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  "So maybe one day I'll visit Montana and you can show me around?" Mahana asked, fastening a snorkel to her mask and tightening the strings.

  "Anytime," Dyson said. "Though to be fair, that time should probably be in the summer. Something tells me you wouldn't take well to a Montana winter."

  "Well, I have never seen snow," Mahana said, grabbing her fins and heading for the water's edge.

  "Such an islander," Dyson said, following her with gear in hand.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Mahana went into the water first, walking out until it was mid-thigh before sinking to her bottom and laying back. Her head disappeared from view for a few moments before she came up and returned, her wet hair lying flat against her head.

  "Brr," she said, shaking her shoulders for effect.

  "Worse than Ala Moana?" Dyson asked, seated in the sand as he pulled his fins on.

  "Much," Mahana replied. "For some reason this Bay is always frigid. You'll probably have the chills for awhile afterwards. Fair warning."

  "Ah, you just went in like a champ," Dyson said. "Can't be that bad. I'm more worried about this." As he spoke, he made a motion towards the left side of his face.

  "Yeah, I was wondering about that. I kind of checked it out last night at dinner, couldn't see any open wounds."

  "No, there aren't any open wounds," Dyson said, rising to his feet, "but pulling on a mask could be fun."

  "Don't be such a wuss," Mahana said, sliding her feet into her own fins. "Besides, salt water's good for healing."

  Walking stiff legged, raising each foot high into the air to keep the fins from folding up on themselves, the two walked out until the water was nearly to their knees. Already Dyson could feel the cold gripping him, but he refused to let her see it.

  "Alright, so here's the rules to snorkeling," Mahana said. "Rule one, always have a buddy."

  "Check."

  Mahana smiled, pushing forward. "Rule two, stay off the coral. If you have to stand up to clear your mask or anything, make sure to do it on sand."

  "Got it."

  "And rule three, no touching the turtles. They're endangered, we'll get in trouble."

  Dyson made a face. "You mean people actually have to be told that?"

  "You'd be surprised. Tourists."

  "Kind of like the idiots that try to ride bison in Yellowstone..."

  Mahana matched the face. "You're kidding me."

  "Nope," Dyson said. "But we can talk about that later. Let's do this."

  Side by side they dove in head first, the cold seizing Dyson's body. His first few strokes were slow and stiff, his body trying to contract itself to stay warm. After a few moments he began to acclimate, his strokes coming in long and even sweeps.

  The snorkel tasted salty between his teeth as he bit down on it, pushing and pulling oxygen through. More than once he tried breathing through his nose, the results being a few droplets inhaled from inside his mask.

  After a couple of minutes, he got the hang of it and began following Mahana with ease, slipping seamlessly behind her along the coral banks.

  With each stroke out away from the shore, the ocean floor around him sprung a little more to life. Bright colored Yellow Tang floated by in groups of two or three, punctuated by small clusters of Moorish Idols. A solitary Cardinal Fish crept by beneath them, along with scads of Butterfly and Trigger Fish.

  Dyson eased up on his strokes as he watched, the world silent except for the sound of his own breathing in his ears. He didn't notice Mahana slide back alongside him until she tapped him on the shoulder, pointing off to their right.

  There, tucked in between two columns of reef was a pair of Hawaiian green sea turtles.

  Dyson's eyes grew large behind his mask as he inched closer, lightly kicking his fins as he kept his arms poised in front of him, motionless. Beside him Mahana did the same, each of them turning to one another and sharing a smile as they crept closer.

  Together they stopped a few yards away from the turtles, floating in place and watching the creatures. They were nearly a foot and a half in diameter, their shells polished clean of any debris. Long, spiny necks extended out towards the rock, their lipless mouths working at the algae growing there.

  Neither paid Dyson and Mahana any mind as they ate, each of them intent on the task at hand.

  Dyson felt weightless as he hung above the reef, looking down on them. A small warmth crept through his body as he watched the turtles interact with their environment in the same way they had for hundreds of years.

