Chapter 17
Six o’clock near the Hanalei Pier finds me suddenly understanding every decision that led to this moment, starting with my choice to answer a job posting that was written in invisible ink and possibly by someone who knew exactly what they were doing when they lured me to paradise.
The evening light turns everything golden—the beach, the mountains, the tourists milling around the pier taking photos of everything that doesn’t move fast enough to escape.
The balmy wind gives off the scent of plumeria and sunscreen mixed with that particular aroma of vacation excitement.
Hanalei Bay stretches before us like a postcard that’s trying too hard to be perfect with its turquoise water and dramatic mountain backdrop.
The shoreline opens up in a half circle like a pair of loving arms as tourists and islanders alike dot the dreamy shoreline.
“There’s our chariot,” Lani says, pointing toward a boat that looks like it’s seen better decades but still manages to maintain a certain rakish charm.
Dane waves from the bow, wearing the signature uniform of the island, shorts, a tank top, and a lei made of dark brown kukui nuts.
“Ladies! Aloha! Welcome aboard the Island Dreams!” he calls out. “Ready for the most beautiful sunset of your lives?”
“It depends,” I tease, eyeing the boat’s questionable paint job and what might be rust or might be decorative patina, it’s hard to tell. “How attached are you to all your passengers arriving back alive?”
“Very attached.” He laughs. “It’s bad for business otherwise. It leads to terrible Yelp reviews.”
Ruby appears from behind a group of tourists, and I have to grab Lani’s arm to keep her from falling into the bay out of sheer shock.
Our fearless friend is wearing a coconut bra that she’s “borrowed” from the resort’s lost and found—which raises so many questions I don’t want answers to—paired with a sarong that defies several laws of physics and possibly some local decency ordinances.
“Ruby,” Lani hisses, her voice strangled with horror and possibly admiration. “What in the name of sweet mother of pearl are you wearing?”
“Appropriate cruise attire,” Ruby says, adjusting her coconut shells with the confidence that she could make any outfit work and has probably worn worse to weddings. “When in paradise, dress the part.”
“You look like a tourist trap came to life,” I say with a shrug.
“Thank you! That’s exactly the look I was going for. Authentic island charm with a hint of I make interesting wardrobe choices.”
Dane’s eyes widen as Ruby sashays up the gangplank, her coconut bra catching the golden evening light in ways that would make the stars jealous. “Ruby! You look... wow. It’s as if the island itself has styled you.”
“Why, thank you, handsome.” She winks his way. “I mean, mahalo. I like a man who appreciates traditional Pacific Island fashion.” She pauses. “Even if this particular ensemble is from a Halloween party in 2003.”
The other passengers—a mix of tourists ranging from honeymooners to retirees with expensive cameras—stare at Ruby with expressions that range from admiration to concern for her structural engineering choices and perhaps her mental health.
“All aboard!” Dane announces, and we climb onto what I sincerely hope is a seaworthy vessel rather than an elaborate suicide pact disguised as entertainment.
The boat pulls out of Hanalei Bay with the confidence of something that’s made this trip a thousand times and lived to tell about it, though the engine makes sounds that suggest it’s doing this under protest.
The North Shore mountains rise behind us like ancient cathedral spires, their ridges sharp enough to cut the sky, emerald slopes catching the evening light in ways that make my chest tight with a beauty that feels almost painful.
Waterfalls cascade down those cliffs in silver ribbons, and the whole scene is so devastatingly beautiful that it makes me understand why people leave everything behind to live in places like this, even when those places have failing infrastructure and mysterious resort owners.
“First time on a sunset cruise?” Dane asks, appearing beside me and offering up a mai tai that’s approximately the size of my head.
“First time on any cruise that doesn’t involve a buffet and a casino,” I admit, taking the drink and immediately wondering if I should have asked about alcohol content first. I think I just put hair on my chest—and added to that beard I’ve inadvertently been working on.
“You’re in for a treat,” he continues. “The Nā Pali Coast is the most spectacular coastline in the world. Thousand-foot cliffs, sea caves that look like nature’s own cathedrals, beaches you can only reach by boat or helicopter.”
Ruby sidles up to Dane with the inevitable calm of a woman who never rushes and always arrives. “Dane, honey, you must tell me all about this beautiful coast. I’m absolutely fascinated by geography.”
