4. Halia
Halia
Halia was up to her eyebrows in grant requests all morning, until a text from her sister provided her with a welcome distraction.
Laurie: Hey, you busy?
Halia: Always busy, but never too busy for you. What’s up?
Laurie: The shop is full of people, and I don’t want to kick them out to close. Anne has guests checking in, so I told her that I would pick up Pete today. Any chance you could get him and Mia from New Horizons?
Halia: I can do that.
Laurie: Thank you! Are you sure?
Halia: It’s a welcome break from work. I’m leaving now.
Laurie: You’re the best! You can just drop them at the bookshop if you’re short on time.
Halia: I can hang at the park for a while if they’re having fun. See you when we see you.
Laurie sent her a YOU ROCK gif.
Halia chuckled and pocketed her phone. She stretched as she stepped out of her closet-sized office and into the Hawaiian sunshine.
Two little kids ran past in pursuit of a ball.
It was a peaceful day at A Place of Refuge. It usually was. That was the whole point of the place: to provide a safe haven, a place where mothers and children could begin to heal and finally breathe again.
Halia was proud of what she had built.
There was a cool breeze and still time enough to walk, so she let herself out through the front gate and strolled up the road towards the community center. A faint drizzle hung in the air, and the white haze in the sky was just starting to clear.
A rainbow leapt into view above the trees, and some of the habitual tension went out of Halia’s shoulders.
She lived in a beautiful place.
Living there day after day, decade after decade, it was easy to let it all fade into the background – but she tried not to let herself go blind to the beauty of it all.
Anything could feel ordinary after seeing it every day for nearly fifty years – even rainbows.
One nice thing about being around kids, recent transplants, and even tourists, was that it made it easier for her to maintain a healthy perspective.
The wonder on other people’s faces helped her to see the familiar scenery around her with fresh eyes time and again.
Mia and Pete were on the playground when she arrived. She checked in real quick to let them know she was there to walk them to the bookshop when they were ready, and then she settled onto a bench in the shade and let them play.
It was ridiculous, really, to think that the two ten year olds needed an adult to escort them a quarter mile through Pualena. Their mothers had grown up right there, riding miles all around town on their bikes at the same age.
But society had shifted, and so had parenting.
Halia never stepped in to critique or micromanage the way that her sisters parented… even when they veered into the realm of helicopter parenting. Their kids were happy and healthy; that was all that really mattered to her.
She would like to see her sisters relax a bit more, and remember to take care of themselves too. But no one wanted unsolicited advice from the maiden aunt.
Halia kept to her own lane, and she showed up for her family wherever she could.
Today the favor was simply sitting on a park bench in the shade; sometimes showing up for people could be that simple, and that easy.
The key was showing up time and again so that her family knew that they could reach out and ask, and she was proud to be that person for them.
The kids finally retreated to the shade, pink-cheeked and damp from running around in the afternoon heat.
“Do you have any water?” Pete panted.
“Where’s your water bottle?” Halia asked.
“It’s empty.”
“There’s a fountain right over there.”
Pete took off towards the water fountain, and Mia settled onto the bench next to Halia.
“How’s life, kiddo?”
“Pretty good.”
“Yeah? Are you still the best salesperson at Paradise Books?”
She rolled her eyes in a good-natured sort of way. “I’m the only salesgirl at Paradise Books.”
“What about your mom and Zoe?”
“They just stay behind the counter and wait. They don’t tell people where the best books are unless they ask.”
“I see. They take a more passive approach.”
“Yep. But that doesn’t move books. You’ve gotta have gumption.”
Halia held back a laugh. “Good word.”
“I know lots of good words,” she said offhandedly.
Pete came back dripping, having managed to get the whole front of his t-shirt and most of his sun-gold hair wet at the fountain.
“Much better,” he said.
“Should we head to the bookshop?” Halia asked.
“We can’t go to the bookshop,” Mia exclaimed, horrified. “He’s all wet!”
“He’ll dry on the way.”
“Could we get shave ice first?” Pete grinned winsomely. “It’ll give me time to dry off.”
“Sure,” Halia chuckled. “We can stop for shave ice.”
“Yes!” He jumped in the air and pumped his fist in victory. “Let’s go!”
Kekoa’s shave ice shack was just down the street from the park. There was a teenaged kid at the window, and Halia let the kids put their orders in first.
“Strawberry ice over chocolate ice cream, please,” Pete said.
“Do you still have lychee syrup?” Mia asked.
