Haole Wood (12 page)

“Just practice with him until he gets the hang of putting them in and taking them out,” he told me. I was not ready to trust an eye technician who wore hipster glasses the size of a snorkel mask and looked like he was trying to introduce a new goatee trend of hair question marks that framed his mouth.

“Gulp,” I said. “I’m not sure I’m ready.”

He waved me off. “It’s just a practice session. No biggie. You’ll be fine. Just spend time with him and let him practice. You’ll figure it out. See you later. Aloha.” With that he disappeared through the tinkling of the wind chime on the door.

I stared at Mr. Abraham. He looked at me and blinked back behind heavy thick, yellowed lenses in black plastic frames. I sure wished I paid more attention earlier in the day when the tech taught some teenager how to put contact lenses in, instead of thanking my lucky stars that I didn’t have that job.

“First and most important,” I said, trying to be professional, “we have to wash our hands.” That much I remembered. We both got up and washed our hands in the little sink beside the glasses display cabinet. Well, that took two minutes. I kept watching the clock, praying for Vaughn or the tech to come back.

I commanded my fingers to stop shaking as I opened the box the tech gave me. “Just relax,” I told Mr. Abraham. Oops. I dropped the clear, dime-sized squishy disc. Fortunately, it landed in a bowl containing some sort of contact solution and it magically flowered open. I nodded my head sharply, with an air of expertise.

“Pick it up,” I commanded the poor man.

His magnified eyes behind his glasses lifted from the lip of the bowl to my face. I watched him dip his stiff, thick corn cob fingers into the bowl, chasing the elusive lens as if it were a goldfish.

I babbled about my grandmother while Mr. Abraham hummed
Tiny Bubbles
. He was closer to piercing his own ear than ever getting that plastic lens inserted. At one point, we were ready to pop the champagne, thinking it was in, until he realized he still couldn’t see. We looked all over the table, in the bowl, on the mirror, until finally I found it, centered on his forehead like a clear caste mark. I gently peel it off and re-wetted it, trying not to sigh out loud or beat him about the head. He sweated and I pretended the wetness around his eyes was a natural response to futile attempts at cramming the foreign body into his droopy orbs. I wanted to cry, too.

I placed the disc, (which actually was lens number four) onto my own finger. The first one ripped, the second one had some dark dot on it that I couldn’t get off, and the third one was just MIA and I prayed to God it wasn’t stuck somewhere in Mr. Abraham’s eye floating toward his brain.

I got up, came around the table and decided to take matters into my own hands. I stood behind him, grabbed his chin with my left hand and forced his head back into my stomach. I kept the half-nelson stranglehold on him, propped my right leg up on the table for better traction and reached my fingers up to stretch open his right eye, which was horror-movie red. I was just about to trick him with the ol’ one-two-three, intending to shove the lens into his eye at the second count, when Dr. Galindo and the tech walked in.

“So, I guess you have no visions of grandeur in the field of optometry,” Jac said, seeming like he was trying hard not to laugh. I squeezed my cell phone tightly, hoping I wouldn’t cry. Jac must have sensed my panic.

“Jaswinder, I’m just teasing. Don’t worry about it.”

“How could I have screwed this up? Oh wait, don’t tell me. Because I screw everything up.” The word pathetic officially belongs on my resume. “Sometimes I just don’t know when to quit.”

“Come on,” Jac said. “Nothing to get upset over. It was only a temporary thing anyway. You tried it, it didn’t work out. How’s your grandmother? Have you heard anything new on the case?”

“Halmoni is doing pretty well, considering. I meet with the attorney again this afternoon just to try to get her out of jail. Jac, I just feel so helpless. I wish I knew what to do to help.”

“Let me take you to breakfast tomorrow morning,” Jac said. “Maybe it will help to talk things out. I’ll pick you up at nine, if that works for you?”

“Thanks,” I said, hanging up the phone and wondering how in the world I could smile when my whole world was falling apart.

As I crawled into bed that night, I heard a noise. “I say unto you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a contact lens to enter the eye of an old Hawaiian.”

I took my pillow and threw it at the bed across the room, burying my head under my covers to drown out the laughter. I poked my head back out from under the blanket.

