Julian and Marc climb into the rear seat of Natalya’s open-top Jeep Wrangler. It’s not lost on James she drives the same type of vehicle Carlos had owned. Claire grimaces when James orders Marc to scoot to the center. He insists Claire sit with the boys. “You wanted the chance to catch up with them.” He smirks.
Natalya glances at him when he settles in the passenger seat. He buckles up and smiles over at her. She blushes before her gaze slides away. She slaps on a sunscreen-stained, flat-billed cap with the Hayes Boards logo, which is a surfboard riding the company name where the letters H-A-Y-E-S are styled to look like a wave. She shifts the Jeep into gear, her movements rough, and the vehicle jerks forward.
Other than responding to his questions in clipped phrases, Natalya is quiet during the forty-minute drive to Princeville. Her reception as cool as her tone the other day on the phone. James reads her signals loud and clear. She isn’t in the mood to talk . . . with him. He turns his interest to the passing scenery. From azure waters, airbrushed clouds, Jurassic Park–like mountains, and skyscraper palms, the Garden Isle is breathtaking. After six months in the dry Mexican heat, the last place he expected to find himself traveling to is another beachside community. But this island is different, almost effortlessly beautiful. He can feel the mana. The spiritual vibe is almost tangible. The air is heavy with humidity and the scent of plumerias. He sees now why Natalya wanted Carlos to visit. Kauai is magical. A living painting.
Natalya keeps her gaze focused on the Kuhio Highway as they curve around the island. She doesn’t willingly talk to him so he steals glances at her profile. The freckled constellations across her cheekbones and nose intrigue him. The defined limbs that tell him she can probably keep up with him running trails as easily as she surfs the waves. And the hair that spins madly around her head like Indiana Jones’s whip. It all fascinates him. As does the woman. Would she be the same as the image Carlos painted in his journals?
Her row of sterling bracelets jangle as she downshifts, turning off the highway. They cruise through Princeville to the hotel, leaving the Jeep idling at the lobby doors. A valet assists Claire from the vehicle.
“Are you all staying with us?” the valet asks James when he unfolds from the car.
“No, just her.” He nods in his mother’s direction and slips the valet a bill after he points out her bag.
“Do you want me to pick you up later for dinner, Carla?” Natalya asks.
She hooks her purse strap on her bent elbow. “No, thank you. I’ll settle in here for the day. How about I join you in the morning for breakfast?” his mother asks Natalya, but her eyes are on James. He really doesn’t want her joining them for anything, but what can he say without raising questions he isn’t prepared to answer? Julian’s watching him closely, that inquisitive mind of his ticking.
James shrugs and walks to Natalya’s side. “What time should I pick her up?”
“Don’t worry about me,” his mother dismisses him. “I’ll take a cab.”
“Breakfast is at eight.”
“Wonderful.” Claire waves good-bye to his sons and gestures for the valet to follow.
Julian thrusts a chin in her direction and Marc waves back. “Buenos días, Se?ora Carla.”
“Do you mind waiting a second?” James asks Natalya.
She points to an empty spot in the parking lot. “I’ll be parked over there.”
James claps the door’s open window edge twice. “Thanks. I’ll be right back.”
Natalya drives away and James goes after his mother. He places his hand on her midback and shuffles her into the lobby. The valet hurries behind with the luggage.
“James,” Claire says between clenched teeth when he directs her off to the side. The valet hovers nearby.
“Excuse us a moment,” James tells the valet.
“Yes, sir. Ma’am, your bags will be at the concierge when you’re ready.”
James pivots back to his mother. “I don’t know why you’re here or what you’re up to—”
“I’m up to nothing more than a visit with my grandsons.”
His eyes narrow. She rolls her eyes. “Fine,” she huffs. “I’m here to make sure you don’t give up those boys.”
He jerks back. “Why would I do that?”
“Carlos was afraid you’d do something like this. He told me things. We had a good friendship.”
“Because he didn’t know who the hell you were.”
Claire averts her gaze. “Fair enough.” After a moment, she breathes deeply and pushes back her shoulders. “I’m going to check in and have lunch. A manicure sounds nice, too.” She inspects her nails, then walks away.
James rubs his face. He needs a shower and a shave. And food. What he doesn’t need is his mother’s dramatics. He groans into his cupped palms and leaves the hotel.
Back at the Jeep, he runs into more drama. His sons moan and groan. They rub their stomachs, complaining about unbearable hunger pains.
“We don’t have any grocery stores or restaurants on the island,” Natalya tells the boys as he slides into his seat. She catches his gaze and her eyes sparkle. “We have to pick our fruit from trees and slaughter our chickens.”
His sons look at their aunt in disgust.
“Eww,” Julian says.
“Haven’t you seen the chickens running wild?”
The boys nod.
“Catch one and it’s yours. We’ll eat it for dinner.”
“I was wondering about that,” James remarks. Chickens and roosters dotted the roadsides and flocked in parking lots. He’d noticed the feral birds during their drive.
“Hurricane Iniki in ’92. It wiped out the chicken farms,” Natalya explains, shifting into reverse. James grips the dashboard as the car lurches. “Chickens aren’t easy to catch and the island doesn’t have any natural predators so their population exploded. Now they’re just annoying pests begging in parking lots.” She points at a flock.
“More like built-in alarm clocks,” James quips, thinking of how many roosters he saw.
“You have no idea.” Natalya shifts into gear and they leave the parking lot. “I know of the perfect spot to grab lunch.” She yells at the boys over her shoulder.
“Do we get to kill chickens?” Marc excitedly yells back.
“No,” James and Natalya answer in unison. They glance at each other. He skims his eyes over her face and she frowns. He sighs, running a hand through his wild, wind-blown hair as he settles back in his seat, and wonders what about Carlos had appealed to her because she certainly wasn’t liking him.
They eat from a food truck parked on the main road that runs through Hanalei town. He watches how his sons interact with Natalya as she guides them through the menu of kalua pig, poi, and taro smoothies. She handles their disgruntled faces and objections over the unfamiliar food choices as he assumed she would navigate a rogue wave, with skill and finesse. Despite their complaints, Natalya insists they be adventurous. “Trust me,” she says, and they do.