Illumine Her (10 page)

Malia gave a throaty laugh. “A lot. My patience, for one. Being in a long-distance relationship sucks, but in a way it helped too because it forced me to communicate honestly. And you know about my bossy tendencies and mood swings.”

Alana hummed her agreement. It was no secret that her sister could be a little on the dramatic side. She remembered numerous occasions growing up when Malia would become fiercely overprotective of her. She would transform into mother hen with a machete, brandishing any boy who paid even a little attention to Alana. At large family events, Malia was always the older cousin who stepped in and took charge of the food preparation and serving. She would scowl with her hands on her hips, directing the younger ones with what to do during a
saofa’i
, and then laugh and joke at the next. Alana could easily imagine her filling in Aunty Malae’s shoes in the future.

“What does it feel like to finally know?” she asked.

Malia looked at her and responded with a smile. “It was a feeling that hit me here...” she pointed to her chest “...it’s hard to explain, but the feeling definitely exists. It was as if all the light bulbs in my head went off.” Alana raised her eyebrows teasingly, but her sister ignored her and continued. “Everything clicked in place. It’s something akin to that inner voice in your head finding that connection to your heart and speaking to it directly. There’s absolutely no doubt. No doubt whatsoever. The feeling is… freeing, liberating, and the most intense happiness takes over every pore of your body.”

Alana studied her sister. As inexperienced as she was with men, she admitted to herself that she had yet to feel anything as remotely close to what Malia just described. Besides a few kisses she snuck with a boyfriend in high school, she didn’t think it was anything as special as this. She never got the chance to explore further anyway because when her father found out, he put an end to it, lecturing her about the age-old notion that
tamai’ta’i
Samoa didn’t date or go around with boys and should instead focus all their attention on school, homework, and
feaus
.

“There must always be a respectable amount of space between boys and girls,” he’d told her sternly.

She remembered cringing on the inside as she took it all in with a bowed head.

“Where you sit and stand, the way you talk and dress, there should be
fa’aaloalo
in all of these aspects of your life. When you graduate from university, then you can find someone and get married.”

After her father passed away, she lost all interest in boys. The very foundation of her family had shaken and threatened to fall apart after his death, and she buried herself along with her pain in her course work.

Her brother consequently became over-protective of her, taking seriously a role to firmly ground them. He would call and touch base with her in Fiji, and while the conversations initially felt forced and stilted, she knew he was looking out for her.

Contemplating her father’s words now, she was reminded of the way Chase made her feel when he touched her innocently on the face. He had stood so close to her, staring down unashamedly into her eyes as if he could read into them. As a result, he awakened something in her, a feeling that had been dormant for so long. The feeling of wanting to be comforted. Yearned for. And while that was over a month ago, she couldn’t deny the connection that flowed between them. She felt serene and unafraid, a complete one-eighty degree turn from the first day she met him. She admitted he was an attractive man—a very mysteriously stubborn one at that—with a generous spirit and knack for foreign languages, but he harbored a secret she couldn’t pinpoint and identify. Now that he was gone, she had little hope of finding out what that was.

Alana stood up, sweeping the dirt off her shorts. “Come on, Lia, let’s keep going before it gets too dark, and we end up falling over the edge.”

Malia groaned as Alana took her hand to pull her up. “You’re killing me here.”

Alana smiled down at her. “Now what kind of maid of honor would I be if I didn’t support the bride with her every wish? This hike was your idea, remember? Now come on.” She tugged hard and Malia grudgingly stood.

They began a slow trek along the windy path as it inclined sharply. After thirty more minutes of shuffling, pushing, and goading, Alana and Malia emerged on the clearing where the tomb laid. They toppled on top of it and rested their backs against the engraving. They sat in silence for several minutes, easing their breathing into a normal rhythm, their minds wrapped up in their own thoughts.

