Iced in Paradise Page 2

  “Daddy!” She runs toward him and wraps her arms around his neck. Dani is only a few steps in back of them and jumps on his back.

  “Did you see Mom?” I ask. It’s a trick question, because I know he hasn’t been by the house yet.

  “I will. Luke and I just have a few things to go over. We have our competition tomorrow.”

  You would think that the first thing you would want to do after being away from home for a couple of months is to see your sick wife. But not the king of surf.

  Despite Mama Liu not being even five feet tall, she starts to unload a couple of surfboards in black travel bags and a rollaway sporting the British flag from the back of her jeep.

  “You girls help,” Dad tells us. “Put all dis in back of Killer Wave and start cleaning our sticks. And go get yourself shave ice, Luke. It’ll be on me. Meet me at the bar on da oddah side.”

  I roll my eyes as Sophie practically jumps to it and awkwardly lifts both surfboard travel bags by their cloth handles. Mama Liu waves goodbye and drives off, her wheels spitting back a few red pebbles.

  “You can help, too, Leilani,” Dad says.

  Can’t they be responsible for their own damn luggage? I think as I take hold of Dad’s roller suitcase. Dani claims the boy’s Union Jack one.

  “Nice shirt,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

  “Leilani,” my father warns. This clothing line has been his baby for the past two years.

  As Luke heads for Santiago’s, we Santiago girls push our way into Killer Wave. This surf and snorkel rental shop is officially my dad’s, but now Kelly manages it. He used to have dreams, just like I did. He wanted to leave the Islands and major in international business. He actually could have gone to at least a four-year UH program on O‘ahu, Maui, or the Big Island, but he, like Court, never made it out of Kaua‘i.

  Kelly comes out from the back, wiping his hands with a rag.

  “The King’s here,” I announce Dad’s arrival.

  Kelly smiles, but then he almost always does. That’s one of the more maddening parts of his personality, but also the best part of it, too. When we were together, Baachan called us Sweet and Sour. You can guess who was the sour one. Now that he’s with Court, Baachan calls them Double Sweet. Kelly’s older brother, Pekelo, on the other hand, is more like me. In the past he seemed to carry a torch for my sister Emily, who’s more on the quiet, observant side. When she speaks, we all listen.

  Kelly tries to take the surfboards from Sophie, but she resists. “Dad says we should start cleaning them,” she tells him as she and Dani take the boards and luggage to the back room.

  “Let her do it. Dat’s da closest she’ll get to Dad.”

  “You dark, eh.”

  “Well, guess where he is now.” I gesture toward my left. After retiring from being a lifeguard for thirty-five years, D-man took over the small bar at the end of our little shopping area. The bar is literally only six feet long; he actually uses an old distressed surfboard as the main surface. When it gets busy, people spill into the street, which raises the ire of our local police sergeant, Dennis Toma, who apparently is related to our relatives on the Mainland. That connection hasn’t bought us any love, especially for me and my dad.

  “I thought he stopped drinking.”

  “Yah, well we know how that goes.”

  Luke walks past Killer Wave with his shave ice.

  “Dat’s da new prince.”

  “Oh, Luke Hightower?” Kelly heads toward the open door to get a better look.

  “You’ve heard of him?”

  “Seen him surfing on YouTube. He can shred.” Kelly walks back to the counter and picks up his phone. For the next twenty minutes, we are checking out YouTube videos featuring Luke Hightower slicing through waves in Australia, Tahiti, his hometown of San Clemente, and here in Hawai‘i. Kelly wasn’t kidding. The California boy is good.

  “Nice he come help Kaua‘i,” Kelly says. “Lotta folks will come out to see him.”

  I grudgingly agree. This competition is more of a fundraiser than anything else to help people, especially on the North Shore, financially recover from the devastating floods of a year ago. My father was spearheading the event, recruiting a handful of high-profile surfers, including Luke, to participate.

  As I swipe the screen to watch another video, I hear a familiar bellowing voice coming out from D-man’s place.

