Chapter 4
Iris
After wandering around aimlessly through Kauai’s small airport for a solid ten minutes, I find the right rental car counter and take my place at the back of the line. There’s only one clerk and several people ahead of me, so this might take a while.
“Gramma!” a little squeak of a voice shouts excitedly, drawing my attention. “We saw a whale in da bathroom!”
The voice belongs to a striking, dark-haired boy of four or five—a kid whose soft curls and blazing smile melt me upon impact. His arms flailing, the boy careens from the bathroom to an elegant older lady a few yards away, while an older gentleman trails behind.
“There’s a sea-creature mural on the wall in the bathroom,” the older man explains with a hearty chuckle.
“How exciting,” the woman replies. “What else did you see in there, honey?”
The kid cocks his head. “My pee-pee.”
Both the man and woman burst into laughter, and I can’t help but do the same.
“In the painting, honey,” the woman amends. “What else did you see on the wall besides the whale?”
“Ooooh,” the little boy replies in his heart-melting voice.
Clearly, he wasn’t trying to be funny or sassy when he answered his grandmother’s question.
Like most kids his age, he was likely being literal, as his brain is wired to be during this particular stage of development.
“I saw fishes and a sea turtle and . . .”
Yet another wave of grief slams into me.
When I said yes to Brandon’s marriage proposal, or whatever that was, I thought I’d one day get to be like that beautiful lady over there: a wife and mother and, eventually, a grandmother.
I know I’m young, but I’m scared I might have wasted too many years of my life with Brandon—that because of him, I’ve somehow missed some sliding door I was supposed to walk through to meet the true love of my life.
“Next, please,” the rental car clerk calls out, jerking me from my thoughts.
“Aloha,” she says brightly as I step to the counter.
“Aloha,” I manage, even though I’m feeling more like dog poop on the bottom of a flip-flop than a happy tourist.
“Name?”
“Iris Benedetto.”
The clerk taps on a keyboard and furrows her brow. “That name isn’t coming up. Could it be under another one?”
“Oh. That’s right.” I palm my forehead. “Brandon Gladstone.” My stomach revolts. Saying his name makes me realize I’d be standing here as Brandon’s wife, Mrs. Iris Gladstone, if it wasn’t for Delilah saving the day.
“Ah, yes. I see it now.” The clerk gasps and looks up from her screen. “It’s your honeymoon! Congratulations, Mrs. Gladstone!” Whatever facial expression overtakes my face instantly makes the woman’s smile droop. She clears her throat. “Would you prefer to change the name on the reservation?”
I exhale. “Yes, please. To mine. Iris Benedetto.” I shift my weight. “The wedding didn’t, uh, pan out. I’m here for a much-needed solo vacation, instead of a honeymoon.”
The rental car clerk’s mouth twitches with sympathy, but other than that, she maintains a neutral expression. “No problem,” she chirps. “I’ll change the name on the reservation and upgrade you to a Jeep.”
“Oh, no, I can’t afford an upgrade.”
“It’s on the house, Miss Benedetto.”
A lump rises in my throat. “Thank you. I really appreciate that.”
We finalize the paperwork, and the clerk slides a set of car keys across the counter. “Honeymoons are overrated, anyway,” she murmurs. “You wouldn’t believe how many couples on their honeymoons squabble viciously over which car to rent. Nice way to kick off a marriage, huh?”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I wordlessly nod and grab the keys. When I turn around, however, I’m shocked to find the pretty older lady from earlier standing before me with my sunglasses in hand.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” she says sheepishly. She holds up my sunglasses. “You dropped these a while ago, and I . . .” She shifts her weight. “I didn’t want to interrupt your conversation, so I waited.”
Crap. Everything about this woman’s body language makes it clear she overheard my embarrassing exchange with the rental car clerk. Which means there are now two people too many on this island who know the mortifying truth about why I came on my Hawaiian honeymoon by myself.
“Thank you,” I choke out, taking the sunglasses from the woman.
“I’d lose my head if it wasn’t connected to my .
. .” I can’t finish the sentence. I’m suddenly too overcome with emotion and embarrassment to speak, partly thanks to this woman’s kind, sympathetic face reminding me so much of my mother’s.
