Fire Prayer (5 page)

Chapter Seven

Storm opened the door to the hotel room and closed it carefully behind her. “Hamlin?”

No answer. He must still be at the barn. She walked into the room, flicked on the lights, and sat down on the bed to pull on her boots. Instead, she flopped backward and stared up at the ceiling.

Luke was eleven, very close to the age she'd been when her mother died of the same affliction Tanner apparently suffered. One day, she'd come home from the seventh grade and found her home full of people. Concerned people, who didn't know how to tell an emotional and confused twelve-year-old girl what was wrong.

It had been Aunt Maile who'd grabbed the flustered adolescent and taken her outside to the peace of the garden. Under the shade of a mango tree in the front yard—Storm still associated the over-ripe smell of fallen mangoes with loss—Maile told Storm that her mother had taken an overdose of sleeping pills. Yes, that meant she had died. Her spirit had joined the ancestors. Yes, she was now with
pueo
, the owl, her totem, her
‘aumakua
. Apparently she'd taken the pills not long after Storm left for school in the morning. No, there was nothing Storm could have done to stop her. She was sick, my dear one, you couldn't have known. You couldn't have known.

Storm had spent months looking for owls, her mother's spirit animal. In trees, under the eaves of neighbors' homes, storage sheds, whatever shadowy lair tugged her eyes and hopes. Owls came to her in dreams, singing in her mother's rich mezzo-soprano. These days, Storm didn't see them often, but they still captured her attention and she always sent a mental greeting to the animal. Sometimes she asked the winged creatures why.

Storm felt a bond with Luke. One of the difficult aspects of having a parent with bipolar disorder or mental imbalance was that not everyone viewed mental illness as a disease. To some, it was a weakness. And some scrutinized the sufferer's children. These things could be inherited, couldn't they?

Through much of her youth, Storm alternated between the concern that she might have inherited the disease and angst over her own self-absorption. She was alive, wasn't she? She also had Aunt Maile and Uncle Keone, who had stuck with her through the ordeal of losing her mother and then through the more ordinary adolescent ordeals.

Storm remembered drawing comfort from Aunt Maile's story of how Storm's mother had chosen the owl
‘aumakua
from their mother's side of the family, whereas Maile and Storm had chosen
pua‘a
, the pig, from their father's side. It gave Storm some distance from her mother's choices, yet still connected her to the strong framework of the family.

She knew she had always been lucky to have loving family and friends. When her father died of kidney disease, she'd been sixteen and a rebel. Not a particularly likeable person, yet they'd all stood by her.

Who did Luke have? Jenny looked haggard and worn, and Storm had seen her with a beer at four in the afternoon. An early cocktail after a fight with the ex might be an exception, but Storm had a hunch it wasn't. The woman didn't exude an aura of happiness.

She needed to keep Tanner's request in mind, though it had become more complicated. The gossip from Moloka‘i's coconut wireless needed to be verified. Luke's best interests were tied not only to Jenny's parenting skills, but to Tanner's.

Storm sat up and pulled on her boots. She had a nice long weekend to sort through Luke's situation. A scrap of paper peeked from her jeans pocket and she pulled it out. And then there was Jenny's note, another surprise.
Skelly Richards, 567-3208
.

Hamlin was going to find this coincidence and Delia's reaction to Brock Liu very interesting. Storm rose to her feet with a surge of anticipation. For a few hours, she could put aside her empathetic yet gloomy thoughts on Luke's welfare and enjoy herself. Her loved ones, horses, and a new baby foal were only minutes away.

Chapter Eight

“Get off.” Tanner's plea was muffled by the rough indoor/outdoor carpet. Imbedded sand made it more abrasive and his assailant knew it.

“The fuck you doin' here?” The words were borne on breath like burning rubber. The attacker made a phlegmy chuckling noise and rolled up from Tanner's head and neck, but sat with his full weight in the small of Tanner's back. Now Tanner could hardly breathe.