  “I go. You stay,” I tell Kelly. “Just keep my sisters away.” While in high school, I had cleaned up enough of my dad’s drunken escapades. It was the day after my high school graduation that we really had it out. He had done his disappearing act again, and the whole fam—Mom, Emily, Sophie, and even Dani—was out looking for him during my graduation ceremony. Only D-man and Baachan were there for me, and even she was murmuring under her breath, “No good baka buggah,” about her missing son. Of course, he was eventually found, in the middle of some taro fields, soaked in tequila and butt naked.

  As I run to D-man’s, my father’s yelling, “After all this time and money I’ve invested in you. And you go and stab me in the back.” There’s a young haole couple, perhaps honey-mooners, also at the bar, looking a bit stunned.

  When my father sees me, he curses, gets on our communal scooter, and putt-putts away.

  “D-man, you have to stop him,” I say.

  “He’s not drunk. Just pissed off. He’ll cool off.” He accepts some money from the newlyweds, who seem in a hurry to leave.

  “What happened?”

  Luke looks sick to his stomach. “I told him that I accepted a sponsorship from a new clothing company from Australia.”

  “But what about Killer Wave—” I say. I’m not a fan of my dad and his shirts, but I know that he’s invested so much in his brand. And he probably was counting on his rising-star pupil to help make a big splash in the surf world. I don’t know much about the business, but I’m pretty sure two clothing sponsorships is one too many.

  “I hope he can forgive me,” Luke says.

  I glance over at D-man, who’s wiping some spilled liquid from the bar. Even though he’s wearing sunglasses as usual, I can tell we are on the same wavelength. It’s like those old Japanese samurai movies that Baachan loves to watch on the KIKU TV. Dad never forgives. And neither do I.

  Chapter Two

  LUKE IS VISIBLY UPSET. Kelly has apparently been unable to hold back my sisters any longer; they have come running to see what the excitement is all about. I tell Sophie to take the surf prince over to our house. We live just a couple of blocks up the hill, so they can walk.

  “Where’s Dad?” Sophie demands.

  “He had to run some errands,” I lie.

  “It sounded like he was yelling.”

  “Nah, he just playin’ around,” D-man responds, his bar counter now freshly cleaned off.

  “You probably hungry,” I say to Luke. Rainbow shave ice can sustain a pro surfer for only so long.

  “I’m supposed to meet my girlfriend at Bamboo Royal. That’s where a group of us are staying.”

  Bamboo Royal is a high-end bed and breakfast in Moloa‘a, below a forest reserve, on the way to Hanalei Bay. I’ve only gone there once, when I was helping Court with a wedding flower delivery last summer. Judging from the light, it’s around six o’clock, still in the middle of rush hour. Plus, it’s a Friday. If I were to give him a ride now, it would take me an hour and a half to get there and then another hour to come home.

  “Well, at least eat beforehand,” I say, more for my benefit than his.

  “C’mon,” Dani says to him. “We just up the street.”

  I know that Mom’s been cooking Dad’s favorites. Pancit, lumpia, and chicken adobo. I hope that OC boy can hang with Filipino food.

  Sophie reluctantly follows those two across the empty highway. She can sense that I’m lying about our father, but she’s afraid to hear the truth.

  I sit for a while with D-man. He opens up a can of Hawaiian Sun Guava Nectar for me and I practically drink it i
n one swig. I would have preferred some tequila or beer, but under the circumstances, it wouldn’t have been right.

  “Your dad’s been working on his brand oh so long.”

  “Yah.” My father is a lot of things, but he does work hard. The playing-hard part has always gotten him in trouble.

  I pull a pencil out of my bun, causing my mess of hair to fall past my shoulders. “Why does the boy have to announce this other label now?”

  D-man shrugs. “Maybe because Tommy is on his home turf, the kid thought that he wouldn’t take it so bad.”

  “You know he didn’t see Mom yet. And she woke up early to make all his favorite food.”

  D-man tightens his jaw and wipes the already clean counter. A couple of regulars drive up and take their places at the bar. I’m in no mood to be friendly. I nod my hellos and slip off of my stool.

  “Don’t go, Leilani,” one of them calls out to me.

  “Mom’s waiting for me,” I tell them.

