5. Kai

FIVE

You feel alive to the degree

that you feel you can help others.

~ John Travolta

"Heya, Shaka," Ben practically coos when the mutt shows up in the doorway of the watersports shack with me the next morning.

Shaka wags his tail effusively and trots into the shop like he owns the place.

"Nope. No," I say to the dog … and to Ben.

"No, what?" Ben asks while he bends to scratch Shaka behind the ears.

"No dog in the shop."

"Awww. But he's so cute."

"Cute or not, he can't be in here."

"Why'd you bring him to work then?"

"I didn't."

Ben looks at Shaka. Shaka stares up at Ben with the dog version of an innocent smile. Trust me, that dog is anything but innocent. Then the dog and Ben glance at me with identical expressions of confusion.

"If you didn't bring him, how did he get here? On your heels, no less."

"He … followed me."

"Uh huh." Ben stares at me as if to say, go on.

"He was whining and scratching at the door from the inside after I shut it behind myself. And I resolved to keep walking. He's going to acclimate, right? But then he kept at it. And I thought of … you know … the damage to the house."

"The house. Right. So you opened the door and let him follow you."

"Yeah." I can't look Ben in the eye.

"You know what you are?"

"Hrmph." I mutter out some sort of noncommittal sound.

"You're a softie. And you love this dog."

"Don't you start in on that too."

"Too?"

"Kala and Bodhi insist that I secretly love that mutt. I don't love him. I barely tolerate him. If he didn't make my sister so ridiculously happy, he'd be back on the streets."

"Mm hmm. And yet, here he sits, looking at you like you're Zeus and he's an adoring Greek citizen."

I arch an eyebrow at Ben.

"I tell you what," Ben says. "Why don't we have him lie down behind the counter? The first sign of disobedience or disruption, and I'll take him outside. Okay?"

"Whatever. The dog's already taken over my house, my yard, and my bed, why not my workplace too?"

"Your … bed?" Ben starts laughing. He even bends a little, holding his finger up as if he needs a moment to regain control of himself. "Wait. Wait. Wait! Your bed? The dog is in bed with you?"

"It's that or get no sleep."

"Ahh. Right. So that's why you look so worn out despite leaving the club far too early for a man your age."

"I couldn't sleep. I was up late."

"Snuggling Shaka in your bed."

"Something like that."

"Gemma did not leave with anyone else—just the friends she came with," Ben unhelpfully offers.

"Not my concern."

"What's wrong with her?"

"Absolutely nothing."

"So why did you bail on her?"

"I didn't bail on her. I just went home."

"While a beautiful, friendly, available woman disregarded the attention of every other man in the room to practically force you onto the dance floor."

"We danced. It was nice. I was ready to leave."

"Could you be less of a grandpa?"

"A grandpa?"

"Yeah. You're so stodgy. Don't you ever want to settle down, or even have, I don't know … fun?"

"I have fun. You know I do. When you started here, I helped Bodhi prank you for your whole first week. That was fun. I teach surfing for a living. It doesn't get any more fun than that."

"I just think you could do more with your nights than going home to a dog you secretly love. You could have shaken things up a little. I still think you need female companionship—someone to help you let loose a little. You and Bodhi used to throw barbecues and host the bonfires. Whatever happened to that? You barely had one night out in the past month, and you cut it short."

"Trust me. My night was full enough."

Mercifully, customers walk in before Ben has a chance to grill me about what I mean. It's not that I don't want him to know I was helping Mila, but he and Bodhi always make more out of the relationship I have with her than is real, so I'd rather he think I was home snuggling that wiry mutt than out past midnight fixing Mila's plumbing.

"How can we help you, ladies?" Ben asks the two women in his usually genial tone.

"We're meeting Stevens here."

"I'm sure he'll be here any minute," Ben says with a smile. "Let me know if I can do anything for you while you wait."

Stevens is a marine biologist who lives on Marbella. He runs educational tours of the kelp beds teaching about marine life. We book things for him and he keeps his boats moored in the harbor on the north side of our pier.

The women meander through the shop, thumbing through racks of surfwear, trying on sunglasses, giggling and chatting, and effectively keeping Ben from prodding into my personal life.

Stevens arrives about ten minutes later, true to form. He's one of those guys that spends so much time up in his head, he rarely knows what time it is. Sometimes he'll get so lost in a project he forgets to eat. His idea of a fun night is playing Words with Friends and solving physics problems. Sometimes, in the course of a perfectly normal conversation, he'll bring up topics like neutrino mass, matter–antimatter asymmetry, and the concept of dark energy. Ben entertains himself poking good-natured fun at Stevens, who rarely realizes he's being taunted until at least a few sentences into an exchange between the two of them.