“Connor, s'that you?” His words were almost unintelligible.

“Tanner, you dumb fuck. I should call the police.”

“The police just dropped me off.” Tanner hoped that the forced whisper of his response covered the rising—and irrational—amusement he felt. Like Connor would call the police; he avoided contact with uniforms of any kind. But Connor weighed about a hundred pounds more than he did and Tanner knew he didn't want to antagonize the oaf.

“What do you think you're doin'?” A rancid cloud of halitosis followed Connor's gleefully menacing words, but at least he slid off Tanner's back.

Tanner took a deep breath of relief, then sat up slowly and wiped his nose, which was bleeding, but didn't seem to be broken. It wasn't painful, anyway. “Skelly around?”

“Maybe. Whaddya want?”

“Thought he might give me a haircut.” Tanner sneaked a peek at Connor, but he couldn't gauge the size of his pupils in the dark room. He'd better act as if Connor had been using either crystal meth or anabolic steroids, both favorites of Skelly's younger—and bigger—brother. That meant avoiding any kind of a challenge until he knew Connor had calmed down. And people thought
he
was crazy. Christ.

“You're a stupid lunatic, you know it? Breaking in here in the dark.” Connor grunted to his feet. “You want me to call him?”

Tanner knew he referred to Skelly, not the police. “Sure. He home?”

“Yeah.” Connor walked to the desk, still in the dark. The numbers on the squat, solid phone glowed softly. Tanner heard seven tones as Connor punched the keys, then the sound of a woman's irritated voice over the line coincided with the crunch of feet on the gravel outside. “Connor, is that you again? I told you—”

Connor slammed the phone down as the door opened.

Skelly took in Tanner's form, hunched and still seated on the floor, and his shoulders slumped. “Shit, Connor.”

“Hey, I'm protectin' the business.”

“We don't need protection from Tanner.”

“I'm not so sure.” Connor gave Tanner an evil look and loudly cracked the vertebrae in a neck the size of Tanner's waist by jerking his head from side to side. He clomped off.

Tanner watched his departure. Connor reminded Tanner of a semi-tranquilized rhino. No intellect, and powder-keg impulses. Rhinos might be more predictable.

“You okay?” Skelly reached down and pulled Tanner to his feet. “You've got a raspberry on your cheekbone. That hurt?”

“I guess I startled him.”

“Yeah.” Skelly snorted. “You and everyone else. He took a swing at Bob Crowder last week.” Crowder was the easy-going handyman who kept the kayaks in good repair. He lived out by Halawa Bay and had three kids of his own, plus he'd taken on his sister's three because of her deteriorating health. Usually two or three of the adolescents were around the shop, helping him, so they'd probably seen the altercation, too.

Tanner winced at the image. “Thanks for coming down so fast.”

“Good thing Luke called ahead.” Skelly sighed. “Connor's supposed to take a group out this weekend. He's in no shape right now for a group of tourists, though. He'll get 'roid rage if some kid can't figure out how to fasten the lifejacket.” His eyes met Tanner's and a plea crept into his voice. “You got plans for the weekend?”

“Luke's got a game tomorrow afternoon. When do they get in?” Tanner's mind raced over the logistics.

It was an hour drive to where the road ended at Halawa Bay and Hawai‘i EcoTours had a supply hut filled with boats, camping equipment, and an assortment of gear right on the beach. At the hut, he'd need to load the boats with camping paraphernalia, tie them together, and paddle his way up the coast. He wanted to make sure everything would be perfect for the visitors when they arrived. Fresh water, the outdoor shower set-up with solar heating, canvas tents.

“I pick them up at the airport tomorrow afternoon, but they're not going out in the boats 'til Saturday.” Skelly's voice was so hopeful that Tanner had to smile, which reminded him he had a fat lip. No, Connor couldn't take these people out.

