There was plenty of time to think about everything Kanoa could possibly think about in the hours Brennan was at work and she was alone. She needed some hobbies. All of her favorite hobbies consisted of sand, water, and the sun, and...she wasn't going to dwell on that.
She wheeled to her desk and tried stringing words in a story or a poem or...something. But all she could write was a grocery list. As her fingers tapped away on the keyboard repeating again and again how many bananas or what kind of shampoo they needed, she couldn't understand how authors did it. Granted, Kanoa hadn't read many books growing up--there was never time for that, but the ones she did read had been beautiful and intricate and masterpieces all because somebody sat down and knew what words to put together.
Eventually Kanoa grew antsy and could no longer write out grocery lists. There wasn't much to do in the house. She could listen to a record and look out the window. She could sit in the kitchen and eat rice pudding. She could take a nap. She could call somebody. Olive.
Under normal circumstances, Kanoa would have popped over to the house next door and barged right in. Her phone was nearly dead again when she picked it up to dial Olive. It rang a few times--hopefully she was home. Kanoa felt like she would go crazy if she had to spend another moment alone in this house.
"Howdy-do you've reached Olive."
"Hi Olive." Kanoa wished she could be as peppy as she once was, but something about waking up in hospitals and losing the use of half of her body began taking its toll on her.
"Kanoa! How're you doing?"
"Lonely. Bored. I have no hobbies."
"I'll be over in a jiff."
"Thanks." What a depressing exchange. Kanoa plugged her phone in to charge again just as the screen door banged open, sending ice crawling through her shoulders.
"Kanoa?" Olive, already? The woman was...
Kanoa wheeled out of her office, narrowly missing the doorframe, and reached back to close the door behind her. Olive stood in the middle of the living room, her arms hugging an overstuffed bag.
"I brought some things along. I just baked some fresh banana chocolate chip bread and I thought we could have some along with tea. I also have games." She began to walk into the kitchen, her long white hair swaying behind her. "Not sure if you like games, but we're going to play."
"How did you get here so fast?"
"I already had most of my things gathered to come over here. I was planning to come whether or not you called."
"You remind me of my mom." Kanoa watched as Olive went about putting tea on and taking various items out of her bag.
"I believe that's a compliment." Olive turned to wink and put the kettle on the stove. "Tell me about her."
"She grew up on O'ahu and always wore flowers as a young girl. She liked to think they gave her sweetness, but she had to learn to be sweet even without flowers." A picture of her mother as a thirteen year old with all of her cousins after a hula competition hung in Kanoa's office. They all wore brightly colored leis and broad smiles. "Her dad was the mayor of their small town and she learned quickly to spot needs of the people and care for them, but I think it was intrinsic."
"Do you believe you possess that intrinsic quality?" Olive arranged the banana bread on a plate and sat at the table.
A knot tied in Kanoa's stomach. She knew the answer, but she'd always wished the answer was different. "No." She didn't feel shame about many things, but this was a soft spot, or...a sour spot.
Olive stuck her bottom lip out, shook her head, made her curls dance, "I think you do."
Kanoa snapped back to attention, meeting Olive's eyes, speaking the words she knew to be true, "I've never been that way."
"I know a little bit more about your story than you're letting on, especially when it comes to Brennan. You know exactly what it takes to make individuals feel comfortable in their own skin, and that is something every human being desires. You accept people and love them--you teach them to live life to the fullest."
Hot tears welled and Kanoa would have turned away if it wasn't so difficult and unnatural. She blinked harshly a few times and rubbed at her nose.
"Sometimes shedding tears is one of the greatest assets to living a full life." The woman was too perceptive and gracious.
Kanoa's shoulders heaved and tears dripped from her eyes to her lips to her chin and gathered, sliding down her neck, soaking the collar of her shirt. She hadn't fully grieved, she hadn't, and it was catching up.
"There you are." Olive came around and placed a hand on Kanoa's shoulder, moving to embrace her. There, Olive knelt by Kanoa as she wept in her wheelchair and the tea kettle whistled and the banana bread grew a bit crusty in the middle. In Olive's embrace she was within the arms of the ocean--that's how her mother's hugs felt, as if she possessed the very depths of the ocean within her body and heart--this was what she felt now.
