I swallow the lump in my throat and just before we get in the cab, Logan pulls me to him, holding me tight.
“You always make me proud,” he murmurs. “And I know that was the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do. But I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” He pulls away, brushing my hair behind my ear. “Now, how about we go home?”
We get into the cab and it speeds away.
Kauai is waiting for me.
EPILOGUE
Logan
Four Months Later
I rise at dawn.
Grab my board.
Head out the door.
Cut through the bushes, quickest way to the beach.
It must have rained last night. The leaves are wet, brushing against me as I go. The roosters are crowing from all directions. The beach is damp and hazy, the light at the horizon muddled a navy and purple, slowly draining with the sun.
From this vantage point I can see down to Tunnels Beach and the beach in front of the hotel. The way the swells are coming in, it’s better to head toward Moonwater.
There’s no one out here. It’s just me, the ocean, the sand.
Some of the guests will be rising soon. With the time change from the mainland, everyone is up with the sun.
But I still have time.
A few waves to myself.
They wouldn’t dare head out into the water right now, and other surfers will be at Haena Beach, down the road. Here the breaks are more complicated as is the access to them. But I never back down from a challenge.
I get in the water, the reef cutting into the bottoms of my feet, but years of walking around barefoot will leave you pretty protected. It’s not just here in Hawaii, growing up in Australian surf culture you forget the need for shoes. Here, I do it for the guests. It’s amazing how appalled they get.
A system passed through here a few days ago, high surf warning signs litter the beach. Someone was swept out at Lumihai, just around the bend, but they survived somehow. Now the waves have calmed, from twenty-five feet, down to seven. Still big and bad.
I swim out past the break, getting a feel for the sets coming in, the wind, the air. I watch as the sun slowly turns the clouds over the Na Pali Coast candy colors before the orange glow comes from the east.
I’m not a religious man, but I believe in god. And on that same note, I believe in moments. Not just the things that happen to you but the things you make happen. You can make anything a moment. Anything at all. I’m sure this is the key to getting through life. If you make everything memorable, you hold onto each second. You live a thousand times.
Surfing makes you hold onto moments. It’s my church, the place to ground you into the present. It cements you in your place in the world and it makes you pay attention to that world.
You never feel so small as you do with mother nature. She is control and you do your best to control the ride. You pay attention to the moments because you are one with everything. Plugged into the spinning world.
When I first saw Veronica, she was inspecting a shitty appetizer at her mother’s party, glass of champagne in one hand, her face scrunched up. At that moment, I felt I knew her. That moment became ingrained before it was even a memory.
When you know, you know.
She was the only one who looked like she didn’t belong there. This wasn’t because of how she looked—she was as prim and polished as the rest of them, though maybe decades younger. In some ways, probably too young for me.
But it didn’t matter. It was her mannerisms, the way she looked like she was telling stories in her head, the way she made the rounds of all the food, sizing it up. She drank with relish, she had a gorgeous smile that lit up the room, and the one time someone made her laugh, it was like pure joy. Not fake, not forced, not like anyone there. She was her own thing.
I wanted to be part of it.
But I was also a fool. There were no times for distractions. I was there for a reason.
I had dreams. Big ones. Foolish ones. Ones that were over my head.
And my dreams were based on something very bloody silly.
Growing up, my favorite TV show was Fawlty Towers, the much-loved 70’s British sitcom starring John Cleese. My brother and I would watch that and a handful over other shows since we only had a few stations on our shitty little TV.
Unfortunately, we had to watch it with our mother but she loved the show too, the only time she wouldn’t call us little shits and berate us for just breathing.
And every time Basil Fawlty did something stupid and made me laugh, I felt happy. It made me think that despite Basil’s bat-shit crazy behavior (of which I can now relate), he surrounded himself with people who were like family.
Since then, the idea of running a hotel was always in the back of my mind, until I decided to take the plunge and make it my reality.
Reality was a bitch. It wouldn’t bend with ease. I had to work hard for it, saving with everything I had. My ambitions were through the roof, I had too much to lose.