Kawaipuna Cottage (Free Sample Chapters)

Chapter Two

Lach,  

Just arrived in Lihue. You should have been on the flight with me. I sat with a girl who didn't know me. I mean, really didn't know me. No clue. And it just got better from there. She tried to asphyxiate herself with her drink, but I saved her, then she poured it down my shorts. She ridiculed my ear buds and told me about a great little shop where I can buy matching bracelets for my boyfriend and me . . . and when I told her she snores, she punched my shoulder and made herself cry. Well, she hit me hard enough to make her eyes water and then slapped me in the face with her pillow when I offered her advice on how to hit without hurting your hand. Then when I said I'd kiss it better her face turned five shades of red and she put headphones on and refused to acknowledge me for about two hours, during which I was the most annoying I think I've ever been on a plane. I lost her in the crowd here before I could ask her to dinner. She would have said no.  

Mitch 

I slow around the final curve on Kuhio Highway, and ease the convertible into third gear, slowing for the abrupt drop off the pavement onto gravel. There is a satisfying crunch as the wheels roll to a stop in front of my tiny, green-shuttered bungalow. Leaning back against the headrest, I close my eyes. The salty breeze ruffles my hair and cools my neck. I smell hot sand, drying seaweed, deep water and just a tinge of plumeria. The shushing of palm fronds brushing against each other, a rooster crowing in the distance, and the murmur of waves smoothing the sand on the beach soothe me.  

I slip my sandals off, and opening my eyes, step from the car. The riot of light and color that greets me should be overwhelming but instead fills me with unspeakable tranquility. The perfect blue of the sky first draws my eye, then the deep azure of the ocean pulling my gaze to her sparkling wave caps as if in competition with her celestial sister. Stepping over the two-foot high lava rock border and walking carefully through the spiky grass, I sigh with unadulterated pleasure as my feet sink into the warm silk of sand. The lush greens of palm, and ironwood, enmeshed with masses of fuchsia colored bougainvillea, and accented by the delicate yellow plumeria and striking orange bird of paradise, anchor the endless span of blues.  

"I'm home," I whisper to the wind and smile to myself as I watch the swaying palms nodding their approval to me. I lie back in the sand, an arm over my eyes and just breathe. The voices in my head are finally silenced by beautiful majesty of this place. I feel the tide sneak closer and brush past my toes with a cool caress. I snug my feet under the sand and dig my hand in as well, welcoming the way it settles around me.  

In the last year, I've felt myself fading. I'm still here . . . but transparent. I feel as if no one sees me. I've drifted away from friends and family. I haven't dated a single time in eleven months and, really, I don't mind it much. I seek quiet and peace. I've struggled with the cumbersome weight of ageing parents and the anxiety of what the future is bringing. That fear has spent the joy I once found abundant in my life. I feel wasted, a vestige of what I once was. I feel I have been living under water, and I need to come up and breathe air again, hear the bright sounds, and feel warm. I'm afraid I never will, and that fear has driven me here.  

Here is a tiny beach house on the North Shore of the island Kauai. She sit's on a quiet beach just east of Makua not far from Haena State Park where the paved roads end and the forbidden trails into the Na Pali begin. She is heaven to me. She is Kawaipuna Cottage - the Hawaiian translation: "the source of the spring."  

It's food that finally pulls my lazy butt off the beach. Food that needs refrigerating, suitcase that needs unpacking and stomach that needs feeding. Food and habit, I should say. There is a formula for Carly's successful vacation. As soon as I get to the cottage, I get unpacked, put groceries away, whip up a quick dinner, and am walking on the beach by sunset. I've done it in that exact order forever. It starts my vacation off on the right foot. So here I am in the kitchen surrounded by bags of groceries, waiting for my Ipad to boot up. I can see it's getting late, almost time to head out for my walk. I haven't unpacked yet, haven't put food away yet, my toe taps on the tile until google appears. Maybe you think, because I'm a grown woman, I do first things first. You're right, I do.