The Maui Effect (Man-Made Trilogy #1)

The Enchanted Forest

‘Iwa

As ‘Iwa waited outside Dane’s cottage door at the Mizunos’, she suddenly remembered her dreams from last night. They had been fragmented, one out surfing with Dane and Kama, and her mom had swum up to them and said she’d been living in Portugal all this time but now she was back. Another with Dane surrounded by black witch moths so thick, they blotted out the sky. She hardly ever remembered her dreams, so these seemed relevant in a vague way.

The door opened and he popped his head out. “Come in, I made coffee.”

She was in no hurry, with a rare day off stretching out before her. Nor had she decided where to take him, so she turned off the motor and went in. He was wearing sweatpants with a thin gray T-shirt, UGG boots and an orange beanie, looking cozy and straight out of a Patagonia catalog. She couldn’t blame him, the north winds had turned the air icy.

Busy in the kitchen, he motioned to the couch, which was covered in a fuzzy fleece blanket. “Have a seat. How do you take your coffee?”

It was almost as though the kiss last night never happened, and she was fine with that. Almost. Her lips had still been smoldering when she woke.

“Soy mocha latte, extra hot with cardamom, please.” His eyes went wide, and she laughed. “Just kidding. Whatever you have is fine. Even black.”

“Perfect. I’ll make you my Maui Special, then.”

The whole cottage smelled of roasted coffee and beyond that, something sweet and fruity. “What’s that smell?” she asked.

“It’s a surprise, just sit back and get comfortable.”

‘Iwa sunk back in the fleece and watched him move around the kitchen, measuring and scooping powders, slicing papaya and strawberries, then whipping the milk with a hand-frothing wand. His brow creased in concentration, he reminded her of a mad scientist in the lab.

“This little cottage is pretty well equipped,” she said.

Dane held up the wand. “This is mine. I take this thing wherever I go, like a toothbrush. I can’t live without foam on my coffee.”

“Ah, so you’re an addict,” she said.

He poured a brown powder into two mugs. “I do have addictive tendencies, surf being the primary one, coffee with a thick head of foam a close second.”

“Is it surf itself or the adrenaline rush you get while surfing?”

“Can the two be separated?”

“Hmmm, good question.” She thought for a moment. “I don’t know.”

“I do know that chasing waves around the world is its own kind of magic, and even though scientists will say we do it because our brains are seeking high-sensation experiences, I say we do it for the sublime connection with mother nature. The ocean meditates me.”

“A close encounter.”

“Exactly. That is addictive. You would know, spending all your time on the slopes of an active volcano,” he said, pointing his knife at Haleakalā.

She corrected him. “Dormant. Last erupted five hundred or so years ago and is now in the post-shield stage with two rift zones, the southwest and the east.”

“I read that it’s a matter of when , not if .”

The news hyped up even the smallest seismic activity these days. “We’re talking geologic time, so I wouldn’t be too concerned,” she said.

“I’m not concerned, I just think it’s cool. And what you do is cool, too—”

The bell rang on the toaster oven and he pulled out two huge chunks of bread and slathered them in butter. No man had ever made her breakfast so enthusiastically, except maybe her father. It made her feel special.

By her feet, she noticed a few magazines on the ottoman, and she picked one up. But it wasn’t a magazine, it was a catalog. A Patagonia catalog, and there on the cover was Dane, wearing the same shirt he had on now, and he was standing on a rock, overlooking a red rock canyon. ‘Iwa held it up so she could see him alongside the photo.

“Life imitates art,” she said, somehow unsurprised.

He turned around and saw what she was holding. “I think you have it backward.”

Dane was leaning against the counter, his sweats hanging low with part of his T-shirt tucked in. Flat stomach, smooth arms—the kind of body made for long mornings in bed. His eyes locked onto hers as though he knew just what she was thinking.

“Come and get it,” he said.

‘Iwa jumped up, a little flustered, and Dane shook his head slowly, as if clearing it of his own indecent thoughts. He set the two steaming mugs, plates of bread, and papaya boats full of yogurt, granola and strawberries on the table. ‘Iwa tore herself from the cozy couch and joined him.

“Cheers,” he said, holding up a handmade ceramic mug. “To a beautiful last day in Hawai’i nei .”

“To a perfect last day,” she said, before biting into the soft, warm bread. “Let me guess, banana and liliko‘i and...?”

