by MJ Brannigan
“But let me get my coffee and get going,” she said, as she turned towards the counter.
Rebecca wasn’t sure what to make of Laura. Did she just hit on her? Was she interested in her, or maybe just playing a game with Kamea, and using me as the pawn?
She looked back and forth—at her phone, and then again out to sea, not paying too much attention to either. The conversation rattled her a little. “Watch out for that one,” lingered in her mind.
Laura waved and mouthed a ‘see ya’ as she walked back past, and on down the steps to her beater-car, bangles tinkling and long hippie skirt swaying as she walked.
“Watch out for that one,” rang in her ears again. Maybe she should just spend the day on her own, go over to the quiet, calmer touristy beaches by Wailea on the southwest coast, get some sun. Put thoughts of Kamea behind her for a little while today.
But could she? Already, as she headed back uphill to get her swimsuit and beach gear, she was wondering what Kamea was thinking about the night just passed. Was she even thinking of it at all, thinking of her too?
CHAPTER 11 - KAMEA
Kamea awakened to the sound of high surf, the breeze coming out of the north. There would be major swells today, she thought. Jaws would be goin’ off for sure. If she wanted to go out on her kayak at all today, she’d best head over to the southwest side of the island where all the tourist beaches are.
But thoughts of Rebecca—visions of her actually, drifted into her mind. The look of her in the late afternoon light, holding the bouquet of flowers for Auntie, had to be painted. Perhaps she would spend her day on this instead: painting the vision in her mind before it vanished.
She went to art school but never finished. One year in Pasadena was too much. It was a great school, no doubt. But California; the crowds, the traffic, it was all too much for her.
She would rather eke out a living in her home paradise than make a go of it in the midst of a culture that was moving too fast to even keep up with itself. Here, she could breathe; no smog, no traffic, no worries. Well, there were worries to be sure, but worries she could handle.
After Pasadena, she only lasted a month on Oahu before heading back to Auntie’s, and the place she knew as home. Dad still couldn’t accept her the way she was, and Mom, well, she just remained his quiet partner—a little more sympathetic to be sure. But her other home on Maui, with Auntie and the family and friends she knew, beckoned.
“How ya doing’ this morning, keiki?” Auntie asked as Kamea shuffled into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
“Good morning, Auntie. Slept well, how about you?”
“Oh, I always sleep well, keiki—no worries at all,” she smiled, handing Kamea a cup of coffee, then pulling a chair out at the table to sit across from her.
“Your friend, Rebecca seemed happy last night. Looks like she felt right at home,” Auntie said.
“She did, didn’t she?” Kamea replied. It was nice to have her here.
“You wanna paint her, don’t you?” Auntie asked.
“Can’t keep much from you, can I?” Kamea said, chuckling. “When she showed up yesterday, the way she looked in the light… well, I guess I just have to paint her,” she said, smiling, as she held the cup to her lips, both elbows supported by the table.
“I think maybe I’ll go home and start on it before I forget how it looks in my head, then maybe later head over to Wailea, and the shore just south of there to do a little spearin’.”
“Are you gonna try to see your friend?” Auntie asked, now dishing out some leftover fish and rice from the previous night.
“I don’t know—too soon, maybe. She might just want to be on her own, anyway. That’s what she came here for at least. She might need some time for herself, I think.”
“Maybe. Maybe she just needs a little time for herself to know she’d rather spend more of it with you,” Auntie suggested, winking.
“Oh, Auntie! I see where JonJon gets it from,” she replied, laughing. “You two are incorrigible!”
Auntie just chuckled; “Not to worry, keiki. Whatever is what’s best is what’s gonna happen. I know that much, at least.”
* * *
Kamea thought about the morning’s conversation with Auntie most of the way home. That, and Rebecca, of course. If she didn’t hear from her today, maybe she would think of something for the two of them to do in the next day or so?
Perhaps she would like to see the view from the top of Haleakala, she wondered? Maybe a road trip all the way to Hana? Perhaps she would like to go out on JonJon and Brenda’s two-seater kayak, and she could show her some of the sights along the shoreline. Then it occurred to her, going out on the water might be the last thing Rebecca would want right now.
Rebecca—the vision of her face in the firelight. Her being all lovely, standing in the light of the afternoon sun. The little touches they shared during the evening. Kamea began to feel a warmth rise in her that was an undeniable attraction. Desire. Lord, she thought. What am I doing, getting involved with a mainland girl?
But there was the painting yet to be. She could see it in her mind pretty well. She would pour her feelings—whatever they might be; attraction, desire, warmth, butterflies, into the art. That would be her therapy. That’s how an artist should express the things they can’t say or do anything about, right? she reasoned to herself.
Without Rebecca modeling for the painting, though, or having taken a pic of the moment while she was standing in the light, she would have to go for it from memory.
Much of what she painted from imagination would draw from her years of observation. It didn’t need to look like a photograph of what she saw; more the feeling of what she saw. Even when she painted the fish on her table or the surf along the beach, she wanted it to look like more than a picture. When she did paint from her imagination, she could take liberties with the subject and let the painting itself tell her what it needed.