“Some guardian angel you are. I got fired from my job today. Shortest career I’ve ever had. I’ve had orgasms that have lasted longer than that.”

I stared at him as he shook his big head back and forth. “No you haven’t,” he said kindly.

I plopped back down on my pillow. “What do you know about it anyway? Guardian angels have sex?”

He laughed. “We have love.”

“Oh, brother. Give me a break.”

“If you only knew how many breaks I have given you.”

“Oh, really?” I sat back up on the bed, in the dark, and hugged my knees. “The fact that I can see you, and by your own admission, I’m not supposed to, leads me to believe I was at the end of the line when they were passing out guardian angels. I also find it hard to believe that my sex habits are even up for discussion here. And with you. A so-called angel. This is kind of creepy.”

“What do you want to talk about?

“Shouldn’t you be meeting with your supervisor or something and trying to correct this big fat mess?”

“Which mess would that be, exactly? That you want longer—”

I groaned, cutting him off. “I’m trying to change the subject. Stop talking about me and my, you know.” I waved my hands around.

He nodded. “You do very well in the sexual satisfaction department.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“No. I am agreeing with you. Supreme Being, what does it take to make you happy?”

I stared at him. I believe my mouth hung open.

“Why are you arguing with me? You rate very high on the sexy time survey, even if you sometimes have to take matters into your own hands.”

My hand was over my mouth. I dropped it to yell at him. “Please don’t ever say sexy time again.” I paused. There’s a survey? Damn, he was too all-seeing for my comfort. I was as competitive as the next girl. Who wouldn’t want to get high marks in something, seeings as how I was pretty sure I skewed the curve when it came to career, relationship, beauty, retirement planning . . . oh, dear God, I could go on and on.

“That is your problem,” he said. “You have no job and you waste space,” he tapped his head, “worrying about retirement. That is why—” He leaned toward me.

I leaned toward him. At last, some answers. “Yes? What? That’s why what?”

“That is why orgasms are so important.”

“Stop it.” I shivered.

He laughed. “They are a little something He Who Must Be Obeyed threw in to sweeten the deal.”

“What deal?”

“The deal of living your best life.”

I had nothing. “I have nothing.”

“Think about it,” he told me. “Or, stop thinking, I should say,” he added. “You need to quiet your mind. A perfect example is when you—”

I interrupted him. “Please stop talking. And don’t say that word again.”

“Exactly, when you stop talking, and stop thinking, like you do when . . .”

“La la la!” I covered my ears.

“Very good. I knew you would understand. It is one of the purest forms of meditation. The not thinking, not worrying, not planning, not remembering.”

“How about those San Diego Padres?” I said, trying to change the subject.

“Did you know it means you’re welcome?” he continued.

“It does not.”

“No, it does not.” He laughed. I could see the outline of his belly undulating. “But you have to admit, it should.”

“What are you trying to tell me? Shouldn’t you be teaching me some lesson, helping me through my tough times? I don’t mean to complain, but ‘Can come at a moment’s notice’ on a resume will only get a girl so far. Please. I’m begging you.” I even had my hands folded in his direction. “Can you help me?”

He nodded his head in what looked like what he thought was a gracious manner. “I have been helping you all along. And I cannot begin to tell you how much I am enjoying this rare phenomenon,” he motioned his hand back and forth between us. “I thank you.”

I shook my head. “You’re welcome.” I was not being gracious. I slid back under my sheets.

He was gone, but I could hear him laugh. Oh, right. He pretends “you’re welcome” means something else. Which gave me an idea. Maybe I did need to meditate.

The next morning, I got dressed with a smile on my face and a picture of Jac dancing in my brain. He wasn’t dancing, just the thought of him was. Even though I hand washed my sundress that Jac had seen me in twice already, I knew I needed to get some new clothes. But new clothes cost money I didn’t have, and were the least of my worries right about then. Jac picked me up the following morning, and we headed north through Lahaina up the coast to the resort area of Ka’anapali.

The winding road hugged the rocky coast. The crashing waves were so close I could have actually tossed a kukui nut right into the ocean from the passenger seat of his Range Rover. Wind-swept scraggly trees clung to small, scrubby beaches in a swirling van Gogh landscape. Locals had their favorite private spots, small beaches interrupted by rocky crests. Surfers, swimmers, sunbathers and fisherman dotted the uneven coastline up toward the resort area.

