I can't help but smile at him and his goofy charm, happy he's pulled me out of my thought spiral. “Hey!”
“I’m heading out to Hanalei. Fancy a morning surf?”
I shake my head, still horrified after what Logan told me about the ocean. “No way.”
“You know I'm going to wear you down, right?”
“You know that ocean is waiting to kill me, right?”
He shrugs. “Whatever. It's what we have to tell newcomers so they don't go all crazy. You're safe with me. Come on, we have plenty of time before work.”
“Maybe some other time,” I say. “I'm just going to spend the day adjusting to everything. Take it easy.”
“Suit yourself.” He gives me a head nod and then walks toward the parking lot.
I sigh and head back inside, hoping that unpacking my suitcases and putting things away will help me feel a bit more settled.
True to my word with Charlie, I take it easy for the rest of the morning. Once I’m unpacked, I head down to reception and drop off the forms for Logan. Kate’s there but she says Logan isn’t anywhere to be found. I’m relieved.
I decide to stroll around the grounds for a bit, taking in the surroundings and getting to know the area. I trace over the same route that Logan took me yesterday. It looks completely different this morning, maybe because the surf has died down a bit and the sun is coming through. The water sparkles a brilliant aquamarine and the breeze is soft, warm and fresh. I stand on the beach for a few minutes, letting the moment sink in, breathing that salty air deep into my lungs while the wind tosses my hair.
This is more like it. This is the paradise that everyone waxes on about. Yesterday with Logan, I didn't have a proper chance to enjoy it, let it soak in. I was too preoccupied with him, the way he was watching me, whether I was saying the right things or not. Everything had an ominous tone to it that seems to have been swept away overnight.
I round the curve of the beach, trying not to peer up at the guests on their oceanfront balconies, and stroll past the restaurant, glancing in the salt-sprayed windows as I go. It's dark inside, not open for lunch, and my stomach rumbles. Kate had mentioned that we could do a trip to the grocery store after her shift ended, but until then there's nothing much but a few pastries at the café and a juice and fruit truck down by Haena Beach. Apparently if I just follow the beach for another twenty minutes I'll come to it.
Of course twenty minutes to Kate is at least a half hour by my standards. She seems to be in incredible shape, while walking in sand has tired me out after no time. By the time I reach the food truck in the Haena Beach parking lot, I'm dripping with sweat and winded.
That's not to say it wasn't the most stunning walk I've ever been on. The beach that leads away from Moonwater Inn eventually turns into Tunnels Beach, the island's best snorkeling spot, and then busy Haena. At the ocean's edge, beach houses stake their claim for best view. As you walk you head straight toward the lush green mountain peaks of the Na Pali Coast, made even more dramatic by the passing wisps of clouds. It's all so close you truly feel you're in the shadow of something otherworldly as your eyes pick up every wild detail of the sharp cliffs and valleys. Then there's the golden-white sand beneath your feet and the crystal-clear water as it slips past the outer reefs, lapping gently at the shore. Everything here is vying for your attention, daring you to look away.
There are people everywhere, for sure, but it's nowhere near as crowded as the beaches of Lake Michigan during the height of summer. There's just enough of a crowd so you don't feel so alone. The island feels so inherently wild, like it’s a beast floating at the edge of infinity, that you almost crave the company around you.
After I get my fresh slices of mango and coconut, I eat them sitting on the beach, watching surfers play in the waves, until my phone rings.
Surprised I even get reception here, I fish it out. It's my friend Claire, wanting to Facetime.
I answer it. “Hey!”
“Hey Ronnie,” Claire says. “I had to check in. How are things? You were supposed to text me, you loser.”
Staring at my friend's cherubic face brings a pang of loneliness to my heart. I've never Facetimed her before. I never had a reason to—she always lived down the street from me. Now that I'm staring at her, in what looks like her apartment, probably having just finished work, I'm aware that this is the only way I'll be able to see her for the next while.
“I texted you when I landed,” I protest. “And I sent you that picture of the chicken. Do you want more? I’ve got chickens all around me.” And it’s true. A group of hens are a few feet away, scratching at the sand and eyeing my fruit.