I take a swift sip of my beer and blink back tears that I don’t want to shed. I don’t want to think about Daniel. I’m on vacation. I’m here to see Kai.

“Did he want to work it out?” Kai persists.

I shake my head, uncomfortable now. Daniel was the one who filed for divorce, but he said it was because I wanted it, because I hadn’t ever forgiven him and he couldn’t spend his whole life punished for a mistake he regretted.

“No. Yes. I don’t know.”

Thankfully, our entrées arrive and the subject is dropped. But even as I eat, I find myself reliving this past year. During the first few months after the divorce, friends were always asking me if there were any warning signs before the marriage ended.

Jackie, is there anything you can tell us? Any way to predict real trouble?

I’d tell them this: Don’t sweep problems under the living room area rug. Don’t let everything problematic go unspoken, don’t let it pile up there, because it’s going to eventually trip you. And you’re going to be really hurt when you fall.

And the other thing that’s even more important: Don’t ever say something—even in anger—that you don’t mean. Because one day when you shout impulsively, “I hate this! I can’t do this! I want out,” you just might get your wish.

We spend the next couple of days in a comfortable routine, where Kai works and I sit with a book on a lounge chair and we visit between lessons. On the second day, I go buy lunch so it’s waiting for him when he gets out of the water. Kai’s extremely appreciative, and his pleasure warms me. I’d been nervous about returning, but being back here is perfect. This visit is everything I wanted and more.

But as Kai finishes his lunch, I feel a flutter of fear. I can’t let myself be this happy here. This isn’t real life, not my real life. He’s right. It’s just an escape. An amusement park for adults, much as Disneyland is a paradise for children.

Kai leans back on the lounge chair. He’s been watching me. “You think too much.”

I am, of course, thinking too much. And feeling too much. I know in days I’ll go home and Hawaii will become again just a distant memory.

I don’t want it to be a distant memory. I don’t want it to ever end.

“Just enjoy the moment,” he says. “Enjoy it for what it is.”

I look at him, see how relaxed he is, how tan and fit and beautiful with youth and ease in his eyes, with strength and a lazy acceptance of who he is. What he is. How he is.