  The warmth was replaced by a shiver though, watching the pair work in unison. For a moment the slightest sting of moisture tugged at his eyes, retreating as he blinked hard and shook his head from side to side.

  Mahana's soft touch again resonated on his arm. He looked over to see her still smiling, motioning him back towards the shore. Behind them, a small crowd had formed, many with underwater cameras at the ready, angling to get a shot of the turtles.

  Nodding, Dyson took one last look at them eating peacefully before following Mahana's teal swimsuit back towards the shore. Together they swam until the water was just a few inches deep before flipping over to their bottoms and pulling the fins from their feet.

  "Well, what did you think?" Mahana asked as they sat in the shallow water. Again she leaned back and soaked her long black hair, pressing it flat against her head. Gripping the end of it in her hand she squeezed it tight, a small rush of water splashing down onto her shoulders.

  "Incredible," Dyson said. "Reminded me of the first time I was in Glacier Park, just a feeling of complete peace."

  "I know what you mean," Mahana said. "You believe we were down well over an hour?"

  "You're kidding me. Feels like we just got in."

  "I know, and I hate to cut it short but we have to get going if we're going to make our next stop in time for me to get back to work."

  "No worries," Dyson said. "I just never would have dreamed we were out there that long."

  "The sea has a way of doing that," Mahana said, staring out at the horizon. "We watched the honu alone for over half an hour."

  Dyson had never heard the term before, but deduced she must be referring to the turtles. He nodded, as if in approval of the name.

  "That I can believe. They were mesmerizing."

  "Yeah," Mahana said, smiling wistfully without taking her eyes from the water.

  "Is it weird that I almost got angry at all those people behind us, all pushing forward to take a picture?"

  "Angry how?"

  "I don't know," Dyson said, smacking at the top of the water with one of his fins. "There we are with the opportunity to see one of nature's perfect creations in its own habitat, and all they can think of is a picture to post on facebook later."

  Without warning, Mahana shot an arm around his neck and drew him over, dropping her head on his shoulder. "There may be hope for you yet."

  Just as fast she released the grasp and hopped to her feet. "Come, we've got more to see and not much time to see it."

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The wind whistled down the winding path, blowing across their bare torsos. Both had stripped out of their swimming bottoms before leaving Hanauma Bay, Dyson opting to remain shirtless and Mahana in her bikini top as they drove the short distance east to their next destination.

  Any chills they had from the frigid waters of the bay were long since gone as they ascended on their hike, the warm morning sun beating down on them. Dyson's pinky veneer of a few days before had faded, though he kept a close watch on it as they marched in step up the wide trail before them.

  "So what did you say this place was called again?" Dyson asked.

  "Makapu'u Point," Mahana said.

  "Makapooey," Dyson repeated, mangling the word badly. "Why's everything have to be such a jumble of k's and vowels? Why not just name this place Bob's Point? Clean, simple, easy."

  Mahana coughed out a single laugh, shaking her head. "Every time I think we might be
making progress, you say something like that and destroy it.”

  "Hey, what's wrong with Bob? I've known lots of Bobs. All good guys. Great name for a point."

  "Well, among other reasons, there is no name in Hawaiian for Bob. The letter b doesn't exist in our alphabet."

  "Jon? Sam? Tom?"

  Again Mahana laughed. "Nope. H, k, l, m, n, p, w and the five vowels. That's it."

  "Huh," Dyson said, considering the information. "That explains a heck of a lot actually."

  "Like all the crazy street names?" Mahana asked.

  "For starters," Dyson said. A trickle of sweat began to form along the small of his back as they continued to walk, the trail ascending in long switchbacks. Far below he could see the parking lot they'd been in just a short time before, already several hundred feet beneath them.

  To the right lay the ocean, a deep navy blue extending out as far as the eye could see, punctuated only by a thin band of white as waves slammed themselves into the sea cliffs they now stood on.

