Page 24 of The Wrong Brother

“Mina? Why are you calling like this?”

She’s thankfully dressed and my brother is nowhere in sight. I see her looking over my shoulder and I swivel so my suitcase is out of sight.

“Because I wanted to see your face while I say this: I’m on to you, Rafferty Simms.” She’s grinning and there’s an edge of mania there. It makes me nervous. I’ve been so careful.

“What exactly does that mean?”

“I know what you’re doing—the arrangement with Catherine.”

I relax, relieved. “Sure, I assumed you two would talk. And we only want you to keep it from Griffin long enough to test our believability when we get together. Speaking of, should we get dinner somewhere? Or were you thinking of something else?”

“We’ll circle back to those details, Raff. I will not be distracted. Of course, I heard about the arrangement. I know Catherine asked you to help her out. But I know that it’s more than that. I know that Catherine is who you were talking about!Say there’s a girl…” she does a terrible imitation of my voice.

I pinch my lips in a straight line and let my eyes close. I should have predicted this. Mina isn’t dumb. I open my eyes and she’s looking at me softly, an expression more suited to Catherine than my fiery best friend.

“I won’t say anything, Raff. And I won’t give you a hard time. Catherine is the best person there is and you know I love you. If you need help or want to vent or anything, I’m here.”

“Thanks, Meens. And thanks for having clothes on. I’m sure it was a real burden to have to spend the last five minutes dressed and away from Griffin.”

“Oh, he’s here but out of sight. He was in the bathroom before. Both of us shouldn’t have to pull on clothes…” She wiggles her eyebrows at me and I hear my brother laugh in the background.

“Well, thanks for pretending you’re both not a couple of horn dogs. Text me later about getting together.”

“Bye Raff!”

I shake my head, putting my phone away. After I transfer my clothes to the dryer I notice the old man drop something that rolls under the chairs. I jog over, picking up a small animal treat from the floor.

“Uncle, you dropped this.” I hand him the treat and he looks left and right, worried lines around his eyes, before thanking me and dropping it in the purse. A tiny cat pops its head out of the bag.

“She’s not supposed to be in here,” he whispers to me, dropping his hand to rub the kitten’s head. Well if that isn’t the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.

“Your secret is safe with me, Uncle.”

Tiny purse cat would not have been one of my guesses. If I had seen the contents of his wash I might have gotten closer, though. He’s cleaning a fluffy animal bed. Tired Mom is struggling to transfer her load to the dryers while wearing the sleeping baby on the front of her body. I do it for her and she whispers ‘mahalo’ as she puts in her quarters. As long as my stuff doesn’t need extra time, I should be able to paint for a while before my afternoon clients. A loud buzzer indicates my dryer is finished and everything is actually dry, not simply hot and damp. Miracle of miracles. I dump it all into the old, creaky, rolling basket and stand next to it, folding everything and putting it neatly in the suitcase. When finished, I wave to the uncle and mom and stick the suitcase in my trunk.

It’s a mild spring morning, the sunshine warm and bright. I’m feeling Koko Kai today. I navigate through downtown and out to Hawai‘i Kai, parking in the neighborhood. There’s not a parking lot at this mini beach park but the short walk should be nice. I dig through my trunk, locating my travel easel box and a canvas. There are already a lot of surfers out and I’m almost regretting not carrying my board down instead. But then I’d have to bother Mina or Catherine for a shower and I’m needing a solo day to recharge. A break from socializing and my paints will be perfect. I can appreciate the waves without being in them.

I set up out of the way, watching the surfers and the people diving off China Walls. This feels like the angle I’d like to work from today. The sun, the waves, the layers of volcanic rock, and the people. I mostly use acrylics. Other mediums are good too but acrylic paint dries quickly. It works best for my lifestyle. Someday I’ll be in a position to branch out more. I do a quick minimal sketch of what I’m thinking—a basic guideline to help me focus. I’ll lose it in a moment, covering it with the base layer of paint, but the act of drawing it out solidifies the shapes in my mind.

