He found her later at Sunset Grille, not the small dripping surf bunny anymore but taller—her sandals had thick heels, and her purple head wrap gave her a few more inches, with a shapeless untucked blue blouse with loose sleeves, and a skirt—the one piece of women’s clothing that was so rare on the North Shore, so feminine, more teasing than a bikini, sexier than shorts. He was noting that distinction for the first time, seeing how it mattered. In a place where most young women were half naked, clothes were provocative.

She was standing at a table of four people, taking their order, scribbling on a pad. He heard her say brightly, “I’ll bring you your drinks right away.”

As she passed his table, Sharkey said, “What about my drinks?”

“You,” she said, and kept walking. “No make ass.”

But after she’d served the four people their drinks, she walked over to Sharkey, saying, “What can I do for you, mister?”

“Go surfing with me tomorrow.”

“What about a drink?”

“No drink, no grinds.”

“You come all the way from Rocky Point to ask me that?”

“How you know I stay Rocky Point?”

“You’re Joe Sharkey,” she said.

“Yes, I came all the way from Rocky Point to ask you that.”

She folded her arms, the pad in one hand, her pen in the other. Her expression gave nothing away. She might have been tasting something—that same evaluating look.

“I stay town,” she said. “I drive home after work.”

“Really? You don’t live up here?”

“I stay with my ohana,” she said. “Kapahulu side.”

The word ohana was so complete and all-encompassing, with a reassuring softness and density. “Family” didn’t do it justice. It put him in mind of a warm nest.

He was about to speak when there was a cry from across the room. “May!”

Another waiter—a man in an aloha shirt—was gesturing to her with a cocktail shaker.

“See you at Lani’s,” she said. “Pipe’s going to be too gnarly for me.”

He was early, eager to see her, pleased when she showed up, walking gingerly, toes raised, off the side of the road where the shoulder was rocky, hard on her tender soles. She seemed nonchalant, but when she said, “Aloha,” that touched his heart.

“Come more big out there,” she said, looking past him, speaking with respect for the wave.

“Himalayas,” he said of the offshore wave, rising and curling. “Someday you’ll be riding it. Just not today.”

They were watching a surfer charging the wave and dropping into a bomb, carving under the collapsing lip and soon smothered.

“The left bowl has a mean pinch. You need speed,” he said. “And there’s a heavy rip out there.”