He was with Maile. It was a small break from the real world and Pele’s wrath. The beauty and brilliance of the lush valley below were heart-stopping. In that moment, Daniel realized why so many of the locals had never left the island; it was part of their lifeblood, a rare gift, even if nature’s hand could be punishing. He and Maile remained side by side, pressed closely together in silence, the warm wind whistling through the valley below, wrapping itself around them until it was time to board the train again.

Daniel dipped yet closer to Maile and said, “I’ve missed this.”

“I have too,” she said.

“Look!” someone yelled.

Daniel turned toward the direction of Hilo and the mountains above to see a column of black smoke rising toward the sky.

Something else was burning, and he had no doubt Pele was behind it.

* * *

It wasn’t until they returned to Hilo station and he walked her back to her cousin’s house in silence that she seemed anxious again, the dreamlike world of the train ride left behind. To his surprise, Maile spoke first, her voice low and tentative as she began to tell him the story of her years in Honolulu. “I was so naive,” she began, and he saw the young, shy, fiercely intelligent girl he’d first seen in his freshman class who always kept to herself. As he listened, Daniel felt a host of emotions. It upset him to hear about her other life with another man until he looked into her eyes and saw her fear. When Maile finished talking, Daniel knew he would do whatever it took to keep that monster away from her.

“I won’t ever let him come near you again.”

“I should have been smarter,” she began.

Daniel shook his head. “Don’t say that,” his voice louder than he intended. He saw Maile flinch and added softly, “It wasn’t your fault. He knew what he was doing. He used your love and trust to frighten and take advantage of you.”

Daniel had learned firsthand when a young woman was rushed to the emergency room beaten beyond recognition. She had blamed herself, said it wasn’t her husband’s fault, that she shouldn’t have made him angry. She’d been beaten so badly she died later that night from a brain hemorrhage.

Daniel shook the memory away and reached for Maile’s hand, only to have her jerk quickly away, as if his touch burned.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her eyes tearing.

He shook his head and tried to smile, though her rejection did sting after their pleasant day on the train. “There’s nothing to be sorry for,” he said.

“I can’t—”

“There’s no hurry,” he said.