Chapter 16

Amelia

The cool Hawaiian breeze caresses my face as we descend the steps to the hotel's open-air dining area. It's our last day here on the Big Island. The sunrise casts golden hues over the buffet tables laden with exotic fruits and steaming local delicacies. It seems we're among the last of the wedding guests to arrive for breakfast, the joyous camaraderie from the previous night's festivities now muted by the sobering thought of imminent departures.

We walk through the breakfast buffet line and stand looking at the dining room. Most of Kent's family and friends are all sitting at a large round table. "So much for sitting together," Kent murmurs. I follow his gaze, noting that the only vacant seats are at the next table over beside his father, Charles, the somewhat reserved but undeniably distinguished guest who I've tried to talk to, without much success, either personally or professionally. If there is a Johns on the marketing committee at Mercy, I think it has to be him, since it isn't Kent and Cordelia's been busy with her wedding. With a slight nod, Kent takes the lead, and we weave through the clusters of guests.

My heart does a nervous skip. This is my last chance. "Mind if we join you?" I ask, offering a smile that I hope appears casual.

"Please, have a seat," Charles replies, his voice smooth as he gestures to the empty chairs.

Kent slips into the gap between Spencer and Rhonda, their conversation reigniting with an easy familiarity. I settle next to Charles, the subtle scent of his aftershave mingling with the salt in the air, professional yet somehow personal.

"How did you sleep last night?" I ask, grasping for anything that might lead into pleasant conversation.

Charles looks at me, his brow raised. It was that or the weather, and weather might be next. Talking to him is like talking to a wall. "Fine."

"Kent mentioned you're the chief medical officer at the hospital. That must be quite the responsibility," I venture, my voice light, feigning a casual interest that veils the reason I'm not stuck back at the office.

"It is." He looks out at the ocean view beyond us for a moment. "It involves overseeing all the medical personnel, ensuring we provide top-notch care, and managing budgets, a delicate balancing act."

"Sounds comprehensive," I reply, spearing a piece of pineapple on my plate. "What are some other aspects of your role?"

He studies me briefly, his eyes sharp, discerning, but I keep my expression innocent, curious. "Well, the healthcare landscape is always evolving," he says, stirring his coffee absentmindedly. "I find myself focusing increasingly on areas like patient experience, regulatory compliance, and staying ahead of technological advancements."

"Interesting," I murmur, sipping my coffee and feeling the warmth slide down my throat. I make a mental note of his words, thinking of how this information could inform Creative Seed's next presentation to Mercy. This is definitely something we could work with—if anyone will listen to me. Inwardly, I prep my next question, aiming to unearth just enough insight without raising suspicion. "Must be challenging to keep up with all those changes," I suggest.

"It is," he admits, and there's a hint of weariness in his tone that tells me I'm on the right track. "But it's also rewarding when everything aligns—the staff, the systems, the service. That's when you truly see the impact of your work."

"Absolutely," I agree. That's what we should work to highlight in our marketing proposal for Mercy—their expertise and synergy, synchronicity…something.

My gaze drifts across the table to Kent, who's laughing at something Rhonda said, his eyes crinkling at the corners. I'm happy he's having a good time, and I love how relaxed he is with them. It's so unlike the way he is with his father.

"And what would you say are the real challenges of running a public hospital?" I ask Charles.

He sets down his fork, a sigh escaping him as if he's unloading a weight. "Well, Amelia," he begins, his gaze distant, "it's primarily poor design of systems and processes." My fingers tighten around my coffee cup, ready to absorb every detail. "Also, we struggle with our system's inability to respond to changing patient demographics and related requirements." His eyes jump to mine, sharp and assessing.

I nod, encouragingly, while internally cataloging each point. "I can only imagine," I reply.

"Then there's the failure to assimilate the rapidly growing, increasingly complex science and technology base," he continues, frustration creeping into his voice. "And of course, the slow adoption of information-technology innovations."

His list paints a vivid picture of an institution on the brink of upheaval. No wonder they can't figure out how to market themselves. "Those sound like significant hurdles," I muse, tilting my head. "How are you planning to meet those challenges?"

Suddenly, the air shifts. Charles's demeanor changes as if he's just realized how much he's said and determined it's too much. He stands abruptly, his chair scraping back with a jarring noise. "I need to be on a call. Excuse me."