As she passed the General Store on the way into Paia, she slowed down just a little and looked at the porch where she and Rebecca had been sitting just a day ago. And then Laura had shown up—I guess it had to happen at some point, she thought to herself. But why did it have to be when Rebecca was sitting next to her?
What Kamea hadn’t told Rebecca was that Laura was a bit of a flirt and a home-wrecker. She had given Kamea an ultimatum regarding their relationship, and Kamea just never felt she could trust her. She flirted with everyone—guys and girls alike, and Kamea thought she could never feel at ease in a long-term relationship with her.
Not wanting to disparage her, it was something she hadn’t seen the need to mention to Rebecca at the time.
Rebecca… what, if anything was going to happen with her? With them? Auntie wouldn’t come right out and say it, but alluded to a possible a future with her.
But the future, as Auntie might say was fickle, and only gave her glimpses and foggy pictures.
And knowing the future, well, that may only make her want to rebel against it. She didn’t so much believe in fate, but how could one know anything for sure? Better to just go on with one’s life as though things were going to work out for the best anyhow. Thinking the opposite was of no help.
* * *
Another cup of coffee once she got home, and then on into the enclosed lanai she had converted to a studio. The louvered windows allowed her to take full effect of the breeze when it came, shelter from the rain when it blew sideways.
Her paintings lay in stacks against the walls on three sides, some four or five deep. Fresh panels and canvases lay in one corner, behind her easel that held a painting of an Ono from a few weeks ago. She thought it would be fitting to paint it as it lay on her floor, before taking it to the kitchen and preparing a feast for herself, JonJon, and Brenda.
She added the Ono painting to the stacks and placed a fresh canvas on the easel, then pulled down a few art books from the shelf as additional inspiration before beginning.
She squeezed out fresh oil pain
ts around the perimeter of her palette and then took a palette knife to mix pools of the main colors she saw in her mind. The white of her dress would range from the cool blue of reflected sky, to the tinge of gold where she was struck with sunlight. And the greens would range from the cool blue-green in the shadows, to the warm yellow-greens in full sun.
The act of mixing colors was a warm-up as well as a meditation. It put her into a space that would allow her creativity to flow. Usually. Nothing could guarantee success. Getting into the zone was half the battle sometimes.
Kamea closed her eyes, and she could envision a little more of how she wanted the finished painting to appear. But as with most visual people, she could see the vision clearer in her mind with her eyes open, looking at the blank canvas. The little compartment that held the mental image didn’t dissipate with physical seeing—it remained and was part of the process.
As with most paintings from imagination, the act of sliding paint around the surface of the panel or canvas would let her know what the painting needed. The brush strokes; thick and thin, would begin to look like something recognizable, and she would sculpt the painting further as she moved along, stroke by stroke.
But as she followed the process, she could never see too far ahead. The painting would only reveal itself as she stayed with it, and often, if fortunate, the Muse would gift her with pleasant surprises along the way. She hoped for one of those pleasant surprises, as she picked up a brush, and set out to see if she could hold her vision long enough to let the painting come together.
This painting felt special to her though. Most of her paintings were smaller field studies; plein air paintings done on the spot in an hour or less. Maui’s sweeping clouds and weather patterns were the perfect place to paint the beauty of nature and the effects of light on the landscape and the sea. Her art hung in local coffee shops and a few small galleries scattered around the island. But the upcoming show at the Pili Lani Resort would show her work to a different audience. And Kamea couldn’t help but feel this painting of Rebecca, holding the flowers for Auntie, warranted special attention. She wasn’t just painting a Maui landscape she had seen and been inspired by. She was painting another woman, and fueled by a new feeling in her heart.
She took some dirty turps and let the brush feel its way around the surface of her canvas. A stroke here, and a drip there, and the look of a figure began to emerge. The colors and shapes started to form the lady in white, struck by the afternoon light, and holding the flowers for Auntie.
Much of the day had passed, Kamea engrossed in her painting. There were times it didn’t seem as though it was going to work out, times she hesitated—fearful of making the wrong mark. But she had gotten it off to a good start, laid the base for something she found pleasing to her eye.
As she progressed with her painting, the vision in her mind faded—replaced by one of the beaches along the coast at Wailea. She had intended to go there before day’s end, but now she seemed to see it in her mind as one would see the picture of a memory. It beckoned her.
She looked at the height of the sun in the sky and thought she still had time to gather her gear and head over to her favorite quiet beach south of Wailea. The water would be sheltered and calm there this afternoon, and she would head out and focus on something other than Rebecca—and perhaps find something good for dinner.
CHAPTER 12 - REBECCA
It sure is different over here, Rebecca thought, after making the late-day trip to Wailea. So built up; big homes, resorts, condos were everywhere. And drier. Much drier. Then there was the direct heat of the late afternoon sun. Rather than leaving for the beach right away, she had puttered around at the B&B much of the day; reading and allowing herself to be lazy for a while before heading out.
She knew this part of the island didn’t get much rain as compared to the Haiku and Paia area, along the north slope and shore. But the water was calm, and it would be a welcome relief to swim without fear for her life from big swells and crashing surf.
