The Maui Effect (Man-Made Trilogy #1)

The News

‘Iwa

September arrived, sticky and swelling with moisture, and Kona winds brought with them still nights and termites. ‘Iwa was driving to Uncle’s with her back being branded by the creases in her seat when she got a call. Winston’s name flashed on her screen, and she hoped he wasn’t backing out at the last minute.

“Hey there,” she answered, trying to sound casual.

“Judge Mālama’s secretary just called me,” he said in a flat voice.

Not what she was expecting this late on a Friday.

“And?” she asked, breathlessly.

“And he had a mild heart attack and had to fly to O‘ahu for treatment. It sounds like he’s going to be okay, but he’s taking a medical leave and it’s going to prolong things.”

‘Iwa hit the steering wheel. Sad for Mālama—she liked the man, and sad for what this could mean for the forest. He was the best judge in town, smart and fair and fearless.

“So,” he continued, “they’re assigning a new judge.”

“Do you know who?”

A long pause.

“Steven Atkins.”

She hit the steering wheel again, harder. Steven Atkins was not a friend to environmental causes, though when called on his leanings, he always cited obscure laws that backed him up.

“But he knows nothing!” she said.

“True, but there’s no telling when or if Mālama will return.”

“Can’t we wait and see?”

“No. His whole docket has been cleared.”

‘Iwa wanted to cry, or maybe she was crying, as salty tears bled into her mouth.

“We’ll be starting from ground zero. It’s going to take years,” she said.

“Not entirely, he’ll be briefed. And we have a strong case, don’t forget that. Your kiwikiu footage really gives us a boost.”

She walked into the restaurant in no mood to sing, and to make things worse, she wasn’t even supposed to be there. It was Friday night and her dad had asked if she and Winston would come in as a favor. A news crew from Maui Time would be there doing a story on the restaurant. The paper had a new feature, where each week they spotlighted locally owned small businesses in the islands, and tonight it was here.

Eddie had been uncharacteristically nervous the past few days, and ‘Iwa had helped him the past two evenings, scrubbing floors, wiping the walls and stringing new fairy lights out back. The old ones had begun to flicker off and on at random times in the evening, making the place feel haunted. He had also asked all his friends to come in, to make sure the place looked bustling. As if they needed help with that.

“Invite the Mizunos,” he had told her last night.

“Dad, enough already.”

“Just do it, okay?”

Winston was already there. ‘Iwa walked up with her guitar, set it down and twirled her hair into a bun on the top of her head. At least with him, there were no pretenses, and she could sulk if she wanted.

“Hey,” she said.

Winston set his hand on her knee. “I know losing Judge Mālama was a big blow, but try not to worry too much yet. Things could still go our way.”

Her eyes prickled. “I can’t help it. Just let me mourn and I’ll get over it in my own time.”

She grabbed her guitar, tightened her strings and went right into James Taylor. Sad song for a sad mood. Winston strummed along and they watched as people filed in, and suddenly the whole place was full, inside and out. Through the window, ‘Iwa could tell who the Time team was, a man and a woman, because Eddie and Mila kept hovering around their table. Regardless of whether they needed more business, this was a good thing for her dad, she realized, and that helped turn her mood around. She picked up the pace, played some Van Morrison and Indigo Girls. Tonight was a lost in the music kind of night, when she wanted an escape.

Pretty soon, the news duo came out back and sat at the table right in front of her and Winston that her father had reserved. ‘Iwa smiled and nodded, and the woman pulled out a big camera and set it on the table. Mila, bless her heart, came out with a trayful of shot glasses, offering them to all the guests, complimentary. Winston snagged two for them. ‘Iwa downed hers in between songs, squeezed a lime in her mouth and continued to play as the warmth spread through her.

When it came time for the next song, Winston did something he rarely did. He started without warning. This time, Eric Clapton. There was nothing to do but go along. Maybe it was time to let down her wall with him and see where it led. So what if they were good friends. So what if she worked with him. Maybe she should give him an honest chance. All things considered, Winston was a far better bet than Dane.

She put everything into the song. The crowd seemed to love it, and the news woman held her camera up and began snapping away. When they ended, the audience clapped and cheered loudly, and someone whistled. Winston turned to give ‘Iwa a smile at the very same moment she leaned over and kissed him. She was aiming for his cheek, but planted one right on his lips. Their eyes met and she felt a dull buzzing take up residence in her skull. Winston looked almost as shocked as she was. Reflexively, she wiped her mouth. She held her breath and prayed that no one had captured the kiss, while the audience cheered even louder.