The ground-up seeds and tartness were a dead giveaway, but there was another flavor in there. Something she couldn’t put a finger on.

“Top secret.”

“Where did you get it?”

“Again, top secret,” he said, then shoved a whole piece in his mouth and chewed with his eyes closed.

“The woman who used to make our baked goods just retired and Dad could use some new recipes.”

“Well there you go. Maybe he’ll hire me as his baker. I made the bread myself.”

She laughed, then quickly stopped when she saw his face. “You’re serious.”

“I am. Tiny as it is, this place has a full kitchen, so I stock up on fruit when I come and then get my Martha Stewart on. I guess I never mentioned I like to bake. Especially on Maui where everything grows like weeds.” He pointed to a hook on the wall where a turquoise flowered apron hung. “See, I even have an apron.”

“Don’t tell me that’s yours,” she said.

Dane chuckled. “Tutu Mizuno leaves it for me every time I come, and makes sure the kitchen is stocked.”

The idea of Dane in an apron, arms covered in flour, brought a smile to her face. “You really love it here, don’t you?”

“My second home.”

“So, how about a deal. You give me your banana liliko‘i bread recipe, and I’ll take you somewhere special today,” ‘Iwa said.

His foot brushed against hers accidentally. Or maybe not. “Where?”

“You’ll see soon enough.”

“Your waterfall?”

“No, but somewhere beautiful.”

He wilted a little, but didn’t argue. “If I refuse to give you the recipe, are we stuck here all day?” he asked.

“If you don’t share it, I’ll take you swimming with the tiger sharks.”

Dane popped a blueberry in his mouth, then said, “I already told you, I have an affinity for sharks, so bring it on. But I’ll share it, just because I like your dad so much.”

“Thank you, I’ll tell him you said that.”

“I mean it, too. I’m not just saying it to get in your...” he drew out the pause “...good graces.”

An hour later, as they were about to leave, a burst of heavy rain started up. They stood in the doorway, mashed together, waiting for a break. Dane gave off so much heat, she swore she saw steam coming off his shoulders.

“Maybe we should just stay here, wait for the rain to stop,” he said, so close she could see a small patch of stubble he missed while shaving.

An image of the two of them tangled in the fuzzy blankets came to mind, and she pushed it away. She glanced up to avoid looking him in the eye, and that’s when she saw it. The black witch moth on the beam above.

The rain stopped almost as soon as it had come, and they set off under a screaming blue sky. Dane had learned from past mistakes and was wearing rugged hiking shoes and cargo pants, presumably borrowed. His hair stuck out in fifteen directions, as though it was permanently salty, even when dry. And now that they were in close proximity, she thought she detected sandalwood on his skin. Her favorite smell.

At the fork in the road, ‘Iwa stopped. She had planned to take Dane to the West Maui Mountains, but the moth gave her pause. Would it be so bad if she took him to Waikula? The thought of his lips on hers caused a spark to shoot up her spine. They might not have a future, but maybe they had a present. A brand-new red Jeep rental car behind them honked. ‘Iwa turned right.

“Back the same way we went the other day? Are we going to Hāna?” Dane asked.

“Patience.”

“Never one of my good qualities.”

“Did you get enough forest the other day?” ‘Iwa asked.

“Hell no.”

“Good.”

He smiled.

As they drove Dane remained oddly quiet. ‘Iwa was good at quiet. Quiet was her thing. Playing music and singing didn’t count, but in her mind, talking was overrated. Especially out in the wild, in places where, if you listened, the plants and the wind spoke to you. The rain and fog whispered stories, and the birds chirped old secrets.

Eventually, she turned up a road several valleys before where they had gone the other day, driving along the edge of an almost dried-up lo’i —a taro patch—that smelled of thick mud, and finally turned up a stream. The depth of the water varied depending on the season, and today was only about six inches. Oftentimes, this road was impassable.

Dane held his hands out as though bracing himself against the glove box. “Ho, wait a minute. What are you doing?”

“This is the way.”

“Up a stream?”

“Trust me, it’s fine.”

“Where I live, we drive on roads not streams.”

“Well, where I live, we have some of the highest precipitation levels on the planet, and sometimes streams happen when you least expect them,” she said.

He leaned back, relaxing a little. “You’re the boss.”

