"That means 'family,'" the teacher said. "It means no one gets left behind. No one gets forgotten."
In that instant, my heart clenched. Six years ago, I'd abandoned my ohana.
I started watching surfers on the afternoon beach. Casey loved the ocean. Tommy loved the ocean. And I'd always sat in luxury boxes, looking at the sea like I owned it.
Until I stepped on a surfboard for the first time and got slammed into the salt water by a wave barely two feet high. Water flooded my nose, my ears rang, and the heavy board cracked against my knee. I struggled to the surface, soaked and pathetic, and heard kids on shore laughing.
That defeat was real. But so was the relief that came after.
When I shed that elite shell, when I stopped pretending "I'm better than everyone," I discovered Hawaii's sun could actually feel warm. Getting drenched by seawater wasn't so bad after all.
I started researching every detail Casey had mentioned.
The local restaurant Casey said she liked. The sea turtle spot where she took Tommy. I stopped driving that flashy Rolls-Royce and rented a beat-up pickup instead. I wore generic board shorts and floral shirts and let my skin burn pink under the sun.
One day while learning to make a new Hawaiian dish, I got leaf juice all over my hands—deep purple stains that wouldn't wash off. Looking at those hands, I actually laughed.
These hands had only ever signed million-dollar contracts. Now they smelled like this land.
I started writing letters to Marcus.
"Marcus, I finally understand what you meant by 'equal.' Here, the ocean doesn't go easy on me because of my last name. Taro leaves don't stop staining because of my status. The first lesson I learned here was how to be ordinary—someone who makes mistakes, who needs to learn. Casey doesn't need a savior. She needs someone who can work this land beside her, who understands her struggles and shares her joys."
Every day I passed Casey's street. But I didn't stop at her door anymore. Didn't try to intercept her.
I just watched from a distance as she walked by holding Tommy's hand. Watched her greet the owner at that familiar ice cream shop. Watched her fix Tommy's windblown hair, her smile tired but alive with something I'd never given her.
I found myself falling more and more for this real, independent Casey.
And I had to become a real Paul who deserved that love.
Chapter Thirteen
Casey
Paul was here again.
I had Tommy down at the beach. Paul sat on that bench not too far off, wearing a washed-out gray T-shirt, an old bicycle leaning against his legs. He'd rest a book on his knee, eyes drifting our way, then duck his head back down whenever I looked over.
How many times had this been now? I'd lost count. All I knew was that since that day, he'd started showing up everywhere in my life. Sometimes it was outside the hospital. I'd finish a night shift, and there he'd be, leaning against that beat-up bike, holding out a hot coffee.
"Paul, you don't have to do this." My voice stayed cold. "That bike... it doesn't suit you."
He glanced down at the rattling secondhand thing and gave a self-deprecating smile. "Actually works pretty well. For the grocery store or coming to the hospital, it's easier than driving. Don't have to worry about missing you getting off work because I couldn't find parking."
I'd be at the supermarket picking up groceries, staring at a heavy five-liter jug of water, and a hand with distinct knuckles would just take the bag from me.
"This brand's on sale today, but the taste is just okay. That one up front from the local source is better." Paul stood beside me in a simple gray long-sleeve, pushing a shopping cart, moving like some neighbor who'd lived here ten years.
Tommy ran around in the shallow water, chasing little fish left by the retreating tide, his laughter drifting over in waves. I sat on the sand, knees drawn up, arms resting on them.
I glanced at the bench. He'd unstrapped the cooler bag from the back of his bike and set it next to him. Hadn't opened it.
He'd been coming for days now, showing up in different ways, bringing things, watching from a distance, never pushing forward. What the hell did he want? Didn't he know this made it harder? Or was he planning to just keep this up indefinitely?
Tommy ran back over and plopped down next to me, breathing hard. Mommy, I'm thirsty. I pulled the water bottle from my bag and handed it over. He gulped down several swallows, water running down his chin and dripping onto his chest. I wiped it away with my hand.
"That man's here again." He pointed toward the bench.
