Page 24 of Hula Girl

Itry not to wince as I listen to the cacophony of noises coming out of the eight student musicians in front of me. They’re trying their best, I know that. But still, it’s not coming together. They’re all playing at their own tempo, throwing each other off. The funniest thing is that by the way they are giving each other the side-eye, I can tell that they think it’s someone else’s fault, not their own.

I let them battle it out, hoping they’ll find the rhythm and balance on their own. When I was a kid learning instruments in this very same place—my mom’s music school—I always made the biggest leaps when I was given some freedom to explore on my own.

This is my day job, the thing that pulled me away from Ava so that I had to walk awkwardly home sporting a boner when all I wanted to do was climb with her into the backseat of her rental car with her.

Jesus, what a time we had. She’s beyond sexy. Clever and witty, too. I wonder what it might be like to really know her.

And yet, I know there’s no chance of that. The logistics are just not in our favor. She lives in Los Angeles. I live here. There’s no point in seeing her again, no point in indulging in this … whatever this thing is. Yes, she’s beautiful and I’d love to take her to bed again. And again. And again.

But the problem is, I already know it’s not just sexual attraction with her. This would all be much simpler if that were the case. Instead, I’m itching to talk to her again, to hear more about her life. And that isnotwhat you do with a one-night stand. And that’s exactly why I shouldn’t have told her I’d call her.

Sighing, I close my eyes tight and try to focus on my kids. They’re a ragtag bunch of eight and nine-year-olds. The instruments they’re playing range from the acoustic guitar to the trumpet. They’ve been working on this modified version of Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy” piece for eight weeks. The culmination of that hard work is meant to take place tonight with a recital for parents, friends, and the local community. They’ve all been excited about this moment, so it especially pains me that they’re so obviously off.

Me being so distracted by thoughts of Ava probably doesn’t help.

Standing, I focus on Eli, the boy on clarinet. He’s an interesting character, often overcompensating for his insecurities by acting much older than he is. His parents got him into learning an instrument so that he could build a real sense of confidence. But so far, it has only triggered him more. He can’t hide behind a witty comment while playing. I’ve given him a little extra attention and developed something of a bond.

“Hey, bud,” I say. He looks at me even as he keeps playing. They all keep playing, so sweetly determined. “Sit up straight. Head up, too.” He does as I say, but as is his bad habit, he’s got the instrument almost clutched against his chest. I gently pull it about forty-five degrees away from him. The clarity of his efforts improves immediately and he smiles around the mouthpiece. “There you go.”

I then give each of the other students some individual attention and see a change for the better overall. Settling back into my chair, I have them start from the top.

As they play, a stray thought comes to mind. Should tell Ava I’ll be in Los Angeles in a week? Maybe we can get together out there?

But that would require telling her a whole lot more about me. And that isn’t what this thing with her is. This thing is just a vacation romance.

Romance.

No, not even that. This is just pure chemistry unleashed. She and I are very good at fucking. That’s all.

And yet.

And yet, I can’t stop thinking about her. Not just for her smoking hot body, either. I can’t stop thinking about the look of sadness in her eyes when she told me about her father. About how I could relate so strongly to the fear in her eyes when she said his death left her family in a terrible financial bind and how, at an age far too young, she took on responsibilities she shouldn’t have had to.

More than any of that, I can’t stop thinking about why sheletme see that. I pegged her right from the start as building up protective walls. Hell, she even admitted to that. So, why did she expose herself that way?

It shouldn’t matter. Getting to know her better isn’t an option. Or at least, it isn’t a smart option. There’s no point in investing any more time in this passing connection. Because that’s what it is, just a fleeting moment. After this, she’ll go home to LA and tell all her girlfriends about the surfer she slept with while on vacation. And I’ll go back to my normal pursuit of riding waves.

I’ve got to shake her from my thoughts. Not just because of the task at hand with these kids, but because I need to start mentally preparing for my own trip to Los Angeles.

My time has run out. I’ve been disconnected from all my obligations for as long as I can manage. Now, I’ll have to face the music, as it were.

Time for me to announce my intentions at the firm I left behind. Either I end my leave of absence and return fully committed or I resign and give up my shares and any future opportunity I might have to be a part of the family business.

It’s a big decision. But I know what I’m going to do. This leave has been the best thing I’ve ever done. Coming home to Maui, being close again with my mother while being a help to her with her music school, has been incredibly satisfying. Living this stripped-back life, without all the nonsense material things I had come to think I needed, has been enlightening. The choice between this life and my old life is a no-brainer.

What’s held me back from doing anything until I’m absolutely forced to is my grandfather.

Well,grandfatheris too familiar of a term for him, I’d have to say. I’ve never called him that, nor used the termgrandpa. He’s always been Palmer to me. Palmer McAvoy started his firm when he was just in his twenties and built it into something highly regarded, known as much for its cut-throat tactics as its exceptional record of cases won. From what I can tell, he has an innate ability to pick the right legal challenges. Every decision on that front goes through him and he isn’t shy about vetoing taking on a client if it doesn’t suit his criteria.

He would have vetoed my father bringing me over if the decision had been under his purview. From what I could sort out through overheard arguments, he thought Senior should have left well enough alone, that I wasn’treallyhis son, not after living so many years apart. He presumed that I’d never be more than some kind of island heathen and he never bothered to hide his distaste for me.

It wasn’t hard to steer clear of him for the first few years that I was with my father, but when I studied for and registered an insanely high score on the LSAT—Law School Admission Test—he sat up and took notice. Not only took notice but began to insist that I report to him in his large corner office on a weekly basis so he could coach me on matters of the law. I went to these meetings with open hostility. Until that one time when I was able to stump him on some arcane point of legalese I recalled. Gotta thank that photographic memory for some things. He’d sputtered and called me a liar and a cheat before calming down long enough to realize the potential I had. The potential to enrich him further in the law firm, that is.

After that, he did everything he could to spoil me. He bought me a BMW as a gift for getting into Yale. When I graduated ahead of schedule in just three years and went right into Yale Law, he bought me a condo. When I earned magna cum laude and made plans to move home to join the firm, he set up a shares system that was tied to my performance. The more revenue I was directly responsible for, the more shares were transferred to me. It was meant to last six years and be nearly impossible to get more than an inconsequential number of shares overall but I maxed out the scheme in the first two years.

And like the greedy sucker I had too easily become, I welcomed it with open arms. All those things, plus the black American Express card that he paid for. I took it all because even though I’d established a relationship with my father, I could see how Palmer paying attention to me gnawed at him. It was easy enough to see that Senior’s relationship with his father was just as dysfunctional as ours was. As much as I had done a one eighty and craved his approval, I also couldn’t stop from wanting to torture him a little. After all, he had abandoned me until it suited him otherwise. Those scars may have been covered over by tough tissue, but they never really went away.

It wasn’t until I’d been fully immersed in this life of petty retributions, professional successes, and material gains for almost four years that I was forced to snap out of it.

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