Eventually the salty tears stopped dropping and Kanoa shuddered one last time and felt something akin to peace wash over her. She still hurt inside from dashed dreams, but bigger than the dashed dreams was this rending and mending of her heart, the feeling of being seen and known and loved without bounds. "Thank you, Olive." Kanoa wiped at her eyes with the tissue Olive handed her.
"I'd best get this water poured on the tea."
"How do you manage to...make me feel all these things every time you come over?" Peace replaced anger. Grief replaced bitterness. Hope replaced despair.
Olive didn't turn around to answer, slowly pouring water into the teacups in a swirling motion. "It's all about asking the right questions and speaking the truth."
"What if I don't know the right questions to ask?" How could she show love to Maren as a mother if she wasn't half the woman Olive was?
"Then you learn." Now, Olive turned and brought the teapot to the table. "Dig in to the banana bread. It'll get hard if we don't." She sat and grabbed a piece of bread. "People too often expect to go through life knowing everything and never learning. That's naive." She paused to chew for a few moments, breaking apart her piece of bread, before continuing. "I didn't wake up one day deciding to ask good questions. I started asking questions, they got better, and now I know how to ask questions that take me directly into the heart of the matter. It's not impossible."
Kanoa chewed on what Olive said and the banana bread. Around the starting crisp, it was mushy in the middle, like Kanoa's feelings, and the smooth, sweet chocolate chips intermingled with the overripe bananas. The bread bolstered her up inside and gave her the courage to try asking a question. "What was your mom like?"
Olive's countenance faltered a bit and she bit her lip. "Very different from yours."
Kanoa waited, expecting her to say more, but she didn't. It was the first time Kanoa had ever seen Olive tight-lipped about something. Olive merely took a sip of tea.
They spent the next three hours in grueling putting-a-puzzle-together. It wasn't Kanoa's choice of...passing the time, but Olive said it was relaxing and distracting, but it only gave more space for Kanoa's thoughts to wander from planet to planet. Puzzling over a puzzle wasn't grounding at all.
Eventually, finally, the screen door creaked and quiet footsteps padded in. "Kanoa? I'm home. Maren is asleep. The physical therapist is supposed to be here in ten minutes."
An overload, but it was exactly what she needed. "Thank you." Kanoa whispered to nobody in particular and wheeled away from the puzzle and away from Olive and away from stale banana bread crumbs and cold tea and to her husband.
"What have you been up to while I was gone?"
"Don't ask, please." Kanoa kept her voice low and held open her arms. Brennan stepped in and bent to kiss her head. "Olive is here." His eyes held a question, but he moved to the kitchen to say hi to the landlady-turned-friend. Kanoa listened to their chit chat as she watched the ocean. This...was what she needed. Somebody rapped on the wood next to the screen door and Kanoa really didn't want to get it. Luckily, Brennan stepped through the cottage, treading lightly, and answered.
An unfamiliar and far too perky voice was on the other side. "Mr. Kale?"
"Hello, yes."
"I'm your wife's physical therapist. Is Kanoa at home?" The time to begin the path to healing had come. Brennan glanced over to Kanoa. She gave him a single nod and awaited the difficulties that were to come. She was ready. "Yes. Please come in."
"Thank you." A petite young woman came in. She had shoulder length sandy blonde hair and a freckled face. She wore clean, loose scrubs. And she came directly to Kanoa, sporting a genuine smile, and holding her hand out. "Hi, Kanoa. I'm Riley. I'm here to help you get back out on the water."
Those words meant there was hope. Hope. It dangled, in the space between Riley's hand and hers, waiting for Kanoa to latch on. And she did, with a strong grip and a single shake of their clasped hands, she grasped the Hope.
At the end of three hours, Kanoa knew the Hope she'd grabbed was attainable, and she realized she very well could've found a new friend. They'd spend the first hour getting to know one another, talking about Kanoa's diagnosis, and various methods they would put into place to work on getting Kanoa's legs back. The next two consisted of stretches, massages, and exercises. It required vulnerability with a stranger--complete vulnerability, and Kanoa vowed she wouldn't let fear of vulnerability get in the way of recovery.
As Riley stood up to leave, she hugged Kanoa. "You're doing a great job so far. Keep up the good work, get some rest tonight, and I'll see you tomorrow."
"Thanks, Riley." Kanoa wheeled to the door and watched Riley leave, only one thing on her mind as she watched her therapist walk down the path toward the parking lot: she would conquer this.