11. ‘Ōlena

11

‘ōlena

N ate's voice was tense with worry when he answered the phone. "Hello?"

"They're letting him go home today. We're gonna leave in a few minutes."

"So it went well?"

"Yeah. All good."

Nate's relief filled the line in a huff of breath. He had lost his own father to a heart attack when Luana was just a baby, and he had been just as shaken as ‘ōlena when they got the news that Manō was in the hospital.

The first time the doctor said the words percutaneous coronary intervention , ‘ōlena had been terrified. But with patient explanations from the staff and some research of her own, she had learned that it was a minimally invasive procedure.

"Your father will be back on his feet in no time," the doctor had assured them. His island accent, as warm and thick as Manō's, had comforted her and her mother just as much as his words.

The thought of a stent in his heart still made ‘ōlena's chest constrict with anxiety, but she had endured it and tried her best not to crush Mahina's hand as they sat waiting.

Her father had always been a mountain of a man. He'd seemed invulnerable. Arriving at the hospital to see him pale and weak and attached to machines had nearly given ‘ōlena a heart attack of her own. At the very least, her heart felt cracked and bruised.

It had been hard to reconcile the father she had always known with the ashen-faced man in the hospital bed. He looked better today, more like himself, but he was still tired and moving slow.

Mahina was quiet the whole way home. She'd insisted on driving, even though she managed the truck one-handed while keeping her right hand clasped with her husband's.

‘ōlena sat in the back seat, feeling oddly like a child again. She had hardly seen her girls in days, and she hadn't gone to work. She had been with her parents day and night, doing everything she could to make her dad comfortable and ease her mom's stress.

Now, sitting in the back of the truck cab as they sped down the green highway she had known all her life, she experienced a strange sense of timelessness. For a long moment, everything seemed suspended and still.

Nate was waiting at the gate when they arrived. He opened it, waited for the truck to pull through, and then closed it behind them.

Watching him, ‘ōlena felt a rush of gratitude. Her big brother hadn't even bothered to come home from the mainland. Her little brother was busy covering for Manō at work on top of raising a kid and running Haumona Shave Ice.

Nate had been the one to keep things going smoothly. He had held her hand in the waiting room, taken care of the girls, helped Kekoa when he couldn't be two places and once, and just generally acted as the family's rock while Manō was in the hospital. All on top of working long hours in the orchard.

Mahina tried to put her husband to bed, but he waved her off and planted himself on the lanai.

"I'm not dying, and I've spent enough time in bed to last a month. I just want some fresh air."

"Some aunties stopped by about an hour ago," Nate said. "I finally convinced them to go home just before you got here, but the refrigerator is packed."

Mahina squeezed her husband's shoulder on the way inside. "I'll make you a plate."

"I'll go pick up the girls," Nate said.

‘ōlena's stomach lurched, and she checked her watch. The school day was almost over, and she hadn't even noticed. She was usually in the thick of it, not off someplace else trying to keep track of pickup times.

She shot Nate a grateful look, and he winked. "Save me some lau lau."

"‘ōlena, come eat," her mom called from inside. None of them had eaten yet; they had all been too nervous about the PCI to choke down hospital food.

The fridge was bursting with containers that their community had brought by, and Mahina muttered under her breath as she juggled casserole dishes and plastic bowls.

"Half of this is mac salad. What are they thinking? Are they trying to give him another heart attack?"

‘ōlena took two of the biggest bowls and set them on the counter. "We can take them to the soup kitchen this weekend."

"No. I don't want them in the house. You can take them by the shelter on your way home."

"Okay." ‘ōlena left the bowls closed – she wasn't about to eat one of her dad's favorite foods in front of him while he ate rice and vegetables.

Mahina dropped a plastic box onto the counter with more force than necessary. "Take these mutsubis too."

"Hey!" Manō shouted from outside. "I heard that!"

"No more spam!" she shouted back.

"You can't come between a man and his mutsubis!"

"I can and I will!" Mahina sounded fierce, but a moment later she slumped and let out an exasperated laugh. She carried their plates out onto the lanai, and ‘ōlena followed with three glasses of iced māmaki tea. Juniper had dropped by her house the day before with a bag full of the dark green leaves – apparently they were good for the heart.

Manō gave ‘ōlena a mournful look and said, "She's trying to starve me."

"You'll live," Mahina said curtly.

"No more malasadas or butter mochi," he lamented.

"Definitely not."

"You expect me to eat like this every day?" He poked at the plate of steamed vegetables and brown rice. "I'll waste away to nothing. Where's the Hawaiian food?"

"There's plenty of healthy Hawaiian food," ‘ōlena cut in.

"Like what?"

"Huli huli chicken," she shot back. It was one of his favorites. "I'll get some for dinner tomorrow."

"What else?"

"Poi," Mahina said.

He scoffed and wrinkled his nose.

"Lomi lomi salmon," ‘ōlena said. "Lau Lau. Poke. There's tons of stuff, Dad."

"So why you feeding me this cardboard, then?"

"Just eat it," Mahina grumbled.

"Grandpa!" Kiki and Luana came racing through the garden. Luana tripped to a stop in front of him, but Kiki slammed right into him in her excitement.

"Careful, little opihi," Mahina scolded gently.

"She's fine," Manō said, wrapping an arm around his granddaughter.

"That's another healthy Hawaiian food!" ‘ōlena exclaimed.

"What is?"

"Opihi!"

"Opihi," he scoffed. "Look at me. How many you think I'd need to fill me up?"

But even as he teased, his eyes sparkled at the memory of collecting the Hawaiian limpets with his kids. They used to go to the beach at low tide to pop them off of the rocks with paint scrapers and slurp them right out of their shells. On special occasions, they grilled them. They'd made an appearance at each of the girls' first birthday parties.

Mahina called the girls ‘little opihi' when they were being clingy. But Manō used to call ‘ōlena that when she was being stubborn.

Harvesting opihi was tricky. You got one chance, and that was it. If you didn't pop the limpet off of the rock with your first attempt, it would clamp down so tight that not even crashing waves could get them loose.

"We should take the girls," ‘ōlena said.

"Yeah!" Kiki shouted. Then she tilted her head to one side. "Take us where?"

Manō looked at ‘ōlena with one eyebrow raised. "That's a dangerous thing for do, you know."

" He ia make ka opihi, " Mahina added.

"What's that mean?" Luana asked.

"Opihi is the fish of death." Manō's voice lilted dramatically.

Luana's nose crinkled. "But they're not dangerous. They're just stuck to the rocks."

"It's not the opihi that are dangerous. It's the waves."

"We can go at low tide," ‘ōlena said. "You took us a thousand times when we were kids."

"Where we going?" Nate came through the door with two plates of food for the girls.

"Grandpa's taking us to catch opihi!" Kiki announced.

"You don't catch opihi!" Luana told her. "You just pick them up!"

"You gotta pry them off the rocks," Manō said. "I'll show you."

Something inside of ‘ōlena's chest relaxed, and the last of the tension drained from her shoulders.

Her dad was going to be okay.

She blinked back tears and shoveled lau lau into her mouth without really tasting it. Nate sat down next to her, his own plate piled high, and put an arm around her shoulders.

"You promise?" Kiki demanded.

Manō smiled at her, and his eyes softened when he looked over at ‘ōlena.

"I promise."