Starting with blue, mixing a shade that brings up visions of Catherine’s eyes, I give the whole canvas a good wash. Once that’s set I move to the ocean. I briefly consider putting in headphones and listening to music but the natural music of the waves crashing into the rocks is better. The tang of salt in the air and the light hints of tropical flowers are the scents of home, of true peace, of belonging. I may not be native but the ‘aina is in my blood and bones. I’ll continue to do whatever it takes to stay here.

I get lost in the combining of colors and the familiar movements of putting brush to canvas. I like how the waves are shaping up. It feels right. What doesn’t feel right is the heat of the sun on my arms. I forgot to put on sunscreen. Normally I’m much better about covering up, especially to take care of my ink. I take a break to protect my skin and put my hair up in a messy knot on top of my head. Some water and breakfast from my backpack finish off my break and I dive back in.

My work isn’t hyper-realistic. I sometimes wish it was; I wish I had the ability to exactly replicate what I’m seeing. When it comes down to it, though, in painting, as in everything else, I need to be true to myself. The feeling, the true essence, is far more important than the appearance. It means enough to me to have it tattooed on my chest, underneath my collarbone. “Esse quam videri.”To be rather than to seem. Words for me alone, like a banner across my body, with Hawaiian blooms on either end. I hope this piece feels like today: peaceful, warm, and joyful. I move from the ocean to the lava rock ledges, building up the different layers of color and texture. I finish with small bursts of color in the people. Satisfied with the end results I stretch out on the ground, leaning back on my elbows. I can give it a little more time to dry while I enjoy being outside.

The one thing that can be difficult about painting with my lifestyle is cleaning up. Most beach parks have a water source but I don’t want to dump paint water out into the environment. I also worry about messing up sinks in public or business bathrooms, not to mention the time it takes. Most often I wipe as much paint off the bristles as possible with a rag and store them in a container full of water until I can go out to my parents’ house. They don’t mind. The only trouble there, as with any place familiar, is not doing it too often. It can be tricky evading everyone’s notice but I’ve managed it so far. It’s the one time I don’t mind that I tend to see more than everyone else does; there’s no one watching me. Everyone else is paying attention to the seeming, not the being.

14

catherine

The beginning of the week does not crawl by like I expect it to. I have a couple of new clients and work is busy. I finish my embroidery project and Monday night I go to spin class. In general, I don’t enjoy sweating. I realize that’s dumb—I live on a tropical island and I think it’s important to exercise regularly for my mental and physical health. But I hate feeling sweaty. I like to avoid high-intensity activities, like hiking (thanks Griffin), solely because of the sweat issue. I like surfing. The sound of the waves, the smell of the ocean, the sensation of gliding over the water, it’s all magic. And sweat doesn’t bother me because you spend as much time swimming as you do catching waves. If you’re mediocre like me, even more. Spin class is enjoyable because it’s in an air conditioned room with fans. I know, I still sweat, but it’s as comfortable as exercising can possibly be. I’m old enough now to feel more confident in not apologizing for who I am. I like to be comfortable. The end. I prefer going to class very early in the morning, when possible. I feel better starting my day with exercise and I like that I can shower and get ready for the day once and for all. I stayed up too late Sunday night though, finishing the embroidery, and chose the extra sleep. I’m back on track by Tuesday, no big deal. Look at me, being all flexible.

The first thing I do when I get home is change. I had on wide-legged trousers and a deep v-neck. Emily at that boutique was right, small boobs do mean more wiggle room in avoiding looking indecent, a fact I have definitely taken advantage of recently. The office is chilly. Pants and a slouchy cardigan worked. Outside of air-conditioned spaces though, it’s too warm for pants. I swap them for denim cutoffs and am searching through my fridge when Rafferty lets himself in.

“Hi!” I hug him, leaning into the feel of the hard muscles of his chest. How is he so solid but so comforting at the same time? “I was trying to find something to make for dinner but I’m drawing a blank.”

“That works perfectly with my plan.” He drops into a chair. “We’re going to go grocery shopping.”

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