Stranded in Paradise (10 page)

Sunday mornings, she'd watch her friends, all dressed up in their nice clothes as they drove away to church with their PTA mothers and Ward Cleaver fathers. She imagined the happy families coming back to eat pot roast and mashed potatoes and gravy, sitting at a table with pretty plates and saucers and even fresh flowers, and she'd wonder why, if there were a
God
, did he love some people more than he did others? Because it was obvious that he did.

“Your problem is that you're too trusting, Tess,” Mona said.
A cigarette dangled from the corner of her mouth and the stench of smoke filled the room. “You need to grow up,” she said. “Now come away from that window. Those folks are putting on airs. Jack Pierson may look like the perfect husband and father, but I know for a fact Jack likes his brandy.
Don't be fooled by people. Do you really think anything in this life is that perfect?—that trusting in some mystical God to run your life is going to keep you from having troubles?
Now set the table for breakfast and maybe we'll all go for a ride later.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Mona was right. She had let down her guard and placed her trust in Len Connor. And Len had shafted her big time.

I'm hiring a fraternity brother. But there's that position in payroll . . .

Mona would give her an earful when she heard that she had been demoted—fired, whatever. She should call her, but they rarely talked. Guilt nagged her when she thought of how little time she allotted family—but then the Nelson family gave a whole new definition to “family.”

She picked up a travel brochure and leafed through the pages. A drive to Hana promised spectacular waterfalls and freshwater pools. Hawaiian “cattle country.” African tulip trees, towering Baldwin pines, colorful exotic plants and flowers, the variegated greens of the endless tropical scenery—none of which really interested her. At least not right now.

Wadding the paper, she threw it aside and started to pace. She hated this feeling, this panicky feeling of not knowing what was going to happen next. Fear of the unknown set her teeth on edge. Maybe she'd been wrong to leave. Maybe she should go back and fight for her job. If she stayed and waited for Len, would he ever recognize his mistake? Suddenly she felt overwhelmed, as though she were drowning. A headache bloomed at the base of her skull.

7

Sitting at the small table in her room, Tess casually leafed through “Driving Maui” while she finished breakfast. Her eye caught the “Whale Watch” excursion. Humpbacks migrated from the North Pacific to Maui's southern and western shores during late November through March to mate, calve, and nurse their young in warm Hawaiian waters.

Whales. Well, why not
. She wished she didn't have to go alone. Her thoughts turned to that man she'd spent time with at the luau and she wondered what he was doing today. Then just as quickly, she tossed the idea aside.

Donning a pair of shorts, a T-shirt, and flip-flops, she reached for her sunglasses, binoculars (thanks to Hilo Hattie's), and sunscreen, and looked at her reflection in the mirror. Was that a bald spot near her left temple? She moved closer to see, running her hand through the strands, a few of which came loose and clung to her fingers. “Great!” she murmured. Nerves had her going bald. Great. She grabbed a bandanna and tied it securely around her head, then left for the wharf to purchase a ticket.

Captain Commando Humpback Whale Picture Patrol— a certified thirteen-passenger inflatable boat—bobbed at its mooring.

Water, wind, and surf. She climbed aboard, and leaned back as the captain set out to sea. The boat skimmed foamy waves. She gazed at the immensity of it all. Hadn't she heard somewhere that God showed Himself in nature? She wondered if even God was surprised by His handiwork the day He formed the oceans.

No, she supposed. Nothing surprised Him, not even the beauty she saw this morning.

So, ol' girl, why can't you let go and let God handle the rough spots in your life? If He's smart enough to create all you see, maybe He's big enough to oversee your piddling crisis. Name me one man or woman who doesn't have problems, but the wise soul doesn't fool himself into thinking he controls it.
But she'd been in charge of her life for so long she didn't know how to even begin.

A couple of miles offshore, the captain stopped the boat. “We got to be quiet and watch,” the overweight man with the standard captain's hat said, finger to lips. The other ten tourists gazed with hushed awe, turning in circles to see who would be first to spot their prey.

After a few minutes a teenage boy with bright red hair pointed as he squeaked, “Thar she blows!” The excited tourists heaved to portside, causing the raft to shift. Men, children, and women jostled for position, binoculars to their eyes, shouting, “portside!” then, “starboard!” pointing out each sighting.

It wasn't long before she tired of trying to catch a glimpse. She moved to the back bench. She'd stuffed a novel in her backpack; she'd read and leave the whales their privacy.

Sitting back, she opened the book and yawned. Sun reflected off the water and made her drowsy. Tess closed her eyes and soaked up the rays.

A second later they snapped open in time to see a humpback surface starboard, so close that a shower of seawater from its blowhole drenched her. Flinging water off her book, she grabbed the sides of the raft for support as the rubber tipped and shifted. Whale lovers screamed and trampled in her direction, tripping over each other to get the photo op. There wouldn't have been more chaos if the humpback had tried to mate with the boat.

She tried to scramble out of the way but her bad ankle got caught on a rope and she tripped before a portly man slammed into her. “Get . . . off . . . of me!” she managed. The man offered a vague apology before climbing to his feet and rushing to the latest sighting. Cameras whirred.

“Portside!”