“Did you know Ka’anapali used to be part of a large sugar plantation?” Jac asked me.

“No. But did you ever take the Sugar Cane Train in Lahaina?”

“No.” he said. “Please tell me you haven’t either.”

I laughed. “My sister and I made our parents let us ride it when we were kids. I was only about seven years old.”

He laughed. “Good for you.”

“How did Ka’anapali develop out of sugar cane fields? It’s such a lush, gorgeous area. Those green mountains look like they swoop all the way down to sandy beaches.”

“It was the first master planned resort destination. Sugar is a thirsty crop and the industry started to dry up as pineapple fields cropped up,” Jac explained. “In the early 1960s, six ritzy resorts set up shop and invited the rest of the world to come and spend money. This part of Maui’s shoreline has some of the world’s best beaches.”

“I love it here,” I said, looking out the window. “There are still some sugar cane fields in the center of the island, right?”

“Yes. About forty thousand acres.”

“My dad told me it takes something like a ton of water to make one pound of sugar. Therefore, eating candy bars must be inherently good for you.”

“Brilliant reasoning,” Jac said.

Oh boy, did he have a great smile. “I guess the best things in life take the most time and trouble,” I added. I slapped my forehead. “I don’t know why I just said that.” Damn guardian angel was starting to rub off on me.

“Sweet and smart,” Jac said, teasing me. “I like that.” He turned left onto the resort grounds, and left again to head down to the Hyatt at the resort’s southern-most end.

I stared out the window at the ocean waves, hoping for inspiration but instead, drowning in worries. I didn’t have time to flirt.

“Cheer up,” Jac said. “We’ll get something to eat and things won’t look quite so bad. You’re in Maui.”

“Thanks,” I said. We parked and he took my hand as we walked into the huge open-air lobby of the Hyatt.

“I didn’t mean to go so commercial because I usually prefer the local restaurants,” he said, “but they have one of the best breakfast buffets on the island, and I have to check on a patient who is staying in the hotel. Just load up your plate, let’s have some Kona coffee, and sit back and relax.” He led me to an outdoor table, shaded by an umbrella, serenaded by a waterfall. He excused himself to go see his patient, while I made out with the Kona coffee.

“Slow down,” Jac said a few minutes later.

“That was fast,” I said. “Or maybe this coffee just makes the world spin at a higher speed.”

“That it does,” he said, pouring me even more to top off my cup.

“This is gorgeous. Thanks, Jac. I needed this.” We toasted each other, then enjoyed our giant plates of crispy bacon, eggs, and Belgian waffles. I tried to settle down. Swans floated by in their private lagoon without a care in the world, modeling for us in front of the backdrop of the Pacific Ocean.

“Tell me, Jaswinder. How did all of this start?” Jac asked me.

“How much time do you have?” I took a big bite of my fluffy waffle before beginning. Since I self-edited how exactly I got fired from my weather girl job back in San Diego and deleted anything about visions of my so-called guardian angel, I managed to keep it pretty short. Jac was a good listener and even better to look at.

I excused myself to go freshen up in the bathroom, and to make sure there wasn’t a slab of bacon stuck in my teeth. As I cut through the lobby and stopped to talk to one of the magnificently plumed birds, a wall of eye-watering perfume hit me first, followed by a tap on my shoulder. I jumped and slightly turned to see a pretty blonde woman in her early fifties, smiling at me. “Pardon me, but where on earth did you get that beautiful shawl?”

I smiled at her. “It’s my sunshmina, and my grandmother made it.” I looked at her fair skin and nodded. “It really keeps the sun off of me.”

“Exactly,” she said. “I love Maui but this sun is a killer for us light-skinned gals. I’d love to have one. Will she make one for me?”

I started to shake my head no, but, she added, “I’ll pay her.”

My head reversed direction and began nodding up and down. Halmoni had a ton of fabric left in her closet, and, I was sure she had more of the kukui nut concoction that she steeped it in. “I think I could arrange that,” I told her.

“How much?”

I paused. I had no idea what price tag to hang on the sunshmina. Let me think, attorney fees, an airplane ticket home, my current bank balance . . . “Go high, go high,” I swear the bird squawked at me.