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“How are you going to manage the restaurant and the house? The stairs alone will be too much.”
“It’s my problem to figure out.”
That isn’t strictly true. But I know the discussion is over. One hand comes up and touches my cheek. Like she has been doing since I was a child. It is a gesture familiar to all the Medina men. Her way of ending a heated conversation. Warm and soft, like the greatest part of her. The hard shell is only a façade.
Even in something so ordinary, her hands tell the story of love. They move beautifully, gracefully. Like the renowned hula girl she has been for over half a century. They still dance, when her legs cannot. I follow her back inside.
“I know what you have sacrificed coming here while Noa is away. He helps any way he can, but a doctor is not a restaurant expert. He sacrifices the few free hours he has for me and I won’t ask more. I am sorry, but I need you, son.”
“Visiting my mother isn’t a sacrifice. God, Mom.”
“I hope your place doesn’t suffer.”
“I can do both for now.”
Taking a seat on the recliner, she raises her legs and shoots me a look that says I’m not telling the truth.
“I’m not worried aboutmyrestaurant,” I say. “Makani can handle it all. I’m worried about yours.”
Quiet defeat shows on her face. In the moment she looks a little older than I have ever seen.
“Are you back to pre-pandemic numbers?” she asks.
“Nearly. Costs have risen though.”
“I never considered there would be a shutdown. It was barely worth keeping open before. As you know. We were just treading water. Now we are drowning. Shorter hours was the thing to do, but it is an imperfect choice.”
Tears fill her eyes and wound me to the core.
“There’s an answer. We just have to identify the real problem. Together we can figure it out.”
“Alright, ipo. Come with me Saturday and you’ll see for yourself. Let’s not talk about it anymore today. Did you eat? There are malasadas.”
“I had coffee.”
“You need something nutritious. Have an orange at least.”
She drops the subject there. Just as mothers have done since time began. Plant the seed, say your peace, bring it up another day. Never mind my age, I am still a child to Nani. Her world may be falling apart, but it is me she is thinking about. It kills me to see how many things are changing. They need to be righted before I return home.
Going back to the scope, I continue the watch. Alana has not moved, but her head is turned toward the group of aspiring surfers getting out of the ocean with their boards. A tan, fit woman with a long black braid waves them forward.
Adjusting focus, I get a closer look at the kids. There are five of them, all around the same age, except one maybe. Hard to tell. Most on the cusp of the teen years. Or one foot over the line.
They are as different from each other as puberty allows. One raven haired girl is ahead of the game, already developed. She gets the stares of passing boys. A man tries being discreet, but I see him looking. I think she is the instructor’s assistant, because there was no wobble to her ride. Another girl looks as if the process of becoming a woman has barely started yet. The most mature looking boy whips his blond hair back and smiles at an older girl walking by. His reach exceeds his grasp. She ignores him. The rejection is taken well.
There’s a gangly dark-haired boy dragging his board. He’s had a growth spurt but hasn’t put on any muscle yet. And then a shorter, stockier kid in a wet suit. Shit kid, the water’s like a bath. Are you sweating in there? Innocence still shows up on all their faces. But it is waning. Does Alana see herself in them?
Boards are dropped, and when one kid plops on the sand, the others follow. They are about thirty feet from “the watcher.” The dark-haired girl turns in her direction and gives a friendly wave, to which my daughter lowers her head and pretends to pick a speck off her sleeve. Damn.
“I need to work on Alana’s social skills. She hides in plain sight. A group of kids are sitting by her, and I’d bet the house she is going to get up and leave.”
“Do they have red bracelets on?”
I zoom in for a closer look.
“Yeah, they do. What does that mean?”
“It’s beginners surfing lessons. For children who didn’t grow up with the ocean as their playground. Mostly new residents of the island. See the woman with a long braid?”