“Is Crowder there?” Tanner asked. If he was, the effort would be easier not only because he'd have help loading the boats, but because he and Crowder—and maybe a couple of his kids—could each take a kayak. This would cut the set-up time in half.

“I can get him there,” Skelly said eagerly.

“What're you going to tell Connor? He'll be way
huhu
.”

“He'll be pissed, but I'll make it look like I need him somewhere else.”

“If I go out early tomorrow, I can still get back for the game,” Tanner said thoughtfully. “I'll need you to set up the second campsite, but you can do that Sunday while we're paddling to Saturday night's site.” He watched the worry lines lift from Skelly's brow and felt the glow of being of use to someone.

“Brah, you are one true friend.” Skelly grinned and threw him a towel. “I'll give you a ride to the end of the road. Just tell me when you want to leave.” He picked up the desk chair and moved it into the bathroom. “Sit down. I can sweep up better in here.”

Tanner sat down and wrapped the towel around his neck. “What's roid rage?”

Skelly's smile disappeared. “You just saw it. Irrational anger, one of the side effects of anabolic steroids. 'Roid. Get it?”

“He got any other symptoms?”

Skelly nodded and looked sad. He didn't elaborate and Tanner didn't ask. Instead, he sat quietly and listened to the gentle snipping of the scissors. Connor once idolized his older brother. It was painful for Tanner to observe the change. He could imagine what Skelly felt.

Skelly was the first to break the silence. “How's the research going?”

Tanner's eyes lit up. “I've got two nibbles on the new substance I've isolated—Whole Health Medicines, which is a good-size American company, and an Australian one I want to check out.”

“For the seaweed extract?” Skelly made a little grimace. “It had better be real healthy, cuz it looks like shit.” He laughed.

Tanner grinned. “It does, but we'll figure out some way to package it. It's great for you, you know.”

It wasn't worth going into a detailed explanation of how certain antioxidants tied up harmful free radicals, or how he had simplified an extraction technique for kahalalide F. Tanner knew Skelly accepted his word that it was good for him, and was glad his friend was finally having some commercial success.

Skelly ran a comb through Tanner's hair and snipped at a few wayward ends. “Did that guy you met last year on our tour with one of the companies help you?”

“The physiology prof? He gave me some tips on getting grant money from the NIH. Federal money. Can't knock that.”

“Way to go, dude. Hey, I oughta make you pay for haircuts.”

Tanner smiled. “I'm not getting rich, but it helped me buy equipment and it got the companies' attention. Gave me legitimacy.”

“You did all this in your cabin out past Keawenui Bay?”

“Yeah, once we got my generator set up. I sure appreciate your help with that.” Tanner's smile faded. “You still have those pills I asked you to keep for me?”

An expression of approval spread across Skelly's face. “You're going to take them when you talk to the pharmaceutical people, right? That's a good idea, you know. Hey, can you get your head farther into the sink?” Skelly tested the water temperature and began to wash Tanner's hair. “You're gonna make this happen. Hah! My
lolo
friend, the rich Moloka‘i chemist. What's Jenny going to say to that, eh?”

Tanner shrugged and the towel fell to the floor. His next words held a tinge of urgency, even though they were spoken into the sink. “How about Luke's meds? You keeping extra in the fridge for me?”

“No worries, brah.”

“That's more important than my pills.”

Chapter Nine

Storm was halfway up the hill leading to the rodeo arena and stables when she ran into an ebullient group that included Hamlin and Aunt Maile.

“Auntie Maile,” she cried out, and the women threw their arms around each other.

The men stood grinning, and Hamlin couldn't contain himself. “We saw the baby horse just getting to its feet. A half-hour old. It's a girl.”

“Yup, it's a filly,” a young man chimed in. “A cross between one of our quarter horse stallions and an Arabian mare.”

Dusty spoke up. “Storm, this is Makani Kekapu. He's our rodeo foreman.”

Makani stuck out his hand. “I heard you hold your own on a horse.”

“These days, I'm lucky to stay on,” Storm said.

