22. Halia
Halia
The night before the big annual fundraiser for A Place of Refuge, Halia didn’t sleep at all. Her sinuses were on fire, and by midnight she was burning up with fever. The night passed in a miserable, sleepless haze.
By morning she had sweated it out and the worst of the pain had passed, but she still felt like she had been hit by a truck.
It was times like that when she wished that she could hire a full-time employee. But keeping the shelter open was already a precarious endeavor. The grants and donations that kept it running barely covered her salary, low as it was.
There was no room in the budget to hire someone else. And day to day, she didn’t need anyone else. She managed. And she almost never got sick.
When she did get sick, though… then she was in trouble.
Halia sat huddled over her kitchen table, nursing a cup of black coffee and force-feeding herself a bowl of white rice with an egg on top, when a knock came on the door.
Still clutching an old quilt around her shoulders, she stood and shuffled over to the door.
Anne was there on the lanai, bright-eyed and smiling.
“Good morning! I have the wristbands you wanted.” Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t look well.”
“I’m fine,” Halia said – but her voice came out as a croak.
“You’re sick,” Anne accused.
“Maybe a little.”
“You can’t run the fun fair today.”
She shivered and pulled the quilt tighter around her shoulders. “I have to.”
“Halia, listen to yourself. You sound awful.”
“There’s no one else to do it.”
“Um, hello. There’s four of us, and we’re all here. We can run it this year.”
“I can’t ask you to do that.”
“I’m not waiting for you to ask. Go back to bed.”
It was a mark of just how sick Halia was that she obediently shuffled back into her bedroom and climbed under the covers. She was too tired to even look at her phone. She just put her head down and drifted somewhere between sleeping and waking.
Out in the kitchen, she could hear her little sister on the phone – her phone, she realized – fielding calls from local business owners who were pitching in at the fundraiser.
A little while later, Anne walked in carrying a tray.
“You awake?” she asked quietly.
“More or less,” Halia mumbled.
“Here, why don’t you finish your food? Then you can get some proper rest.” Anne propped some pillows up behind Halia’s back and set the tray on her lap.
She had reheated Halia’s breakfast and made a fresh pot of tea; the scent of mamaki and ginger wafted up from the mug.
“I’m going to head over to the park and get the tents set up. Drink your tea and get some sleep, okay? We’ve got this.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yep.” Anne brandished Halia’s checklist. “It’s a good thing you’re so organized.”
Halia nodded in a hazy sort of way and brought a spoonful of rice up to her mouth. She managed to get most of it down, plus all of the tea, and then she fell into a deep sleep.
When she woke up many hours later, she was still dazed and disoriented, but her symptoms were mostly gone. She heaved herself out of bed and went straight for the shower to wash away the sweat that had drenched her pajamas when her fever broke.
Clean and rested, she felt nearly normal again. She gulped down another cup of herbal tea, now room temperature, and then found her phone.
The fundraiser was in full swing.
It felt surreal, knowing that it was happening without her. The family group chat was full of dozens of messages, with each woman in her family volunteering to oversee some aspect of the day’s events.
Halia felt deeply moved, seeing them show up for her – and for A Place of Refuge.
She also felt like she might lose her mind if she stayed cooped up inside another minute.
With slippahs on her feet, she walked up the road at an easy pace. It was a cool afternoon, with fluffy white clouds shading the sun and a steady breeze blowing through town. There would be no parking left anywhere near the community center, and it wasn’t a long walk.
There at the park, she could see the usual crowd.
Even more people than usual, maybe.
There were two dozen white-topped tents with vendors and games and art projects. A massive banner on the first tent read Family Fun Fair! And then in smaller text below: All proceeds go to A Place of Refuge shelter for women and children.
Oakley jogged across the grass, her botox-smooth face conveying worry despite its absence of lines.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded.
“Who made that banner?” Halia asked.
“I did.” Oakley glanced over her shoulder. “Do you hate it?”
“I don’t hate it.”
“Well, good. Now go away.”
“I’m not going home.”
“Fine, but you’re not coming any farther, either.” She pointed to a big tree off to the right. “You and your germs can post up right there in the shade. I’ll bring you a chair.”