  "I've never seen so many shades of blue in my life," Dyson commented. "I think I've seen at least ten different variations, all part of the same ocean surrounding the same island."

  "And he's back," Mahana said, swatting his arm.

  Dyson smirked and looked out over the water before turning to regard her. "Does it ever get old?"

  "Get old?"

  "You know, living here? Bringing people to see the same sights over and over again?"

  Mahana pursed her lips for a moment, offering a small twist of her head. "Well, to start with, I wouldn't say I bring people to these places over and over again. Very, very rarely do I socialize with guests."

  "So I should feel special?"

  "And to answer the back half of your question," Mahana said, ignoring the comment, "the answer is it depends on the person. Some people come, take some pictures, look around for a minute and then head on their way. When I come with someone like you, who notices things like the shades of blue or seems entranced by the turtles eating, it's almost like I get to see these things for the first time all over again."

  "Hmm," Dyson agreed. He'd had similar experiences when he'd taken guests to visit Old Faithful and the Canyons in Yellowstone, though he remained silent to let her continue.

  "As far as the first part of your question, about does living here get old..." she let her voice trail off and broke into a light jog, covering the last few hundred yards of the trail. Dyson pursued right on her heels, keeping a steady pace that allowed her to remain a few steps ahead.

  When they reached the small metal landing at the top, Mahana stopped and turned, extending her arms from her side and rotating in a full circle. "I ask you, would living here ever get old?"

  Dyson covered the last few feet and stood beside her, the breath catching in his chest as he took in the panorama around him. To the south was nothing but brilliant blue water, rolling in gentle swells one after another. To the east was the southern shore of Oahu, dotted with tide pools, blow holes and rocky outcroppings with water beating against them, Koko Head and Hanauma Bay behind them in the distance.

  To the north stretched the windward coast of the island, a myriad of new shades of blue stretched along the shore line and encompassing a series of islands. To the east, the island of Molokai, rising up over the horizon like a hunter stalking prey.

  Bending over the edge of the railing he could see a red-tipped lighthouse standing resolutely against the calm blue water behind it.

  "Wow," Dyson whispered, in awe as the wind whipped across his body, twirling his shaggy curls around his head. Turning his gaze to Mahana he tried his best to wipe the look of astonishment off his face, but instead managed to only again mutter, "Wow."

  A triumphant smile spread across Mahana's face as she leaned back against the railing of the landing, nodding her head in agreement. "I rest my case."

  "Yeah, you certainly know how to make a point. Again I have to ask though, since you yourself said you don't often socialize with guests, why me?"

  The look of triumph slowly slid from Mahana's face, giving way to a look that was borderline rueful. "And again I have to answer, call it recognizing a kindred spirit."

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Mahana left Dyson in the front lobby, disappearing to the employee locker room to shower and change before taking over for the afternoon. Dyson stopped by and talked briefly with Connie as he passed through, regaling her with stories of their morning and listening as she fussed over how much better his face looked.

  Just after noon he found himself back in his bedroom, tossing himself across the bed. Despite the day being only half over, his eyes became heavy as he laid there, sleep soon overtaking him.

  For over an hour he drifted in a sea of total blackness, his mind giving way to dreams of free floating through a Cobalt blue ocean. Unencumbered by a snorkel or fins he floated along, watching the sea life glide by, always in pairs.

  At first he didn’t see it, the partnerships not becoming apparent until he noticed they were actually watching him. One by one the creatures began to edge in on him, observing this lone figure floating by.

  Dyson awoke with a start midway through the dream, the pillow beneath his head wet with sweat. Rising to a seated position he glanced at the clock and ran his fingers through his hair, the sweat matting it flat against his skull.

  He went to the bathroom and showered again, changing into a fresh pair of cargo shorts and a navy blue v-neck t-shirt. He checked his reflection in the mirror to see the swelling in his face was almost gone, the outline of both cheekbones finally apparent again. The bruising was also pulling back along his hairline, the dark purple and black having receded to light blue and green.