“Not the rumor going around. We should have a paniolo competition. A little round-up and barrel racing.”

From the corner of her eye, Storm saw the skin tighten around Hamlin's eyes. A round-up would be way out of his comfort zone.

“Maybe just a picnic ride,” she said.

Storm took Hamlin's hand on the walk back to their room, but he took it loosely and walked faster. “I've got about five minutes to shower and get ready for dinner,” he said.

“They'll only get a cocktail or two ahead of us.”

“Right.” Hamlin opened the door to their room and immediately peeled off his dusty, straw-speckled jeans. He threw them onto a growing pile of dirty clothes on the closet floor and headed for the bathroom.

“You can use those to ride in tomorrow,” Storm told him.

He turned on the shower and stepped in. “I'm from Detroit, remember? I play basketball and hockey. The horse stuff I'll leave to you and your pals.”

“Okay, okay.” Storm backed off the riding idea, and told him about her trip to the crack seed store while she washed up at the sink. She related what she'd found out about Hamlin's case, which included Tanner's friendship with Skelly Richards and Delia's reaction to Brock Liu. She decided to save her description of Jenny Williams for later, when Hamlin seemed in a better mood.

“Didn't you tell me everyone knows everyone else on this island? Is this surprising?” He got out of the shower, wrapped in a towel.

“Hamlin, are you mad at me or something?”

“A little. I mean, you're the one who complains when I don't stay by your side at business functions, and we're both in the same profession. This is your element, not mine, and you ditched me this afternoon.” He jerked up the zipper on a pair of pressed chinos.

“Those business functions are
your
clients' cocktail parties, political rallies, stuff like that.” Storm heard the petulance in her voice. “I guess I thought you'd want to talk to Makani alone. Did you get the chance?”

“Are you kidding? He was up to his shoulder in a horse's ass. I thought he was going to crawl in.”

“The foal was breech?”

“I didn't ask. I was trying not to barf on his boot heels.”

“Wow. Wish I'd been there.”

“How'd I know you'd say that?” Hamlin turned toward the door. “Are you ready for dinner? I need a drink to get my appetite back.”

Hamlin had a few more than usual, but Storm didn't say anything. Instead, she enjoyed her wine and tried to converse with all their dinner companions. It was a fun group. When they got back to their room, Storm took a shower. By the time she crawled into bed, Hamlin was already asleep.

Storm tossed and turned during the night and was relieved when she saw the silver halo of morning bleed around the closed drapes. For a split second, she contemplated the mournful bird cry she'd heard before she'd opened her eyes, but she didn't think about it long. Over dinner the night before, she and Aunt Maile had decided if Storm woke up in time, she'd join Maile for some plant-gathering. Storm peeked at her watch. It was 6:30; she had fifteen minutes. Maile would forgive her if she didn't show up, but Storm wanted the time with her aunt.

Hamlin was still snoring with deep, rhythmic breaths. If she was lucky, he'd just be rolling out of bed about the time she got back. Storm propped a note in front of the bathroom mirror. “Meet me for breakfast at eight. Free coffee in the foyer, next to the concierge. Love, me.”

That's where she found both Aunt Maile and Uncle Keone, mugs in hand. “Are you coming with us?” she asked Uncle Keone.

“No, I'm going to check on that new baby up at the barn. Where's Hamlin?”

“Still sleeping.” Storm filled one of the mugs the hotel staff had set out for guests and turned to Keone. “Say, if you see him, will you try and talk him into a nice, easy ride later this morning? If he hears from you what a breathtaking view the trail follows, he'll be more inclined to go along.”

“I'll do my best.”

Aunt Maile had an eyebrow raised, though, and Keone got busy adding more sugar to his coffee. “Come on, honey. We need to drive toward Kaunakakai.”

“We're not hiking around here?” Storm hustled to keep up with her aunt, who'd given Keone a quick kiss and headed out the front door.

