Page 21 of A Little Luck

All for her.

“Hey, you still cooking?” Max punches me on the shoulder. “Aunt Sheila will let us stay for free, but she expects us to provide all our meals.”

“You tell Aunt Sheila I’ll cook every dinner while we’re here, and she’s going to love it.”

“Sounds good!” Max nods, pulling his bag higher over his shoulder. “I’ll make breakfast. I’m a wizard with eggs.”

Starting when we were seniors in high school until I left for the Navy, Max and I were part of a team of local cater-waiters serving fancy parties around Hilton Head and Kiawah Island. Max was from Fireside, so he also worked jobs there.

I only did it when I needed the money, and once Alex turned Stone Cold into a million-dollar bourbon brand, I never had to work again. But sitting on my ass was the last thing I wanted to do.

I liked being with my buddies, and when we weren’t walking around in three-piece suits holding silver trays of crudités in our hands, we were on the ocean.

Max got into the World Surf League, and he started traveling. He was on his way back to Fireside from a competition in Sydney when he texted me about coming with him to Moloka’i to check on his great-aunt Sheila.

He promised me it wouldn’t be like our old days of drugs and partying. He’s gotten more serious about the sport now that he’s competing for real money. He’s here to hone his skills, while I’m here hoping for an exorcism—if that’s what you call it when you’re trying to get someone you love out of your blood.

Max drives an old-school beige Jeep from the tiny airport to Aunt Sheila’s home. It’s a one-level, three-bedroom cinder block house with slatted windows and a hammock in the front yard. She’s not home when we park in the yard, so we hop out and drop our bags into the guest rooms.

“You’re not going to believe the waves here, bro.” Max’s eyes dance with excitement. “Let’s get out there before the jet lag hits us.”

We’re going to be messed up for days traveling from South Carolina to Hawaii, but I know the only way to get ahead of the time change is to dive right into it.

“I don’t have a board.”

“I got you.”

He leads me out to the small shed behind the house, opens the door, and goes inside. While I wait out in the yard under the palm trees, I look up to see a small red bird with a hooked beak sitting on the branch of a tree.

He lets out a long whistling noise that reminds me of the finches we have around Mom’s over-planted yard back home. She has a hibiscus bush my dad got for her on their first and only trip to Hawaii. It’s my first time to visit the islands myself.

“Here you go.” He hands me a waterlogged, gray longboard.

“What the fuck is this?”

He only laughs, taking off down the hillside. “You can make it work. I’ve seen you surf.”

The funny little bird is gone, and a joy rises in my chest. I remember why I spent so much time out on the ocean after my life fell apart. I learned as a teenager how healing the waves can be.

My grandfather died when I was thirteen, then a year later we lost our dad. Aiden stepped up to fill the gap, but he was seven years older than me and a Marine. Then he took over the sheriff’s position, and I pretty much decided we had nothing in common.

Then I met Rex, and he led me out to the water. It’s hard to describe to anyone who’s never surfed, but when you’re on the waves, riding that silky curl, it’s like the whole world fades away. Nothing matters as you become one with nature.

The salt life fit easily with me, and we developed a community of friends around our shared love of the ocean. It didn’t hurt that a bunch of pretty girls started showing up in bikinis to watch us practice.

Out of the whole pile of females, it was a sassy redhead who caught my eye. She was quiet and smart. She wasn’t interested in our joking around. She wanted to see our skill, and I wanted to impress her.

Rex was the one who charged up to her first. He was never one to spend a lot of time thinking about first impressions.

“What are you waiting for?” Max yells at me, as he jogs into the ice-cold Pacific. “An engraved invitation?”

Shaking my head, I run right after him, leaving all those thoughts of the past on the sand at the edge of the water. I’m not here to rehash old memories. I’m here to close the book on those days, to grow, and to learn to move forward.

* * *

“Who’s making Huli Huli chicken?”A creaky voice calls from inside Aunt Sheila’s little house, heading to where I’m standing outside at a brick fire pit.

Bright red chicken sections are arranged on the grate over hot coals, and a squat little lady with long, gray-and-black hair braided on each side of her head makes her way slowly to the back door of the house.

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