hunt, caressing the two beautiful fish in the open well behind her as she secured them to the boat with an elastic net. Then she took a deep, long drink of fresh water, and readied herself to return home.
Kamea could barely contain her excitement. This Ono had to be almost fifty pounds—more than enough for the family gathering. Ono, which in Hawaiian meant delicious, would be exactly that after her Auntie was done preparing it tomorrow.
She turned her attention towards the shoreline before beginning the paddle home, absorbing the beauty of the low-sweeping clouds above Haiku; the purple cloud-bellies would mean rain higher above in Makawao. The sun raked across the verdant green valley to the west, and there, as so often on Maui, a beautiful rainbow appeared, right in the direction she would paddle. Taking it as a sign, a blessing, Kamea lifted her paddle and dug deep with her first stroke, timing it with the next swell that would help to push her towards land—and home. She would take the day’s catch over to Auntie’s, then go home and paint for a while, inspired by the elation of the hunt and the beauty she saw all around her. The view appeared so precious to her eyes: so vivid, so beautiful. She was grateful to live her life in such a place as Maui.
Stroke, after alternating stroke, the following seas and strong muscles in her arms and shoulders propelled the kayak on a swift return course. The rhythm of her strokes became a meditation. She moved closer and closer towards the rainbow, still hanging above Haiku. But now, she noticed, it ended in the surf-spray just above the slick black rocks that lay scattered along the shoreline to the east. These were the rocks she would need to make her way around to get back to the beach she had launched from.
That’s when she saw it—wait, not it—a person. Without her eyes following the rainbow down into the spray, she might never have noticed. It was a person, out where they should not have been. Not right now, a
t least. Any other time might not have been so dangerous, but this time of year one could never know what sort of waves would roll in. A tourist certainly wouldn’t know. That was for sure.
She dug in deeper on her right, turning her kayak to where the rainbow ended, the fate of the figure becoming apparent as she moved closer. It was a woman, and she looked to be hanging on for dear life, her back towards the sea. Don’t turn your back on the ocean. But it was already too late for this woman. Kamea knew this place well. The only path to the shoreline led from the parking area above, and around cliffs a person could neither climb up nor down. Her only way back was now being pounded by high surf. While the waves weren’t huge, they were enough to sweep someone away by taking their feet out from under them. The tide wouldn’t recede for hours, and the sets were getting bigger with every sixth swell.
She had to act. Kamea would have to paddle between the rocks she had planned on skirting. She had been given life to nourish her today. She had been given the sign of a rainbow to guide her here. This, she could not ignore. It’s how Spirit works—no coincidences.
Kamea took a deep breath and blew it out sharply between pursed lips, lowered her head, leaning hard into her next paddle stroke, and dug in deep again and again, as she nosed her kayak straight for the woman caught on the rocks.
CHAPTER 2 - REBECCA
When her vision cleared, she saw the bright yellow kayak pointing towards her. The young woman sitting on top, paddled to keep her kayak positioned in an eddy amongst the rocks. The top half of her wetsuit, pulled down to her waist, revealed a black bikini top and lean, muscular arms and shoulders. Her skill and strength were the only things keeping her steady amongst the sets of waves coming in.