They bounced along, the sound of water slushing under the Toyota’s oversized tires. It took another ten minutes of maneuvering around rocks, through deeper water and around stumps, but they arrived at the trailhead without incident. She had never brought anyone here. Even her father had never been, his idea of a hike a fifteen-minute walk down to the ocean so he could set up his fishing pole. Somehow, it had never bothered Lily.

“He’d never admit it, but he’s scared of the mo’o , that’s why he won’t come with us,” she used to say with a wink.

It had been a while since ‘Iwa had come here, since visiting soon after her mom had died, as if being at Waikula might bring her back. It didn’t. A stormy day, stream overflowing from weeping skies. She had taken a big risk going there that day, and could have easily been swept away. Today, there was enough water to keep the stream clean and clear, but not enough to wash out the trails. Blue sky and a lemony sun, air cool and dry.

She still hadn’t told him where they were going.

They climbed out and ‘Iwa grabbed the ti leaf from the back of the truck.

“What’s that for?” Dane asked.

“For the mo’o , the guardian of the pond.”

His eyebrows arched. “I see.”

“ Mo’o are shapeshifting lizard goddesses. They protect the fresh water sources in the islands and have been around since the beginning of time.”

Dane nodded as though her words made perfect sense. “Sounds good. So we feed her some leaves before we go in?”

There was no sarcasm in his tone; he really seemed like he wanted to know.

“Actually, we set the leaf in the water. If it floats, it’s safe to swim. If it sinks, we can’t go in. The mo’o will drown us. Or you, more likely,” she said, turning and heading for the arch of trees that curved over the trailhead.

Dane grabbed her arm. “Wait, what do you mean me ? Why not you?”

“Because you’re a man and they eat men.”

“So you’re saying I can’t go in the water if that leaf sinks?” he asked.

She shrugged. “That’s up to you.”

“Blinding fog and man-eating lizard goddesses. These mountains are more dangerous than Pe’ahi on a big day.”

“Depends who you ask, I suppose,” ‘Iwa said.

He looked her in the eye. “The more beautiful, the more dangerous, is how it usually works.”

This hike was more vertical than the last, because they had to cross a tall ridge before they entered the valley. The only other way in on this side was through a narrow chasm full of water that as far as ‘Iwa knew, no one had ever passed through. She’d always thought of Hana‘iwa‘iwa as its own Hawaiian Shangri-la. But according to a plan submitted to the county, Jones wanted to build a zip line straight to the falls. That way, he maintained, there would be far less impact on the surrounding flora and fauna. That way, she and Winston knew, he would turn Waikula into a shit show, accessible to anyone with enough money.

By the time they reached the rope section of the trail, it was late morning. They had been walking on an exposed hogback, covered mainly in uluhe —false staghorn fern. The sun melted down onto them. ‘Iwa stripped down to a tank top, and Dane took off his shirt and stuffed it in his backpack. She really wished he hadn’t because it was impossible not to notice the curves and indents of his pecs and abs, and the rock-hard lines that disappeared below the waistline of his pants. Dane brought a new meaning to the word chiseled , and she had to force herself to look away.

Standing at the base of the incline, Dane grabbed onto one of the old and frayed ropes and tugged, craning his neck to see what was in store. “You trust this rope? It looks like it’s been here since World War II.”

“Your tendency to exaggerate, have you always had it?” she said.

He let the rope go and stepped back. “Nah, just an active imagination. How long has it been here, really?”

“As long as I can remember.”

“No one has ever changed it?” he asked.

“Someone may have at some point, I’m not sure.”

“You go first then, that way I can catch you if anything breaks.”

The way up wasn’t technical rock climbing, and coming down was actually easier, but scaling this section definitely took a fair amount of physical strength and concentration. ‘Iwa started up and moved quickly, having done this enough times to know the best hand and footholds. The dry weather helped.

Once at the top, she peered down and called out, “All good, come on up.”

Two minutes later, Dane was standing next to her, dusting off his hands and smiling.

“I should have known. You’re a rock climber, too,” she said.

He shrugged. “I climb some.”

For the most part, the rocks in Hawai’i were too porous for climbing.

“Where do you go?”

“Yosemite mostly. My buddy is the real deal—I just dabble. When there’s no surf, we climb,” Dane said, pouring water from his bottle into his mouth.

Big waves, big cliffs, big thrills.

