“Dad…”
“I might not have known about it, but I still shouldn’t have opened my damn mouth.” The cars across the highway sped past, afternoon traffic still thick at this intersection but Kona didn’t seem bothered by it. His attention wasn’t on the road or the cluster of cars that waited for the light to turn. “I’m sorry, Ransom. I really am and I’ll do my best to make it right.” He didn’t look away from me until the car behind us laid on its horn, and Dad peeled out from the light.
I believed him. No one could ever accuse my father of not making up for his mistakes. I was proof of that. There was no way he’d half-ass an apology to Aly.
But as we pulled into our road and Kona ignored the low speed sign in his impatience to get to the lake house, I figured Aly wasn’t the only one who would get an explanation that day.
He only hesitated for a second when we pulled into the drive. Dad squeezed the wheel, focusing on the whites of his knuckles before he looked me square in the face like he hoped, maybe, I’d have something encouraging to say. But this would be on him. He’d started the mess by keeping it to himself. Mom, though without knowing it, had exacerbated it by believing Cass was capable of basic human decency. They’d have to get this fixed together or not at all. There was nothing I could do for them.
Dad was out of the car and up the long drive before I could get my door shut and made a beeline for my mother the second their gazes caught.
Aly set next to my mother with two half empty mugs of tea in front of them. She hazarded a glance my way before she left her chair, coming to greet me just as Dad made it to the table. There was a lot that passed between my parents then. The thick heat pulsed in the air, smelling faintly of sweat and the bitterness of Breakfast tea and honey as Dad watched my mother. He didn’t speak, seemed more content to hold her gaze.
Finally, when she seemed incapable of returning his stare, Mom looked down, frowning with her eyebrows moving together. “Sara said…”
“I know what she said, Wildcat.” He knelt in front of her. His reach was slow, hesitant, but Mom didn’t slap his hand away or tell him to leave again as those fingers stretched out. The tips touched first, a brush of his index finger, the base of his thumb cupping underneath her chin and down her throat as he made contact.
It was like the pulse of warming spring pushing against a thin sheet of ice frozen on the surface. Something that was slow, but insistent. Mom’s eyes were rimmed red, while heavy dips underneath had gone hollow and sunken. But she let Kona go on making tentative touches against her face, the small worship of his hands along those fine, thin bones, until Mom stopped being shy and those giant blue eyes of hers moved, that gaze licking up my father’s neck, to his knife edge chin, finally coming to his nose before they stared at each other.
“I saw Simone and her boy this morning.” A small flash moved behind Mom’s eyes at the mention of Simone’s name, but Dad was swift enough, hanging on to a bit of that remaining charm to squash her judgment before it came. “We weren’t alone. Diner with lots of people and both her son and ours chaperoning.” Mom nodded, but didn’t speak, something that seemed to get under Kona’s skin. He exhaled, grabbing her hand before he moved his head, trying to catch her attention. “Ku`u Lei, in thirteen years, I haven’t ever looked at another woman. Why in God’s name would I? He made my perfect match right here.” Dad rested his hand against Mom’s chest, just above her heart before he drifted his palm up, holding her face between his fingers. “He made these beautiful, tempting lips that taste like honey and home and everything I need to fill me up.” Kona kissed my mother and I could not look away, not even when that kiss lingered. “Nani makamae, precious pilialo …why would I ever want anyone else in the world when I have my Wildcat right here, loving me, giving me all my babies, making my life so charmed, so blessed?”
Aly leaned against me, seeming taken by the personal moment my parents did not hide. We were accustomed to their affection. My parents were open, unabashed with their kisses, their touches. Aly had seen, had heard first-hand how the loss of sixteen years seemed to push Mom and Dad forward so that every possible minute were spent together, loving each other because so much time had been spent alone. Because the heart that has been broken needs time, lots and lots of it, to mend.
I knew that. The past four years had taught me that. And so it was no great shock that my parents needed a moment to explain, to do that with touches, though tentative, with kisses that were long and slow, neither of them caring one damn bit who might be watching.