I smile, bite my lip, and nearly hug the notepad with his phone number. Maybe it’s not true love, but it sure makes turning forty a hell of a lot more interesting.

Chapter Eight

Eight

Kai picks me up in front of the hotel. He drives a black pickup truck, the windows tinted.

“Where are we going?” I ask, shy as I slide in on the passenger side.

“Where do you want to go?”

My shoulders lift, fall. “I don’t know.” I don’t tell him I’m glad just to be with him, but I am.

“Snorkeling at Shark’s Cove.” He gestures into the bed of the pickup, where he already has snorkel gear along with a pair of flip-flops and a soggy-looking beach towel.

“Where’s Shark’s Cove?”

“On the north shore. An hour drive or so.” He shoots me a sideways glance. “You up for a drive?”

“Yes.”

We head down Kalakaua Avenue, and Kalakaua turns into Diamond Head Road. Kai points out various surf spots and famous beaches as he drives around the southeastern tip of the island. Hanauma Bay for snorkeling, but it’s too crowded to be fun. Makapu’u Point with its blowhole. Sea Life Park, where they filmed scenes for 50 First Dates. Waimanaolo Bay Beach Park. Kailua. Kaneohe. And so on.

It’s gorgeous today, so blue and green and gold. The truck windows are down and the warm wind blows, catching my hair, turning it into a tangled halo of red.

Kai tells me that in the Hawaiian language, there are only eight consonants, five short vowels, and five long vowels. Hawaiian also has no inflection. However, in a large Hawaiian dictionary one can find over 130 different names for types of rain and 160 for types of water.

“Can you speak Hawaiian, then?” I ask, grabbing my hair in one hand to keep it away from my face.

“I only know a few words.” He pauses, grins. “Just enough to get me into trouble.”

Smiling, I tip my head against the seat and relax. I feel so damn happy to be here right now. So damn glad to be alive. Nothing can happen here in Hawaii, nothing can last, yet the sensation inside me is so warm and buoyant, so full of grace and goodness, that I refuse to look ahead, refuse to think about the end of the day or the flight home. This is what I want.

I realize now that I’ve been really depressed these past few years, and closing my eyes, I let the warm yellow sun cover my face, resting hot and steady on my eyelids. It’s warm and breezy, and like a hammock rocking, I’m mellow, so mellow.

I don’t want to be depressed anymore. I don’t want to suppress all the feelings, don’t want to be left with only bad feelings. Life has bad times and down times, but shouldn’t it also have joy?