She drove south as far as she could to find a quiet beach park, away from most condos and resort hotels. The road seemed almost to run out, dry red rocks with cactus and spiky plants were making her feel as though she had come to a different world altogether.
There were a few tourists and families on the beach. Some were using the grills and picnic tables for their afternoon meals. She found a quiet spot away from everyone to lie down and enjoy the sunshine.
Rebecca wasn’t one to lie out in the sun much, fair-skinned as she was, but she felt as though the warmth, baking into her bones might do her some good for a little while. The water looked beautiful too—serene, gentle, and blue. This was another reason she had come.
The ocean temperature was perfect—cool enough to refresh her after lying out for an hour, but warm enough to swim and enjoy the lovely, clear water. She thought she might come back to this spot sometime again and buy a mask and snorkel to enjoy the possible marine life she knew must be below.
She would also feel better if she could see what—if anything was there. There could be anything under me, she thought, frightening herself just a little as she swam, and decided to head back in and towel off. That’s when she saw the fish taco truck, pulled into the beach parking area along the red dirt road.
Realizing she hadn’t eaten anything at all since her morning coffee, Rebecca didn’t waste any time heading to the car for her purse to shell out enough for as many fish tacos as she could stuff in her tummy.
The vendor was pleasant—a middle-aged man that told her “how pretty she looked today.” She blushed and thought how great a salesman he was; free compliments with every fish taco.
It still felt nice for someone to say such a thing when she didn’t feel pretty at all. Come to think of it, JonJon had said the same—something about her cut not hurting her pretty face. It only now felt pleasant as she thought of it. At the time, she was too scared and panicked to feel much else.
The stitches were healing well, and there was a little itching on her cuts. But she was none the worse for wear.
She took the cardboard platter from the vendor, thanking him for both the tacos and the compliment, and wasted no time digging into one before leaving the road and heading for her beach towel.
She froze in place when she saw it, holding a half-devoured taco in her hand. Past the end of the two-track road, between the rocky shoreline and the mound of rocks that separated the end of the road from the beach; it looked like Kamea’s truck. Could it be? She’s not, like stalking me or something? she wondered. Then immediately pushed it out of her head as ridiculous.
Rebecca looked around and saw no Kamea anywhere. She walked back to her towel and sat down to eat the rest of her meal. She scanned the ocean back and forth, the late afternoon light almost blinding as it reflected on the water.
There, maybe, to the south… She saw what she thought may be a kayak with no paddler, silhouette bobbing slightly amongst the waves. She couldn’t see the color. It just looked like a little sliver of dark against a bright—blinding bright sea.
It had to be her. But, wait... a head popped up for a moment. Just a small dark spot of a silhouette against the light. There was no way to tell for sure. Then the head—if that’s what it was, disappeared.
Rebecca kept her eyes on the distant kayak, so as not to lose it in the light. She realized she had been so intent on looking out to sea, all her tacos were gone without her even being aware of eating them.
Rebecca kept watching long enough to see the diver get back into the boat. The sun had dropped even lower in the afternoon sky, and the reflection on the sea was even more blinding, if that could be possible. The sunglasses helped, but her eyes still felt tired, and she was glad that whoever it was seemed to be paddling back to shore. Back towards the truck she thought was Kamea’s.
She pulled on her shorts, picked up the trash from her late lunch, and headed to dispose of it, before she walked back down to where the kayak might come ashore.
* * *
“It IS you!” Rebecca exclaimed with her hand shielding her eyes, as Kamea rode her last few paddle strokes onto the beach.
“How... how did you find me?” Kamea asked, wide-eyed with surprise, kayak hitting the beach nose-first. Kamea sat with the paddle across her lap in seeming disbelief, the small waves coming in behind her almost turning the kayak on its side.
“I didn’t intend to, I... I just thought I’d come over this way to see the tourist beaches, and get some sun, you know...” Rebecca trailed off.
“Wow, well…” Kamea didn’t seem to know what to say. She grabbed the handle on the bow of her kayak and pulled it onto the beach, and away from any waves that might carry it back out.
“What a nice surprise!” She turned to Rebecca, and they gave one another a small, stiff, almost awkward hug.
“I’m not stalking you. Really,” Rebecca said with a laugh. “It’s some coincidence, though, aye?”
Kamea looked surprised, and seemed to stumble on her words, “Well, yeah. If you weren’t trying to find me you did a terrible job,” she replied, now laughing in return.
Rebecca wasn’t sure what to think. What were the chances? She knew yes, it was an island. But for them to both show up at the same spot right now. It was just a little unnerving.
“Did you catch anything out there?” was all Rebecca could think to ask, looking into the kayak and moving the conversation away from the awkward meet up.
“A couple of Kumu for dinner,” Kamea replied, looking back to the kayak. “They’re small enough to fit in the hatch, is why you don’t see ‘em,” she continued.
“Oh, I see,” Rebecca said, “Are they good eating?”
“Sure—but like most things, the simpler, the better. Butter and lemon and, wow—I’m starting to get hungry thinking about it,” Kamea laughed.