Halia strolled over to the tree, where she leaned against the tree trunk and watched the festivities. She didn’t feel sick, exactly, but the short walk to the park had tired her out all the same.
Oakley returned a couple minutes later with a very comfortable beach chair and a hot mug. Expecting coffee, Halia was surprised to find a white broth inside. The sweet smell of coconut milk was balanced with lemongrass and galangal.
“Where’d you get this?”
“The Thai restaurant set up a stand this year, remember?”
Halia nodded and then took a sip of the broth. Exhaustion had made her thoughts foggy. “What about the café?”
“Closed for the day. Akemi drew up a notice on our sandwich board and put it in front of the door, steering people here. You can’t see from here, but we set up a coffee stand.”
Halia looked up at her sister. “I appreciate you all showing up for me.”
“You’re always there for us.” Oakley cocked her head and looked at her. “You know it took five of us together to do what you do every year? You’re basically superhuman.”
Halia shrugged. “I don’t have kids. It’s easier for me.”
“You might not be a mother, but you definitely have kids.” Oakley looked out across the grass at the dozens of kids who ran between the treats and the games.
Half of them had come through A Place of Refuge with their mothers at some point in time.
“Look at this. You’re a cornerstone of the community, and the bedrock of this family. ”
Halia nodded her acknowledgement; she didn’t know what to say to that.
“We all rely on you,” Oakley continued. “And if that trust ever makes it look like we take you for granted, I’m sorry. I hope you know that we’re here for you too.”
Halia nodded. “I know.”
“Okay. Well. I’d better get back to the coffee stand.”
“Thanks.”
Halia leaned back in her chair and gazed out at the festivities.
It was like a preview of old age: being too old to take part, but feeling the satisfaction of having built something that would endure.
She smiled when she spotted Ikaika running a giant ring toss game with hula hoops and traffic cones.
He had followed through on the internship he requested, and he was taking a fair amount of repetitive administrative work off of her plate.
Although he never came to A Place of Refuge, he had teamed up with a friend of his to offer free activities at the community center on Saturdays.
There must be two hundred people there, but every face was familiar to her.
Dozens of former residents were there, either running games or just attending the festivities with their kids.
Laurie had her own tent, with tables full of books for sale.
Akemi was chasing Kaleo across the grass.
Pete and his cousins were running wild with their friends.
Juniper, the young mother who sold jewel-bright herbal teas at the farmers markets, walked across the lawn and offered Halia a glass of her royal purple tea made with hibiscus and butterfly pea.
“Are you thirsty, auntie?”
Halia accepted the drink with a word of thanks.
“Thank you for bringing this together.” Juniper gestured off to the right, where her son was running with his dad. “Wilder’s having the time of his life.”
“Thanks for running a stand.”
Juniper beamed. “I’m happy to chip in. It makes me feel like I’m really a part of things here.”
“Of course you’re a part of Pualena. You’re raising your son here.”
“Thanks, auntie.” The young woman smiled, misty-eyed. “I should get back.”
Halia nodded and watched her go.
For decades, most of Pualena’s young adults had moved away to places with more opportunities. She was glad to see young people choosing to put roots down on the island – especially her own sisters. Having them back was healing something in her that she had never admitted was broken.
Without realizing it was happening, Halia nodded off there in the shade.
She woke with a start when a hand touched her shoulder.
“It’s just me,” Dawn said.
Halia blinked blearily and nodded.
“I think it’s time to go.” Her adoptive mother put a hand on her forehead, making Halia feel like a kid again. “I’ll drive you home.”
“I guess this thing can run without me.”
“Only because you’ve been running it so well for the past twenty years. Come on. Let’s get you back to bed.”
Halia heaved herself up from the chair and ambled across the lawn to the parking lot.
Before she climbed into Dawn’s car, she took one last look back at her community.
Maybe it was just the exhaustion making her oversensitive – but looking at her sisters running around, keeping everything going, brought tears of happiness to her eyes.
She had built something meaningful… and she didn’t have to carry it all alone anymore.