Oops. Perhaps I went too far. I need to remember I'm a guest here, not conducting an official interview.

But hopefully, this new perspective will be useful back at the office. If Rose and Adam will listen to me, I could offer an opportunity to approach things differently this time. We could craft a strategy based on what Mercy is trying to accomplish, not just react to what different factions have to say.

Shaking off the guilt I still feel about being here, rather than back at the office with everyone else, I focus on my meal as we finish our breakfast and head to our planned activities. This morning we're swimming with the dolphins.

"Sorry you got stuck with my dad," Kent apologizes as we leave the hotel a little while later.

I shrug. "I'm happy to be here. He was fine. I tried to get him to talk to me about his work, but he was pretty closed off."

Kent nods. "Yep. That's him."

We arrive at the lookout above Dolphin Beach, and I can see the giant mammals gliding through the water. Suddenly, I become nervous. Do they bite? What if they become aggressive? Have people ever died from a dolphin attack?

Kent laces his fingers with mine. "This is going to be a lot of fun."

He follows the winding path down to the hotel beach, and after a quick safety talk, during which they assure us that dolphins don't bite, we're immersed in the warm, clear waters, snorkeling along a stunning reef with loads of colorful fish and a pod of dolphins.

It's hard to feel comfortable at first, but Kent points me to swim farther out where the water is deeper. I follow him, and we surface in the middle of the pod. Their playful clicks echo around me as if they're talking to me, which unfrazzles my nerves. Kent giggles nearby, and I can't help but smile at his childlike excitement. This is magnificent.

After we're done, we walk along to the boat dock. After lunch, the afternoon finds us kayaking. We glide past incredible sea life—schools of iridescent fish darting below us and waterfalls cascading from unseen heights, weaving veils of mist. The black, majestic lava cliffs loom above, silent witnesses to our adventure. Absolutely stunning.

Kent takes his paddling very seriously. I can't have that. On impulse, I splash him with a vigorous swoosh as he races past, his competitive streak on full display. His surprised yelp turns into a challenge accepted, and soon, we're embroiled in a water fight, laughing harder than I have in years.

"Hey! Careful, you two!" The tour guide's admonishment barely registers over our laughter. We're having too much fun, the joyous freedom of the moment outweighing any desire to heed his warnings.

We finally get ourselves under control and return to the docks. "This is the best day I've had in a long time," I tell Kent. "Thank you for bringing me with you."

Kent kisses me softly. "You've made what I thought was going to be a boring wedding so much fun. Thank you for coming with me."

That evening the airport lounge hums with the quiet prelude to red-eye departures. I'm slouched in one of those vinyl seats that cling to your skin, Kent beside me, both of us watching the planes taxi like graceful nocturnal creatures.

Looking across the terminal, I see several wedding guests. "All of Cordelia's friends seem so put together." I sigh, feeling the familiar weight of inadequacy press against my chest. How is that some people just know how to get it all in line? Because I certainly can't seem to figure it out.

Kent turns to me, his eyes soft. "No one is completely put together. Trust me, you're perfect as you are."

His words, warm and sincere, plant a seed of fragile hope within the chaos of my thoughts. "Thanks, Kent," I manage.

The intercom crackles to life, announcing our flight. We rise in sync, leaving the waiting area behind.

As the plane ascends, cleaving through the blanket of night, I press my forehead against the cool window. Below, the ocean is a vast, dark abyss, swallowing up the last few hints of island lights.

All around me, passengers succumb to sleep, their breaths growing deep and even. But restlessness tugs at my mind. I feel like I'm waiting to figure out what I want to be when I grow up. My career hangs in the balance—likely it's time to move on, yet I can't seem to give up on this project, particularly when there aren't many appealing alternatives out there. I know I could improve our approach to the Mercy account, if they'd just let me. I suppose time will tell on that front, but in addition, my savings are laughable, my mother a hurricane of unpredictability…and then there's Kent.

We've shared laughter, adventures, and a connection I can't deny. Yet I know we both meant this to be something just for fun.

And I had fun. So that should be enough. I will always be grateful to Kent for sharing this experience and a little bit of himself on this trip. And I'm grateful that he's a calming presence in this tumultuous phase of my work life. I will remember it always, no matter where I end up.