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Chapter Twelve
I left Asher with Morgan to walk with Nalani, my firefighter’s face drawn tight. We needed to talk—I knew it, and he clearly knew it, but I guessed I wasn’t sufficiently self-improved to trust myself with that conversation. There were a million feelings boiling in me—upsetting and thrilling and scary as hell and all running into the same brick wall: I was leaving. What was the point of talking about anything?
I’ll just keep having sex with him until an hour before my flight.
Except today was his last day off and I’d be long gone by the time he was free again.
“God…”
Nalani turned. “You okay?”
I forced a smile. “Peachy.”
We’d arrived at the picnic table strewn with the remnants of lunch. An older woman sat at the end in a wheelchair wearing a multicolored dress over a thin, frail frame. Her fingers were gnarled and crooked with arthritis, but her dark eyes were sharp and her smile warm as we approached.
“Momi, this is Faith Benson. She’s a friend of Asher’s.”
“Aloha, Faith.”
“Alo—um… hi.”
“You can say aloha, my dear.”
“Can I?” I said, sitting beside her. “Given my colonizer status, it feels a little bit like cultural appropriation, even if it’s just hello or goodbye.”
Momi chuckled. “It’s an aspect of Hawaiian culture I wish was appropriated more. “Hello. Goodbye.” She shook her head. “There is no equivalent in English that captures such profound emotion.”
“Momi ismana wahine,” Nalani said with a proud smile. “A powerful woman. A keeper of traditions.”
I could see that. I couldfeelthat. The woman seemed to contain the wisdom of the ages in her slight form, and I suddenly wished that I could sit with her and pour every confused and conflicted thought in her lap.
Momi caught my expression. “Dear?”
“I was just thinking that I’d love to learn more about the islands’ culture. I came here to expand my horizons, so to speak, but the only thing I’ve learned is that I have terrible taste in hiking shoes.”
Except that wasn’t entirely true. I did feel different. More awake and clear-headed than I was in Seattle.
Except where Asher Mackey is concerned.
Momi smiled. “The aloha spirit is the harmony between the mind and heart within us. It asks us to come to ourselves and to extend good feelings toward others. It’s compassion and care with no expectation of return.” Her gaze seemed to dig deeper. “Aloha means to hear what is not said, to see what cannot be seen, to know the unknowable.”
“See what I mean?” Nalani said fondly.
I nodded. I’d have given anything to know the unknowable. Namely, what the hell I was supposed to do with my heart because there was no harmony there, only a longing that was completely foreign and starting to feel immovable. Permanent.
Momi reached out to pat my knee. “Enough of that. You didn’t come to listen to a lecture. Nalani tells me you’re in advertising.”
“I am,” I said, and my posh office in downtown Seattle had never felt so far away—lightyears from this brilliant afternoon, surrounded by palm trees and sitting with a Hawaiian wisewoman.
“Faith gave Morgan and me some great ideas for our business,” Nalani said. “We’re already booking photograph tours for Ho’opi’i.”
I made a face. “Make sure you get them to sign a waiver first.”
Nalani laughed and Momi nodded at my wrapped ankle.
“I hope you’re well. I heard about your accident.”
“Asher was on the shift when the call came in,” Morgan put in, joining us and taking a seat beside Nalani, across from me. He lifted his camera and took a few shots of Momi and me.