“Oh, sweetie,” the lady coos. “Let’s sit for a minute. You can’t drive like this.”
“I’m okay.”
“No, no, come sit with me.”
As she guides me toward a bank of chairs, I babble, “I’m not normally this emotional.
I mean, yes, I’m an emotional person, but I’m unusually emotional today because, on top of everything else, I’m really sleep deprived.
” I’m also hungover, thanks to all the tequila shots I threw back at my raucous Iris-dodged-a-bullet celebration last night.
But I see no good reason to confess that fact to this lovely woman, when she’s already overheard far more about me than I’d ever want her to know.
“Well, if sleep and relaxation are what you came for,” the woman says, as we settle into some seats along a wall, “then you’re in the right place.
” She assesses me for a moment before brushing a lock of hair from my face, the same way my mother always used to do.
“Hang in there, my dear. This too shall pass. I know it doesn’t feel that way.
But one day, you’ll look back on this horrible pain and realize it was the thing that propelled you to your rightful destiny—a place in life that’s going to make you happier than you can imagine in this difficult moment. ”
Well, shit. If this lady is trying to make me cry, then she’s figured out the perfect way to do it. As my tears flow, she opens her arms to me, and I fall into them.
“Good girl,” she says, patting my back. “Keeping sadness locked inside only makes it harder to heal and move on. Let it out, honey.”
Did my mother send this angel to me? That’s certainly how it feels in this moment.
The woman calls to her husband, “Edward, honey, take Mav to get a snack by the gate, would you? I’ll meet you there.”
“Oh, gosh, no,” I say, sitting up straight and wiping my eyes. “I can’t let you be late for your flight on my account.”
“We have plenty of time. Hang on.” She turns to her retreating husband again. “Edward! Get him something healthy to eat this time!”
Since he’s holding the boy’s hand, her husband simply throws up his free one in the air as if to say, “I’ve got this!”
“He’s going to get him another Hawaiian ice,” the woman mumbles. “I swear, our grandson’s got my husband wrapped around his little finger.”
I chuckle through my tears. “But not you?”
“No, me too,” she admits with a grin. “But only to the point where I’d let him have one Hawaiian ice per day. Not two.”
Against all odds, she’s made me smile through my tears.
“Your grandson is adorable. If he were mine, I’d be wrapped around his finger, too.”
“He’s a cutie. That’s for sure.”
On the flight here, I promised myself I wouldn’t tell anyone about Brandon during my stay.
In fact, I decided never to speak of him again.
But now that this lovely woman has already overheard my situation, I feel the urge to provide some details for context so she doesn’t think I’m a sobbing hot mess for no good reason.
“I’m usually a happy, bubbly person,” I say through a sniffle. “But two days ago, the night before our wedding, I found out my fiancé has been cheating on me for a very long time.”
“Oh no. You poor little thing.”
“That’s why I came on this trip by myself. To try to have fun and heal, rather than sitting at home feeling sorry for myself.”
“Good for you,” the woman says. “As hard as this must be for you, I’m glad you found out the truth before you married that man.”
“Me, too. That’s definitely the silver lining in all this.” I take a deep, steadying breath. “I feel a lot better. Thank you. I can drive safely now.”
“Are you sure?”
I nod. “If you’re late for your flight because of me, I’ll never forgive myself.”
The woman stands and smooths down her skirt, so I stand, too.
“Enjoy this week to the fullest, my dear,” she says, taking my hand and patting it. “Whatever you want to do, whatever it is, promise me you’ll go for it.”
“I promise. Thank you.”
The woman lets out a sympathetic tsk. “Shame on that horrible man for hurting you.” She pats my arm. “Have the time of your life this week and beyond. That’ll be your best revenge.”
“I’ll do my best.”
We share a smile. And then, the kind woman—the guardian angel who was surely sent by my mother in heaven—heads off to reunite with her lucky family to board her flight to who-knows-where.
When she’s gone, I take a deep breath and traipse out a sliding door toward my rental car, even though all I want to do is follow that beautiful soul to wherever she’s going like a wounded, heartbroken little puppy.