“Not today. I want to see if we can find
‘awa
, and it's too dry in the gulches around the ranch.”

“
‘Awa
? May I keep some?”

“You having trouble sleeping?”

Storm ignored the question and climbed into a small van with the ranch logo on the side. “The ranch loaned you this?”

“Yup. We're also going to get some
‘awapuhi
for the manager's wife. She fell the other day and sprained her wrist. Some
koali
might help, too.” Maile put on her seatbelt. “What's going on with you and Hamlin?”

Storm slumped. “I don't know where to start.”

“Start with your seatbelt.”

Storm fastened it. “Part of it has to do with work.”

Aunt Maile's face softened. “I wish I had some magic answer for you.”

Storm couldn't remember when the first little glitches had popped up. She hadn't wanted to admit they were there, and now they were spreading like eczema. “It seems like we're disagreeing more and more, like we don't have as much in common as we used to.”

“He's a good person, a kind man.”

“I know.” Storm barely whispered.

“That's not a criticism of you, either. He's lucky to have you, and he knows it.” Aunt Maile reached out and squeezed Storm's hand. “Meanwhile, try to listen to your heart and what it's telling you.”

“I am.”

“It takes practice.”

Storm opened her mouth, then closed it again.

A gentle smile creased Aunt Maile's face. “I know you'll do the right thing.”

The tightness in Storm's throat eased a bit. “I'm glad I got up in time to go with you.”

Several comfortable miles passed quietly before Storm broke the silence. “Say, what kind of bird cries early in the morning? It woke me up.”

Maile shot Storm a quick look. “It could be any number of birds.”

“Really?” Storm wasn't fooled. “You were thinking of a specific one, though.”

“I thought of the ‘alae. But it couldn't be.”

“A mud hen? Why not?”

“They're endangered. There are some on O‘ahu, but no one's seen them on Moloka‘i for decades.”

“Why'd you think of the mud hen?”

“Hmmm.” Aunt Maile tapped the steering wheel in time with the melody they'd picked up on the radio, a station from nearby Maui. Storm had a hunch her aunt was deciding whether to relate some Hawaiian legend that had been passed around since her great-great-grandmother's days. They sometimes disagreed about the importance of these old tales in modern life. Most of the time, Storm tolerated her aunt's stories; her aunt was an intelligent, well-educated woman. A registered nurse, and also a teacher of the old ways, a respected
kahuna
. But this time, Aunt Maile just continued to hum.

An hour later, Storm and Maile had climbed up and down several ravines and gathered two full baskets of plant cuttings. Aunt Maile looked satisfied and Storm had sweated through many of the concerns buzzing around her head. Not that she knew all the answers, but she'd made some decisions about her own behavior. For a start, she'd decided not to railroad Hamlin into a ride. She'd ask how he wanted to spend the day and go happily along with his wishes.

When she and Aunt Maile got back to the Lodge, they found Hamlin and Uncle Keone, who looked like he hadn't moved, next to the coffee urn. Storm wrapped her arms around Hamlin's waist and he returned her hug.

“I went with Keone to see the baby horse,” he said, grinning. “It looks completely different this morning. I mean, it has a fuzzy coat. And it's starting to scamper on those long legs.”

Keone beamed. “The mare came over for an apple I'd been saving, so the little filly followed.” He put his hand on Hamlin's shoulder. “We're going to turn this man into a horse lover yet.”

The four of them went into the dining room and ordered breakfast. After Hamlin had downed about a liter of fresh orange juice, he said to Storm, “You'll love her. She's already prancing around, and the mother horse watches her with the same expression humans have for their toddlers. Makani and I put a little harness on her.”

Keone saw the question on Storm's face. “Makani puts an adult horse's halter over her head and fastens it around her chest, so she's easier to catch and handle. Says it socializes the foals easier. He's a real ranch man, that Makani. I'm going to take a few new tricks home to the Big Island.”

“He wants to take us on a ride this morning,” Hamlin said. A touch of uneasiness had crept into his voice.