But the man has a heart of gold. He's an animal-lover, and he's great on tours. You'd think all his nerdy brainiac conversational skills would render him inept at taking the average tourist out on the water, but somehow, once he's on a boat, he tones it down to sub-genius level and is able to engage people in the things he loves most—like sea cucumbers.

Stevens introduces himself to the two women.

"Hi, I'm Stevens. I hope you weren't waiting long."

They have the same reaction most females have to Stevens—starry-eyed, staring, tittering nervously, and more unabashed gawking.

"Um, no. It's fine," the taller blond says, literally batting her lashes in a very obvious display of flirtation.

"Totally worth the wait," her brunette friend adds with a tip of her shoulder in Stevens' direction. "You are the marine biologist?"

"That's me."

"No one told me marine biology could be so attractive," the first woman says.

Her friend giggles nervously.

"It's fascinating. You'll see." Stevens smiles congenially, completely oblivious to the blatant non-verbal—and verbal—signals these women are sending his way.

Want to know the mating habits of the California sea lion? Stevens is your man. Ironically, the female of that species acts a lot like these two are behaving right now—practically throwing herself at the bull of her species. When it comes to his own kind, Stevens is so oblivious it's nearly comical. His reaction to female attention is usually something along the lines of carrying on about Gorgonian sea fans or some other oceanic marvel, unintentionally shutting down any romantic advances.

Stevens hands the women their waivers, and once they've signed the paperwork, he leads them out to his boat, leaving me alone with Ben again.

Before Ben can pick up our previous conversation, my phone rings. I recognize the number right away. The caller ID says Mom and Dad.

I hold a finger up to Ben while I step out the back door to take the call.

"Kai!" My dad's voice booms through the phone. "We're all here and we wanted to call you before Kala and Makoa leave for Maui."

Makoa is the name my father calls Bodhi.

A chorus of "Hi, Kai!" makes me smile so broadly I feel my cheeks stretch. I discern the voices of my mom, Kala and Bodhi in the mix.

"How are you Kai?" my mom asks.

"I'm fine. Good. A little tired today. I was up late helping a friend. But I'm good. How are you?"

"We're all well. So happy to have your sister and her future husband here with us. We miss all of you."

"I miss you too. I'm at work right now, though. Can I call you later?"

"Of course. We just wanted to include you in their visit. I wish you were here."

"You'll be here for the wedding and we'll see one another then."

We talk a little longer, Bodhi and Kala telling me about a few local Hawaiian friends who send their greetings. They fill me in on the surfing conditions and waves they've ridden since being back in Hawaii, Mom gives me an update on her life over the past week since we last spoke, Dad is mostly silent until we all wish one another well and then we hang up.

The day moves forward, customers trickling in and out of the shop here and there, but nothing like they do in the summer months. Both Ben and I have surf lessons at various times. A few hours after lunch I inform Ben that I'm going to take off early.

"I've got some follow up from an odd job I did on the North Shore."

"At Mila's Place?"

"Just a job I did."

"Hmm. No problem. Cut out early. I've got things covered here. Want me to keep Shaka with me and walk him back to your place when I lock up?"

"Would you?"

"As long as you won't miss him too much being separated for those few hours." Ben winks, amused with himself.

"I think I'll survive."

Ben chuckles.

I bend to scratch the dog behind his ears before I realize what I'm doing. Then I hightail it out of the shack before Ben can tease me for going soft on that mutt.

I borrow a golf cart from the corral at the resort. It's a perk of being an employee here, since cars aren't allowed on Marbella. The day is sunny by now and people are out walking, riding bicycles, and gathering on the beach to my right. I drive away from the south side of the island where Alicante Resort is situated, past residences, and into the distinctly different area we call the North Shore. The shops here are quiet and smaller, not suited for tourists, but staples for the local residents. The whitewashed wood fronts give off a traditionally beachy vibe. Then I steer into the neighborhoods with houses on lots with smaller yards. Beyond these is the section of homes which used to belong to the wealthier families who first inhabited Marbella.

On one corner sits the inn. A sign hangs over the white picket fence surrounding her property: Mila's Place. The full wrap-around porch has a swing and several seating areas. The steps, the same ones I ran up just last night, are broad and welcoming. And the double front doors open into a great room where she has her reception area and some furniture for guests. Board games and books are tastefully set on various side tables and coffee tables throughout the room.

I park the golf cart and walk up the stairs, into the main room. No one is at the reception desk, but I hear noise in the kitchen, so I walk through, calling out for Mila as I approach the doorway.