That was often the case; scenes from her day and week crowded her thoughts long after she had gone home for the day. The women’s lives and stories stayed with her, often forever.
The few romantic relationships she’d had in her life had been brief, with each of them making the same complaint: her work-life balance was wrecked. They’d been right, in a way… though Halia might go a step further and say that there was no balance to be had. Her workwasher life. Simple as that.
That day’s arrival was a rough one.
Two black eyes, arm in a sling, her young son a nervous wreck.
Even after all these years, the sight of a bruised and swollen face could hurl Halia right back into her childhood, old images of her mother crowding her mind before she could stop them.
They hardly gave her pause anymore, disturbing as they were. She was so practiced at putting them away again that it was the work of a millisecond, and then she could move on with her day.
The creeping anxiety that came along with the memories was harder to shake.
Most of the women who came through A Place of Refuge just needed a safe place to sleep. They were struggling financially, that was it. Housing was scarce on the Big Island, and Hawaii was a brutal place to try to scrape by as a single mother with no family support.
Often, though, women needed shelter from far worse than the wind and rain.
A Place of Refuge provided that, too.
Halia pulled up to the curb in front of the local Thai place. She’d texted them her order already, a list of all of the Kalama family favorites: green curry,thom ka gai, pad thai, and spring rolls.
The woman who owned the restaurant was one of Halia’s favorite success stories. She and her children had been one of the first families to stay at A Place of Refuge, just a few months after Kimo and his buddies helped Halia to build the tiny houses and community kitchen that made up the complex.
She had gotten back on her feet, found an investor, and opened her restaurant just a year after she’d been sleeping in her car with two kids. The business had prospered, becoming popular with locals and tourists alike. Too busy to cook much, Halia ate there multiple times per week.
“Aloha, Auntie! Good to see you!” The owner’s son, now grown, waved at her through the window to the kitchen. “We threw in some mango sticky rice!”
“Mahalo, Jason,” Halia called back. She handed a bag full of empty containers and accepted two canvas bags brimmingwith warm containers of food. That was Jason’s doing. They still had disposable containers for tourists, but locals got reusable containers that they traded in the next time. It was working so well that Pualena Cafe (the only other restaurant in town) had also started offering takeout in reusable containers.
People liked to talk trash about the next generation – but overall, Halia liked what she saw.
The newest residents of A Place of Refuge were still on her mind as she drove from main street down towards the cliffs, but she did her best to set work to one side for the day. The sun had slipped behind the mountains, and the sky over Pualena was a deep twilight blue.
Pete was out front, and the sight of the sandy-haired boy playing with his cousins made Halia smile. From her first visit to the Kalama place, forty-plus years ago now, the house and yard were full of kids.
The relative emptiness this past year had made the place feel grim and desolate. Kimo’s death had compounded that feeling tenfold.
It was a relief to see the grandkids breathe life into the place again.
“Auntie Halia!” Harper shouted. She ran towards the car with Hayden and Pete just behind her. Halia stood, then let out anoofand a burst of laughter when Harper barrelled into her.
“Hi Auntie!” Hayden ran to her side and hugged her tight.
Pete stopped a few feet away and greeted her with a shy wave. “Um, aloha.”
“Good to see you, Pete,” Halia said with a grin. “Do you like Thai food?”
“Like pad thai?”
“Yep.”
“Sure!”
“Want to help me carry it in? I’m starved.”
“Me too!” Harper shouted. “I’m starved too!”
“Come on, let’s go in and eat.”