  Slipping his feet into a pair of flip-flops he descended into the lobby, finding Mahana behind the counter with a woman around thirty. The woman looked vaguely like Mahana, with bronze skin and straight black hair, though she carried at least forty pounds more than her counterpart.

  Mahana checked her watch as he approached, smiling. "Almost four. I was wondering when you were planning to head over."

  "Yeah, I may or may not have taken an unintentional nap.”

  "Must be nice."

  "Sort of. This crazy tour guide I know has me on a pretty rigid schedule these days. Important I get my rest where I can."

  "Crazy tour guide, huh?" Mahana asked, drawing the words out and making a face as she said each one.

  "Did I say crazy tour guide? I meant, spectacular-guide-who-so-freely-gives-of-her-wisdom."

  "Yeah, that's what I thought you said.”

  "You still planning to join us?" Dyson asked.

  "I'll be out," Mahana said. "We finish here at five, then I'll change and drive over."

  "Sounds good," Dyson said, waving to Mahana and nodding to her coworker as he retreated from the desk and out through the front door.

  After several hours spent in air conditioning, the afternoon heat swept over him in a wave, bringing perspiration to his brow. Late day traffic was heavy along Ala Moana Boulevard and he slipped himself into a crowd crossing over, breaking free as soon as he could and heading towards the beach.

  Within minutes of crossing over the thoroughfare, the sounds of the city began to retreat behind him, replaced by the din of water lapping against the sand. Unobstructed by the cityscape, trade winds blew across his body, lifting away any perspiration and keeping him comfortable as he strolled along.

  Kicking his sandals off he waded out into the sand, the white powder splashing across the tops of his bare feet as he wove his way through sunbathers to the mottled tent flying a pirate flag in the same spot as the day before.

  "Mr. Nicks!" the familiar voice of Rider called as he approached, the old man appearing along the front post of his tent, lifting the beer in his hand in salute.

  Dyson matched the greeting with a sandal, waving it as he approached before transferring them both to his left hand and shaking Rider's with his right. "Mr. Rider, good to se
e you."

  "Good to see you as well. I was beginning to wonder if I would. Can I get you anything to drink?"

  "No thank you, not just yet," Dyson replied. "And I apologize for being a little late. We were out and about all morning, time kind of got away from me."

  "Nonsense! Why Ola just arrived a little while ago too." He motioned back into the tent where a large, squat Hawaiian woman was busy unpacking sacks into the cooler. At the mention of her name she stood, smiling.

  "Hello," she said, walking forward with arms outstretched. She stood just a few inches above five feet tall and had a thick bun of graying hair pulled back behind her head. A splash of sun spots darkened each of her cheeks, offset by kind and sparkling eyes.

  "Pleasure to meet you Ola," Dyson said, stepping forward and returning the hug, accepting a kiss on the cheek. "Can I help you with anything?"

  "Oh, no thank you," Ola replied. "Just help Paul keep an eye on my grandchildren down there if you would."

  Dyson followed her outstretched hand towards the edge of the water where four boys played. All four looked to be between the ages of five and eight, all with thick swaths of shaggy black hair and smooth dark skin. At the moment they were playing paddleball, though none seemed to be doing especially well.

  "Will do," Dyson said, joining Rider along the front of the tent while Ola resumed her unpacking in the back.

  Rider again raised his bottle to Dyson as he approached. "So how's your trip going so far?"

  "Started off a little rough, but improved tremendously as of late," Dyson answered.

  Rider nodded and chuckled.

  "Don't I know how that goes. My twelfth day here was December 7, 1941. Spent a solid six months after that praying for my tour to be up and swearing I wouldn't spend one more minute here than I had to."

  "And now seventy years later you're still here?"

  "Met my wife the following June. Beautiful Hawaiian girl named Kaikala, looked a lot like your friend Mahana."

  "And you never left?" Dyson asked, not acknowledging the plain hint in the old man's words.