“We don't have to,” Storm said. “You want to go canoeing? Or out in a Zodiac? We could see if there are still a few humpbacks that haven't gone back to Alaska.”

Hamlin looked thoughtful. “Maybe tomorrow. I'd like to try this ride. It's going to be a great view, and Makani and Keone are going to teach me some things. Plus, the Lodge is packing a picnic lunch for us.”

Storm fumbled a huge bite of syrup-soaked taro pancakes into her mouth. “That sounds great.” Later, she'd tell Uncle Keone what a genius he was. She didn't dare look at Aunt Maile, who was grinning down at her own scrambled eggs.

A half hour later, the four of them ambled up the hill to the stables, where they found five horses tied to a rail, spaced evenly so that Makani could move easily among them. At the moment, he was bent over the rear hoof of a big buckskin gelding. The horse blinked sleepily in the sun. His ears perked up at the approaching foursome, but he didn't put his hoof down.

Makani looked up. “Hi. You're early.” He picked up the buckskin's other hind leg and cleaned the hoof. “Or I'm late. Thought I'd have these guys saddled up before you got here.”

“We'll help,” Keone said. “Hamlin, you can curry, especially on their backs where we'll put the saddle blankets. Storm, why don't you get the blankets and match saddles to the horses? Maile and I'll get the bridles.”

A half hour later, Makani had them mounted and in single file, with Hamlin behind Makani's bay mare. Aunt Maile was next, then Storm, with Uncle Keone bringing up the rear. For a half hour or so, the trail, often wide enough for two horses to walk abreast, crossed red-dirt pasturelands. Makani dropped back to ride next to Hamlin. Storm couldn't hear all their words, but she could see Makani gesture to Hamlin's hands and demonstrate how to hold the reins against the horse's neck, or use the calves of his legs and his body weight to urge the animal before resorting to his heels.

Storm smiled up at the sun warming her face. When they got higher into more forested land, she relaxed and let the leaves' shadows dapple her eyelids. This was bliss. Hamlin was learning an activity she loved, from a man who was a lot less threatening than if Storm had tried to teach him herself.

This was something to think about. What was it that had come up between them? Was she just feeling insecure? Or was it Hamlin? It seemed she rarely could take a teaching role in their relationship. Did she need more recognition than he was willing or able to give her? He was three years older, and like many men, he was a doer, a guy who felt most effective when he was active: fixing a convoluted legal problem, teaching law students, charming potential clients. His instincts were to lead, especially where she was concerned. And though she trusted that his intentions were good, their opinions often differed.

Sometimes she worried he felt underappreciated, even threatened, by her independence. She didn't know what to do about that in the long run, but right now was not the time to get bogged down with questions that had no answers. She could just be happy Makani was teaching him to ride.

Makani pointed to Hamlin's feet, then exaggerated his own heel position. He slid one hand up the reins, shortening them. Storm perked up. Sure enough, both Makani's and Hamlin's horses picked up their pace. Because horses are herd animals, the rest of the mounts followed and trotted up a long, gentle rise. When they slowed, Makani took his position in front and the troupe began to pick its way up steep, rocky cutbacks.

The ascent went on for nearly an hour, through low, foggy cloudbanks that dampened them, though the horses lathered into a sweat from the effort of the climb. The riders perspired, too, as they leaned forward in their saddles to help the horses' efforts. When Makani's and Hamlin's horses broke out of the forest, Storm saw Hamlin's head snap up. She caught his profile momentarily as he pushed his hat back and grinned.

In a moment, all five horses broke through the fog to the top of the hill, where the riders took in a vastness of sapphire deepening to indigo, where the earth curved into a haze that obscured the boundary between sea and sky. It was as if the heavens had come down to enfold them, and for long minutes, no one spoke.

Finally, one of the horses stamped a hoof. Makani hopped off his mare. “Whaddya think of this for a picnic spot?”