  When I’m home, I find Mom sitting alone at the dinner table. Only the fried lumpia is out, and I grab a couple and dip them in the sweet sauce. I sit cross-legged on a chair at the table and munch them down. Onolicious. Grandpop Santiago was a cook in the Navy and taught Mom how to cook, Filipino and all other kinds of foods. She’s a good student.

  “Where’s the boy?” I wipe my greasy hands on a napkin and wonder if there’s any leftover pancit in the fridge.

  “Sleeping in your room. He was all worn out and I told him to rest.”

  “My room?” I think back to this morning and the panties and other clothes I stripped off last night.

  “Don’t worry, I did clean sweep before I let him in.”

  Mom is always one step ahead of me. I hear the familiar guttural voices of Japanese actors threatening each other, and then the swish of samurai blades emanating from Baachan’s TV down the hall. I figure that both Sophie and Dani are in the room with her.

  “Dad not here yet?”

  “He texted me that he had something to do on the North Shore.”

  “Probably at Bamboo Royal.” I tell her that’s where the other pro surfers are staying.

  “Before it gets too late, can you go get him?” My mother doesn’t say it, but I know what she’s thinking. What if he starts drinking?

  You serious? I think, but I don’t say it aloud. “Should I take the boy?” I ask.

  Mom gets up and starts putting plastic wrap over the leftover lumpia. She looks older under the lamplight flooding over our dining room table. All her makeup from this morning has faded away. “Ask him,” she says.

  I take a peek in my room and Luke is spread-eagle on my quilted bedspread, snoring up a storm. The light is off and some of the words on the Killer Wave shirt are glowing in the dark—really, Dad? Sleep is what Luke probably needs right now. He can always take Mama Liu’s taxi or whatever to get out to the North Shore. It will cost him an arm and a leg, but that’s his problem, not mine.

  I grab the keys to the Ford Fiesta hatchback from a hook on the wall below a sign that reads “Please Take Off Your Slippahs.” I put on my Crocs and go outside. It’s still light out; a strong breeze runs through my hair.

  The car is unlocked, and I find Sophie already in the passenger seat. She’s like a stealth cat.

  “Get out,” I tell her.

  “Can I go with you?”

  I don’t have time for this. “Get out,” I repeat. “C’mon.”

  “Well, you have to promise that you stay quiet. And you have to listen to me or I’m gonna leave you at Hanalei Bay.” I tell her to text Mom that she’s with me. No sense in Mom worrying about an additional missing Santiago.

  I can tell that Sophie’s close to tears. “Why you so mean to me? It was better when you were in Seattle.”

  That hurt, but I let it go. Who says I have no self-control?

  By the time we are on the highway, the sun is going down. We travel east and then north, through Līhu‘e, where the airport, Costco, and Walmart all are. There’s also an old-school stretch where you can find saimin and other local grindz. Next is Kapa‘a, which has a historic district filled with touristy shops. Traffic is usually the worst there, and we manage to drive only around ten miles per hour for a long stretch. Sophie starts playing her K-pop songs and I glare at her.

  “You nevah say notting about me not playin’ my music,” she says.

  “Use my earbuds.” I gesture toward the glove compartment.

  At a traffic intersection, I connect my phone to the Focus’s audio system. It’s SZA all the way. Sophie, my earbuds in her ears, frowns in response to some of the lyrics’ obscenities. “Mom says you’re not supposed to play that music in front of me.”

  “Just turn up the volume on your phone,” I tell her. I know that I’m being a terrible older sister. I may be contributing to her future hearing loss, but it’s a Saturday night and I’m stuck with her for a few hours, so I don’t care.

  I haven’t gone to the North Shore that often. I’ve been mostly working during the past two months and I don’t like making the drive. I’ve forgotten how gorgeous the sunsets are around here. The burst of orange across the skyline, which bleeds a lavender blue. I think about Travis. He would love it here. We’ve talked about him coming out in a few months, and it won’t be soon enough. We Skype every night at midnight Seattle time, and I figure that I’ll be home way before then tonight.

  Bamboo Royal is up in the Moloa‘a hills, resplendent with kukui and banyan trees. The largest organic farm on Kaua‘i is here, too, and the rows of vegetables seem to fit naturally in the environment. I can tell that Sophie is also mesmerized by the hills, which are quickly darkening under the sinking sun.