Gripping the sides of the rubber raft, she gritted her teeth until the whale submerged and the crowd scrimmaged back to the front. She dropped back to the seat to examine her foot.

“Oh, yeah, that's gonna swell. Again!” she murmured, clamping her eyes shut.

Soaked pages in her novel curled in the sun.

Tess braked the rented car behind the hotel, exhausted. A trip to a local supermarket after whale watching for soda and chips to keep in the room proved interesting. Asparagus: nine dollars a pound. She didn't think she'd be cooking much asparagus if she lived here. She had purchased tape and an Ace bandage as well, since the first one smelled of seawater.

After dropping her goods in her room and rebandaging her ankle, she made her way back outside. The harbor gently beckoned to her. Lahaina was beautifully lit tonight. Festive strings of tiny multicolored lights reflected from boats tied to the moorings.

She walked slowly along the water's edge, drinking in the scenery. The air smelled tangy yet fresh. Palm trees rustled in the breeze. The ocean surf beat steadily along the shore.

Her eyes strayed to couples walking hand and hand, and emptiness welled inside her. Something was missing in her life—was it a man? Was it family? No, she didn't need a man to make her life complete, and her family had proven less than satisfying years ago. She didn't need anyone—maybe that was the problem.

Lanai Island lay dark against a background of sailboats awash in their tiny lights. A couple stood, arms wrapped around each another, and gazed at the splendid sight. She felt the weight of her aloneness. She
was
alone. Most of the time it didn't bother her, but seeing couples walking with their arms looped around each other, honeymooners kissing in secluded corners, made her realize what an empty life she lived.

Why couldn't she be like those people, tourists enjoying their vacation, laughing, enjoying life in general, even having their pictures taken with those ridiculous parrots in front of the hotel? She thought of the smiling tourists she'd seen crowded into shops, buying colorful Polynesian shirts and sarongs as if there would be a souvenir famine in the very near future. They'd never wear the things. They'd take them home, show them to their friends and families, and then they'd stash them in a bottom drawer and at some future time the treasures would go into a garage sale or become someone's Halloween costume.

Wasting money like it grew on trees—

She cringed when she realized how much like Mona she sounded. Mona.

The pit of her stomach felt like a stone. What difference did it make to her how those people spent their money? It made absolutely no difference to her. They were having a good time and that was what mattered, wasn't it?

Mona was the perennial wet blanket at every party, the one who couldn't have fun if her life depended on it: “Why would you buy me something like that?” she'd ask when Tess gave her a thoughtfully chosen birthday or Christmas gift. “What am I going to do with that? Such a waste of money.”

Not much different than you wondering why tourists buy sarongs and brightly flowered shirts, is it, Tess?

Was she turning into her mother?

Sleep didn't come easily that night. Noises drifted from the harbor—the sounds of happy voices, of someone strumming a ukulele and singing “Shiny Bubbles” and laughing.

People having fun. People unlike Tess Nelson, who'd die before she slaughtered the song, “Tiny Bubbles.”

“Relax,” she whispered. “Relax and enjoy Hawaii.”

Connor.com
couldn't
run smoothly without her. Why, she'd established all of the H.R. systems, factors that kept the employees happy—everyone knew that happy employees equaled productive employees and that meant money in
Connor.com
's pocket. She was the backbone of the systems, which were the backbone of the company. Logic said Len needed her, that
Connor.com
needed her.

Logic.

Carter shoved his room keys into his pocket as he let himself into his room. He slid the window open to welcome a breeze and automatically turned on the TV. The cheeseburger he'd eaten fought with the double-dip Häagen-Dazs coconut pineapple cone he'd bought on the walk back to the hotel.

Sitting down in a chair, he propped his feet on the bed and adjusted the sound on the TV as his eyes scanned the stack of coupon books he'd acquired.

“. . . tropical storm . . . better watch this one, folks, could be upgraded to hurricane status before the night's over . . .”

Spotting a coupon for “Mexican Madness Night” at Moose McGillicuddy's restaurant, he leaned over and carefully creased the paper then tore it out. $16.95 for two. He shrugged. Not bad—he was a “one” but he'd eat what he could and leave the rest.

Adjacent to the Madness coupon was one for a free coffee mug at Hilo Hattie's, with a twenty-five-dollar purchase. The binoculars and puka beads had already cost him fifty, but he might find something else he liked— maybe take Carl back one of those hula skirts. He snickered when he tried to imagine what the macho supervisor would do with two half coconut shells and a grass skirt. The coupon joined the others on the nightstand.

He stretched out to relax and let the cheeseburger settle. Carl had been smart to make him take a vacation. He'd needed the time away to refocus and relax.

Thanks for calling my limitations to my attention,
he thought.
Help me to lean more fully on You.

Clicking off the TV, Carter lay in the darkness, doing what he'd come to do in Hawaii: spend time with his Best Friend.

Lord, You know my heart. Let me do more thanking and less complaining. Grant me patience to wait on You. I recognize my need for Your assurances, for Your strength for Your hand on my life. I stand guilty: guilty of weak faith and the if-I-can't-fix-it-by-Friday-I'll-turn-it-over-to-God thinking
.
Thank You for reminding me that it is You I need, not You who need me.

8

Startled from a sound sleep, Tess sat bolt upright in bed. Shouts—someone pounding on her door.