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It’s all magic. Every last bit of it. Paradise has never felt like a word that has enough power to describe any of the Hawaiian islands.
Before long, we hop onto the highway. After about thirty minutes, we drive back toward the coast on the windward side of the island until we come upon a sign that reads Kailua State Park.
“Yes!” Nettie cheers from the back seat. “This is my favorite beach of all time.”
Bess groans, “You say that about every beach.”
“Eh.” Nettie shrugs. “That’s because they’re all the same.”
Ransom parks and kills the motor. “I can assure you this one is special.”
We get out, and the warm humid air gives every last inch of us a hug.
The best thing about Hawaii is that most places rarely ever get above eighty degrees and the pineapple express always brings a nice tropical breeze.
Kailua State Park is expansive with lots of dusty walkways that all lead to a pristine sandy beach. The coastline stretches for a good distance, nestling into what looks to be a slight cove on Oahu’s windward side.
There’s a bona fide park just this side of the sand that features volleyball nets, barbeques, and picnic tables. A line of sweeping evergreens dots the area, and just past the trees, the ocean serves as a turquoise backdrop. For the most part, it looks calm, but in the distance, I see what look to be a few surfboards with sails tethered to them as they fly to and fro across the water.
A horrible thought hits me.
“Oh no,” I moan at the sight.
“Oh yes,” Ransom says.
Oh, for Pete’s sake, I not only had to find the bad boy of the bunch to crown as my newly minted boyfriend, but I had to find one with a love of death-defying sports—or in my case, death-ensured.
I take a deep breath and do my best to smile.
“It looks like fun.” I force myself to say every syllable. “I mean, what’s the worst that can happen?”
“A brain injury,” Bess says, pulling her beach bag high over her shoulder.
“Nah,” Nettie says, taking a break from blowing up a giant hot pink inner tube she’s been known to enjoy. “The worst thing that can happen is that a shark eats you for lunch.”
“That’s pretty bad.” Bess nods. “But seeing that you would have most likely scrambled your brain by then, it would probably come as a relief.”
“A shark eating me now would be a relief.”
I can’t take my eyes off those windsurfers gliding across the water at unheard of speeds. A fall at those velocities looks as if it could usher in far more than a brain injury. Bess is right. Being gobbled up by a shark might be the best-case scenario.
Bess and Nettie get settled on the sand while Ransom rents the two of us a tandem windsurfing contraption. Essentially, it’s a long paddleboard with two plastic sails attached side by side.
And the humorous part? He thinks we’re about to have a great time.
After a bare-bones lesson on where to put what part of my body—and hope I don’t sink us both to the bottom of the ocean—the man renting us the deathtrap happily schleps it to the shoreline for us. The big tip Ransom just doled out may have played a factor in that quasi-valet move.
“I’ll take the lead,” Ransom says as we make our way past a handful of happy sunbathers, the scent of coconut suntan lotion permeating our senses.
“I’ll say my prayers,” I mutter mostly to myself.
The closer we get to the water, the ocean takes on a shade of blue somewhere between cerulean and Ransom Baxter’s eyes.
A couple of toddlers build sandcastles to our right, and just beyond them a trio of teenage girls trace giant hearts in the sand.
Why couldn’t we do something more along those lines?
Although, something tells me it’s too late to rope Ransom into competitive sandcastle construction. And good luck getting him to trace out a heart on the sand—more like a line around my body before the coroner arrives.