“I would imagine the adrenaline rush is similar?”

“Climbing takes it to another level. The stakes get much higher. At least in the ocean, you have lulls between the sets. Twenty-five hundred feet up a wall of granite, you can’t turn off the fear button, not even for one second,” he said.

“Give me a shield volcano any day.”

“Understandable, coming from a wahine from Hawai’i.” He held up his water bottle, the squirt kind, and said, “Open up, a little bird told me we need to hydrate out here and I haven’t seen you take one sip yet.”

She closed her eyes and opened wide. Dane had perfect aim, and filled her mouth with water.

“Want a little more? Cool you off?” he asked.

She could feel a line of sweat forming between her breasts, dripping down her stomach and causing her shirt to stick to her skin. “Yes, please.”

She offered him her back and he sprinkled some on, then doused his head and face, and they were off again, toward an ‘ōhi‘a forest with some of the tallest ‘ōhi‘a trees on the island, and known for its dense population of honeycreepers. As soon as they reached the forest, the temperature cooled. Birdcalls echoed around them, and they could hear the sound of tiny wings whirring amongst the trees.

“The ones that sound like a squeaky door hinge are i’iwi . They’re red with a splash of black and a curved beak,” she told him, keeping her voice to a whisper.

“How many species are there?” he asked.

“Not as many as there should be. Hawai’i is known as the extinct bird capital of the world, which is the worst possible thing to be known for. But not all hope is lost. The remaining species now have an army of people on their side, doing whatever we can to keep them from disappearing,” she said.

“So, there’s a chance.”

“Always.”

This was one of her favorite sections of the hike. Gray and twisty trunks with branches that reminded her of Dr. Seuss trees, scarlet red puffy blossoms, ferns taller than a house. Dane followed close on her heels, and she imagined seeing all of this with fresh eyes. Would he think everything was as ethereal and magical as she did?

Then, she heard a birdcall, a not-too-distant series of paired bird notes. ‘Iwa stopped suddenly, causing Dane to run smack into her. In an attempt to keep her from flying forward, he grabbed her hips firmly.

“What is it?” he whispered, mouth inches away from her cheek, and sending vibrations to her core.

She held up two fingers, tapped her ear. Dane didn’t move, nor did she. All around them, the understory dripped with moisture stolen from wandering clouds. Trees were masters at their jobs. A minute later, she heard the notes again, farther away.

She turned her head slightly and whispered, “It almost sounded like a kiwikiu, the one I’ve been looking for. The newest ghosts of the forest.”

Unsure, she fumbled for her phone to record what they were hearing. In her world, unless you had proof, you had nothing. But instead of more singing, she heard a flurry of wings. After five minutes of staying still as lichen-covered stones on the ground, ‘Iwa stepped away from Dane. Even after detaching, she felt his red-hot palm imprints on her skin.

“It’s been over a year since the last pair released into the wild were spotted. Most believe they’re another casualty of habitat loss and disease, but this mountain is huge and I refuse to give up hope.”

“I’m in no hurry, why don’t we stop and eat? Maybe the birds will do another flyby,” he said.

They posted up around the next bend. Her excitement seemed to be rubbing off on Dane, because he kept shushing her and pulling out the binocs at every little chirp. ‘Iwa didn’t have to see the birds to know that they weren’t the kiwikiu. She had every trill and call and song imprinted in her mind. I’iwi , Maui Creeper, ‘ākohekohe.

“Those are the Maui Creepers, the ones we saw the other day,” she told him.

Dane’s face crumpled.

“Don’t look so disappointed,” she told him. “These little guys are endangered, too.”

“I want to see the ghosts of the forest.”

“Trust me, so do I.”

They ate curried tofu sandwiches on sourdough, with vinegar chips and crunchy bread and butter pickles. Dane had brought two slices of his liliko‘i bread for dessert. They ate and listened for birds, sitting close together. His knee touched hers, and she did nothing to move away.

When they’d finished, Dane said, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I never thought it possible I would be so into birdwatching.”

“I didn’t think you would either.”

He feigned offense. “You underestimate me.”

“No I don’t. I can tell there’s a lot going on beneath the surface with you.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“No, just an observation.”

It was true, though, and a big part of his draw.

“I think everyone has a lot going on beneath the surface, if you take the time to look,” he said.