  We pass a makeshift sign, “Don’t Steal Our Aina,” which is painted in red on a white bedsheet, stretched across two wooden posts that look like brooomstick handles. We’re used to seeing such messages on Kaua‘i, especially in undeveloped areas like this. Aina means “land” in Hawaiian, but more than just a physical place, it’s a spiritual one.

  “Hey, did you see dat giant wahine?” Sophie turns around toward the sign we just passed.

  Silly sistah, I say to myself. Sophie is the one who also imagined that a real menehune was wandering around our neighborhood. Instead of a mythical little person, it turned out to be a garbage bag blowing through some dead trees.

  The bed and breakfast is the only structure on its hill. It looks a little like a Japanese pagoda, and Sophie’s mouth falls open when she sees it. I park and get out of the car. A few birds chirp in the dusk. One of our island’s wild roosters struts in front of us, probably hoping for some scraps of food. It’s not as touristy here as other parts of Kaua‘i, so he’s the lone one on this property.

  “Keep quiet,” I remind Sophie, and for once she says nothing back. There are a couple of other cars parked to the side, but no scooter. Not a good sign.

  We go up the stairs to an expansive wooden porch that is brightly illuminated by an antique light fixture. On both sides of a pale green door are long patio swings. I rap my knuckles on the door, and when I get no response, I press down on its handle. It’s Hawai‘i, so it’s not locked.

  “Hello,” I call out. Everything—the floor and the furniture—is made out of a deep cherrywood.

  There are voices emanating from a room to the right. Three young people about my age lounge in the airy living room area. Two guys are sitting on a black leather couch with video game controls in their hands. I recognize them—one’s a big-deal surfer from O‘ahu, Rex Adams. I don’t remember the name of the other surfer, but I know that he’s from Japan.

  “Is Tommy Santiago around?” I ask.

  The men barely look up from the game screen.

  “Tommy? He lives in Waimea,” Rex says. He has longish brown hair that is feathered back from his face.

  “We know that,” Sophie spouts out, and I elbow her in the shoulder.

  The woman on a long recliner by the window sits up. “Are you Tommy’s daugh
ters?” She has an accent, not quite British, but close to it. “You look a tad like him,” the woman says specifically to me. She’s got long legs that seem to go on forever. I know women like this. I played volleyball with them.

  “Sou, ne.” The Japanese surfer nods. He looks high.

  “Yes, we are.” I introduce myself and Sophie. The woman identifies herself as Celia.

  “So Tommy is MIA again,” she says. She seems almost happy that my father is missing. “Hey, where’s Luke?”

  “Had dinner with my family,” I explain. Celia must be the girlfriend whom Luke was talking about.

  “Why didn’t you bring Luke with you?” She’s laying claim on her man. I’m not into him, honey, I think. I’ve got my own in Seattle. Yeah, he’s more than 2,500 miles away, but it’s not like I’m desperate.

  “He conked out. I figured that he needed the rest.”

  “He’s got to be here by noon,” Celia says.

  “I’m sure my dad will get him here.”

  “He better. Your father’s not known for being too reliable.”

  If Sophie weren’t around, I would have said something back to her. But I try to hold it together. “Let’s go, Sophie,” I say.

  “Wan wan,” the Japanese surfer barks at me.

  My eyes lock on his face. “Excuse me?”

  He visibly shrinks into the couch. “T-shirt. That’s husky dog, desho?”

  I frown and head for the door. “What a-holes,” I mutter.

  Rex rises, leaving his game controllers, and follows us out to the porch. He’s tall, probably six foot three. “Hey, Nori doesn’t mean any harm,” he apologizes for his friend. “Is Luke okay? We’ve all been texting him and he hasn’t texted back for a day or so.”

  “Well, he was traveling,” I try to offer as an explanation, although it is plenty weird that he hasn’t been communicating with his posse, especially his girlfriend. “I really haven’t had a chance to talk to him.”

  “That’s probably for the better.” When he realizes how weird that sounds, he adds, “Celia’s kind of the jealous type.”