The way she says geography makes it sound like a proposition, possibly an indecent one. Dane’s smile takes on a slightly nervous quality, like a man who’s just realized he might be in over his head.
“Well,” he begins, clearly pleased to have an enthusiastic audience even if that audience is wearing borrowed coconut shells, “we’re heading west along the coast toward Ke’e Beach and beyond.
The cliffs get more dramatic as we go, and the sunset views are absolutely incredible. Some people say it’s spiritual.”
“I bet you know all the best spots,” Ruby purrs, somehow managing to move closer to him despite already being close enough to share DNA.
“I’ve been doing this run for five years,” Dane says, his chest puffing out slightly with pride. “I know every cave, every beach, every secret spot along this coast. I could navigate it blindfolded.”
“Five years,” I say, taking a sip that’s strong enough to make me reconsider my relationship with alcohol. “So, you’ve seen a lot of changes around here.”
“Yeah, definitely. The tourism industry is booming, and the development pressure is increasing with people coming and going like the tide.” His expression darkens slightly, clouds passing over that sunny disposition. “Some changes haven’t been for the better.”
Lani appears at my elbow, looking slightly green around the edges in a way that has nothing to do with the boat’s paint job. “Please tell me this boat has stabilizers.”
“Are you seasick already?” I ask. “We’re barely out of the bay.”
“I don’t do boats. I don’t do cars that sway. I don’t do anything that moves in ways the Good Lord didn’t intend, which includes most amusement park rides and this entire situation.”
“Here,” Dane says, producing a plate of pūpūs that looks suspiciously store-bought rather than the artisanal local fare he advertises. “Food helps with seasickness. Try the poke—it was fresh this morning.”
“Define fresh,” Lani says skeptically, eyeing the fish like it might be planning something.
“Fresh enough not to kill you,” he says cheerfully. “Probably.”
Ruby helps herself to what appears to be half the plate, somehow making eating look seductive, which is a skill I didn’t know existed.
“Dane, sweetie, you must meet so many interesting people in your work. I bet you have stories that would curl my hair—well, more than it’s already curled.
” She swats at her crimson locks as if to prove a curly point.
My crimson locks are standing on end as if they were interested in leaving my body.
“You’d be surprised at the stories I can tell,” Dane says, warming to the attention. “This island attracts all kinds. Tourists looking for paradise, locals trying to make a living, developers trying to make a fortune off everyone else’s dreams.”
“Developers,” I say, taking the bait because subtlety has never been my strong suit. “Like that man who died at our resort? Did you know him?”
Dane’s smile falters for just a second. “Nolan Nakamura. Yeah, I knew him. Real piece of work, that guy.”
“How so?” Ruby asks, batting her eyelashes with the subtlety of a tropical storm making landfall.
“The guy thought he could buy and sell this island like it was some kind of commodity. He had no respect for the land, the people, or the way things had always been done here. He treated Kauai like it was just another investment opportunity instead of, you know, someone’s home.”
The boat rounds a point, and suddenly, we’re facing the full drama of the Nā Pali Coast, and I forget to breathe for a second.
Cliffs rise from the ocean like green walls built by giants who were really committed to making a statement, their faces carved with waterfalls and sea caves that disappear into darkness and mystery.
The water here is so clear you can see fish swimming twenty feet down, darting between coral formations like they’re performing a ballet, and the only sounds are the boat’s engine and the collective gasp of tourists reaching for their cameras and possibly their conception of what beauty means.
“Oh my word,” Ruby breathes, momentarily distracted from her flirtation campaign by nature being extra.
“Incredible, right?” Dane says, his genuine love for this place showing through his tour guide persona like sunlight through clouds.
“This coastline is older than anything you can imagine. These cliffs have been here for millions of years, watching everything change around them, watching civilizations rise and fall, watching tourists take selfies.”
“Speaking of change,” I say because I’m incapable of just enjoying a beautiful moment without turning it into an interrogation, “what did Nolan want to do to places like this?”
“Turn it all into resorts and condos,” Dane says, his voice taking on an edge. “The guy had plans to develop every inch of undeveloped coastline on the island. Including Savannah’s garden, which has been there for thirty years, teaching kids where food comes from.”
Among other things, she’s teaching grown women.