“I’m not so sure about that. Some people—even ones that I’ve known pretty well—skate along in life and are happy just getting by. They do what they’re told, or what they think they’re supposed to do, and are content. I don’t get that from you.”

She realized then that maybe it was his passion that was pulling her in.

“Yeah, I guess I’m lucky in that department. As a kid, I had to figure out stuff on my own, and so everything I did was purely based on stoke. Surfing being my top stoke inducer.”

She had been wondering about his mom, and now had to ask. “How come you had to figure out stuff on your own? Where was your mom?”

“Away a lot. She was a flight attendant and when she wasn’t working, she traveled the world surfing.”

“And she never took you with her?”

“Nope. I stayed with neighbors and friends—mostly the Mizunos. She was essentially a kid with a kid and I was extra baggage. But she taught me to surf, and took me up and down the coast when she was around. In our house, waves were God and the ability to ride them brought you closer to heaven.”

He started feeling a nearby fern, running his fingers up and down the frond. He looked to be remembering, and ‘Iwa felt for him.

“I’m sorry. That must have been hard on you,” she said, more gently.

“It wasn’t all bad. She gave me surfing and a love for the ocean.”

It was hard to fathom growing up alone like that with no father and a globe-trotting mother.

“Do you see her much now that you’re older?”

“No.”

“At all?”

“I used to see her more, but when I made the pro circuit, she called me a sellout and told me if I went through with it, I wasn’t a real surfer. I did it anyway and stayed on the tour for two years. But in the end, I realized she was right. At least for me. I hated surfing all those contests just for points, even when the waves were crap. And the judging and the competitiveness. It wasn’t my thing.”

“I guess your mom knew you better than you thought.”

He nodded. “I hated to admit that she was right. And then when I left the tour, I drifted around for a while, trying to find my own path. I knew I loved big waves, but there was a day at Himalayas that was pure perfection. It was uncrowded, just a few of us out riding hollow blue giants, and when some of the photos circulated and were entered in the XXL Big Wave Awards, I sat up and took notice. That seemed more my deal. Traveling the world looking to ride the biggest waves out there, without the whole circus, no schedule, just follow the waves and document it on film.”

“And the rest is history,” she said.

“I still haven’t won, though.”

“Pe’ahi is a pretty big coup.”

“A dream for sure. But not the top prize.”

“So that’s your Everest? Biggest wave award?”

Their eyes met and he didn’t answer for a few heartbeats. “One of them.”

‘Iwa dared not ask what the others were. She jumped to her feet. “Come on, we have a lot of ground to cover.”

They made their way deeper into the valley. Hana‘iwa‘iwa was as beautiful as the next valley, but the waterfall itself—Waikula—was something otherworldly. Tucked away toward the back, in a fold in the cliffs, you would never even know it’s there. Even tour helicopters couldn’t get to it. At so many other falls up and down the coast, you spent hours of blood, sweat and tears to get into the wild, only to be dropped in on by a giant metal mosquito. But not at Waikula.

They rock hopped and stream crossed, and as they neared the falls, rocks turned into truck-sized boulders. Dampness coated everything. ‘Iwa led the way, turning around every so often to see if Dane was keeping up. He was. About a half mile below the falls, she began to notice little cleared areas with trails leading off from them on the far side of the wide stream. At first she told herself they were pig trails, but in some places, tree branches had been cut cleanly.

Jones.

Sick to her stomach, but not wanting to ruin the day, she kept moving from rock to rock. She could come back in a couple days and follow the trails. Trespassing or not, she needed to know. Leading up to the waterfall was a forest of ferns, and the trail bored through in a tunnel of green. ‘Iwa stopped at the entrance.

“This feels like Middle Earth. Is this some kind of portal?” Dane said with a dorky smile. “Because if it is, I have a right to know.”

‘Iwa laughed. “Oh, it’s a portal all right, but not to Middle Earth.”

Dane closed the gap between them in a heartbeat and took hold of her wrist. “For real, ‘Iwa, where are we?”

His touch made her slightly dizzy. “Soon, we’re almost there,” she said.

“This is your waterfall, isn’t it?” he said, gaze snagging on hers and not letting go.

They were close enough for her to see the gold flecks in his deep water eyes. The tension between them had been building all day, thick as freshly pounded poi. She pulled away and ducked into the ferns, letting his question hang.