“Sure do,” the young man confirmed. He was a sweet kid, with kind eyes and a bright Hawaiian shirt that just about matched the rainbow-colored mural on the wall outside.
“I’d like lychee and dragonfruit, please. Just ice, no ice cream.”
“You’ve got it.” He looked at Halia, and his smile turned shy. “Auntie?”
“I’ll try the white pineapple.”
“Coming right up.”
“Thanks.” Halia tapped her card to the little machine in the window and then joined her niece and nephew at the table they had chosen.
When their shave ice was ready, the kid carried it out instead of just shouting from the window the way they normally did.
“Thanks very much,” she said to him.
“Auntie Halia.” He put her bowl down in front of her and paused, looking nervous. “You don’t remember me.”
Halia frowned. She was usually good with faces.
“It’s been a long time, and we moved to Hilo for a while, but we’re back in Pualena now.”
“Ikaika!” Suddenly she recognized him – more from how much he resembled his mother than from any resemblance to the eight-year-old boy she had known. “You’re all grown up!”
“You do remember me.” The smile on his face was so childlike and sweet that it warmed Halia’s heart.
“Of course. I remember everyone who comes through A Place of Refuge.”
“That’s a lot of people.”
“Not too many.” Her shelter was small, and she liked it that way. She had deliberately created a sense of community there from the beginning.
She never forgot a face – but then, some faces had a way of changing. This one had the faint beginnings of a mustache, but those kind brown eyes had stayed the same.
“How’s your mother?”
“She’s great. She’s still working in Hilo, but her new husband has a house here, so we moved back to Pualena.”
“Do you like him? Your new stepdad?”
“Yeah, I do. He’s a good guy. We go hiking together sometimes. He’s kind of healing my relationship with father figures, you know?”
Halia grinned as more memories resurfaced: conversations with a solemn little boy who had always been wise beyond his years.
“I’m glad to hear it,” she said.
“You know…” He scuffed his foot on the ground and looked down, suddenly shy again. “A Place of Refuge was a lifesaver for my mom and me. Literally, maybe. And it wasn’t just important. It also felt like home, you know? I really loved it there.”
“That’s lovely to hear, Ikaika. Thank you.”
“I was wondering if maybe you ever needed volunteers? It’s just that the place meant a lot to me, and I’d like to help, if I could.”
“That’s a lovely offer,” Halia stalled.
Behind her placid expression, her thoughts went into a sudden turmoil.
In a shelter that only allowed women and children, teenage boys were in a strange sort of limbo. She allowed minors, but sometimes the presence of an older boy could frighten new arrivals – and sometimes they posed a genuine threat.
She trusted Ikaika, but normally she would never allow a man to volunteer at her little women’s shelter.
He wasn’t eighteen yet, but he wasn’t far off either.
She couldn’t let him get started just to toss him out on his birthday…
but she didn’t want to breach the sanctity of the safe space that she had created, either.
She looked at Ikaika and saw the boy that she had known, but current residents with their battered nervous systems might see this tall young man and perceive a threat.
“I’m too old,” he guessed, deflating. “I’m not allowed there anymore.”
“If you really want to help, there are other things you could do. We could figure out an internship helping me with paperwork and grant writing, maybe.”
He brightened. “That sounds cool.”
Halia smiled. How could she turn away a kid who said that about helping her nonprofit with its endless piles of paperwork?
“There’s also a weekly soup kitchen at the community center,” she told him. “Would you like to help with that?”
“Sure.”
“Here.” She fished out a business card and handed it to him. “Give me a call if you’re interested. And tell your mother I said aloha.”
“I will, Auntie. Mahalo.”
He retreaded back to the shack, and Halia ate her rapidly melting ice cream.
“Why isn’t he allowed?” Pete asked.
“What’s that?” Halia asked, caught off guard. Her nephew had been gobbling up his ice cream since it landed on the table, and she hadn’t realized how closely he had been following the conversation.
“At Place of Refuge. We go there sometimes and play with the kids. Why can’t he go too?”
“A Place of Refuge is for women and children,” she said carefully.
“And he’s not a kid anymore?”
“He is, but not for much longer.”
“Why aren’t men allowed?”
“Some of the women who stay there have been hurt by men, and I want them to feel safe.”
“Oh.” Pete scraped sadly at the last of his ice cream.
“That’s discrimination,” Mia said.
Halia snorted quietly. “I suppose it is.”
“You’re not supposed to discriminate,” she pressed, narrowing her eyes.
“And why’s that?”