Page 70 of The Wrong Fiancée

We kept walking, the path narrowing as we neared the ancient petroglyphs, which was our destination. I wanted to share with Dean the carvings, hidden deep in the park, etched into large rocks by native Hawaiians centuries ago.

"My God!" Dean exclaimed. "Is this what I think it is?"

I felt pride blossom inside me that I'd surprised him and excited him.

Dean stopped beside one of the petroglyphs, crouching down to study the symbols. His fingertips hovered over the smooth stone, not touching it, but close enough to feel the energy that I knew radiated from the ancient artwork. It sounded fanciful, but I was of the islands, and the spirits of our ancestors were everywhere.

Dean smiled at me. "You grew up in Hawaii just as Felicity did, but she probably would never dream of bringing me to a place like this."

I didn’t like that he brought up his ex, and neither did he, but I understood what he was trying to say. He was telling me that experiences like this fed his soul, something she hadn’t recognized—but I did. He was trying to make amends for the cruel remarks I’d overheard all those years ago. He wasn’t comparing Felicity and me, he was judging himself—acknowledging that he’d made mistakes with both of us.

I nodded and then shrugged. "I ka wa ma mua, ka wa ma hope," I said, and when he raised his brows, I translated, "The future is in the past. We must learn from the past to move forward but not dwell on it. In Hawaiian culture, the past stands in frontof you to guide you, and the future is behind you, out of sight, encouraging mindfulness of the present moment."

"That's beautiful," Dean acknowledged. "Is that a Hawaiian saying?"

"Yes. It's wisdom our ancestors have passed down through generations, teaching us to live in the present, take lessons from the past, but not let it define our future."

Dean went back to look at the petroglyphs etched into the ancient, weathered stones, their shapes worn smooth by centuries of wind and rain. Carved into the dark lava rock, the petroglyphs told stories of a time long past with representations of human figures, canoes, and sacred symbols of Hawaiian life.

Some of the figures had long, outstretched arms, perhaps warriors or chiefs. In contrast, others seemed to depict families and ancestors immortalized in stone.

"I have read about these…but standing here, I feel…I feel small in the best possible way—like I'm part of something much bigger."

I felt that exact same way when I was in the presence of the petroglyphs. I squatted next to him.

"They're amazing," he murmured with reverence.

"You can feel the history here. The connection to the people who made these. My ancestors."

We straightened, and he slid an arm around me. "I'm stunned. Really. I didn't expect these to be so…I have no words."

I leaned into him. "I feel that these rocks are alive with history, each petroglyph holding a piece of the island's soul. The carvings are not deep…more like whispers from the past rather than shouts."

"And yet they speak loudly to those willing to listen." Dean kissed the side of my head. "You know, I've been to the Lascaux caves in Dordogne…those are similar. Have you been?"

Son of privilege, I thought, amused, like everyone could just take off to France. "I've never been off the island," I confessed. "I've never had the time or, you know, the funds to explore the world. Between work and…." I didn't need to say it. He knew about Noe and all the responsibilities that had kept me tied to Kauai.

He nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful, but there was no pity in his eyes. Just understanding. "The Lascaux caves," he started again, "they're incredible—prehistoric art, these massive bulls and horses, all etched into the walls of these deep caves. It's like stepping back in time. But these petroglyphs feel more alive." He glanced back at the carvings on the stone, his voice softening. "Maybe because of the way they're surrounded by all this—by the forest, the river. You can still feel the connection to the people who made them. The Lascaux paintings are powerful, but they're distant…in the sense that we actually don't go into theactualcave but an exact rendering to protect the real thing."

"A replica?"

"Yeah, they made caves so tourists could see."

"So, no one sees the real caves?"

He grinned. "I have, but that's when I was doing my PhD and used my connections."

I repeat,son of privilege!

"When I'm here, I feel like all my ancestors are still here like they never left, and are watching over us."

"One day," Dean took my hands in his, "you'll get to see the Lascaux caves and Paris and wherever else you want to go." He kissed me softly, and I soaked him in.

He pulled back. “You don't need to leave Hawaii to know something sacred when you see it."

There was a warmth in his words, an unspoken understanding that no matter how far he'd traveled, he knew that this island—my island—had its own magic. One that couldn't be compared. I appreciated his thoughtfulness.

"Their stories are still alive, even after all this time," I paused, cupping his face with my hands. "That's what art does, doesn't it? It keeps things alive."

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