Mosquitoes buzzed near their still legs, searching for the perfect landing spot, and they waved their arms about to chase them away. Alana looked beyond the ridge and took a few moments to take in the view. The expansive Pacific Ocean could be seen from the left while green hills and trees rolled into one another on the right. Tin-roofed homes and passing cars could be made out in the distance, but the breeze didn’t carry their accompanying sounds. Peeling her eyes away, she shifted forward so she could read the inscription on the tomb.

Under the wide and starry sky,

Dig the grave and let me lie.

Glad did I live and gladly die,

And I laid me down with a will.

This be the verse you grave for me:

Here he lies where he longed to be;

Home is the sailor, home from the sea,

And the hunter home from the hill.

Alana stretched out and lay over the tomb, peering up at the sky. Branches swayed in the wind, partially blocking the dusky sphere above. A star began to wink and twinkle in greeting. As quickly as the next breeze came, a strong sense of nostalgia swelled in her chest, and her eyes became moist. She fingered the small shell that dangled around her neck, a gift from her father, and her thoughts were suddenly on him.

“Lana, don’t ever settle for something short of amazing in whatever you do in your life—there are a myriad of paths and choices to be made. Seek out the signs that speak to your heart and follow them. Then rely on God to protect you the rest of the journey.” He spoke those words to her when she left home for the first time to attend university. Of course he had to then go and add parental guidance as well. “Your mother and I have done everything we can to raise you to be the beautiful and responsible young woman that you are now. Now it’s up to you to make decisions on your own based on the values and morals that you have been brought up with.”

Alana smiled at the memory. As much as she inwardly berated the over protectiveness coming from her family, in a way she was grateful to them for the fierce way they expressed their love. Even in death, her father was parenting her as she recalled his words of advice in all its cloaked wisdom and love.

Her thoughts hovered to his last moments on earth. The familiar ache squeezed her chest as she anticipated what his final thoughts would have been. Did he feel as grateful for his life and as ready for death as Robert Louis Stevenson’s engraved words? Did he even have enough time to reflect? God, it was too painful to think about.
Damn the dusk and all its memories
, she thought as she straightened and wiped angrily at her eyes. And damn that drunk driver to hell.

***

He was out there. Her father’s killer. Sitting in the front yard on the muddy grass with the mat over his head. He had come to carry out the
ifoga
, a dramatic custom for showing remorse and asking forgiveness from her family. It had rained earlier in the morning and still he sat, waiting under the stifling heat of the afternoon sun. He was there since dawn, and she didn’t feel sorry for him. His humility didn’t touch her, and she didn’t care if he hadn’t eaten or drank anything; her heart had turned to stone long ago. Alana peered out the louvers but kept herself hidden from view. Her father wasn’t even cold in the ground, and he was already out there begging.
Let him beg for eternity
, she thought, fisting her hands and clenching her teeth. Let him hurt until he got ill; she didn’t care. Her mother was in her room mourning and her brother sat in the living room, his face hardened and tense. Their uncles surrounded him consulting. How long should they keep him waiting? When was the appropriate time to forgive him? She felt sick to her stomach hearing them talk this way. She didn’t want to forgive him. She could never forgive him for what he did. He took away life and he should suffer for it with his own. When the talking ceased, her brother stood and walked towards the front door.

She gripped his arm and halted him. “No, David. Don’t do it,” she pleaded.

It was too easy to carry it out because once the final powerful act was done. It was over. She couldn’t hold anything over him anymore.

“Alana, let him go!” her uncle snapped at her bitterly. “He has paid enough today. It’s time for our family to honor our part.”

Alana’s throat tightened and she reined in the angry tears that threatened to spill over. Letting go of his arm, she watched helplessly as David strode outside to her father’s killer. Standing over his hunched position, he paused. Alana sucked in a shuddered breath and held it. Slowly, very slowly, David lifted his hand and pulled the mat away. Away it fell to the ground, and she closed her eyes as tears slipped through.

“No! No!” she cried. But when she opened them, she didn’t see her father’s killer sitting on the ground. There instead was a pulsing white glow, and it was coming from Chase Malek.

Alana gasped and flung her eyes open. The room was dark and she blinked until she made out the mosquito net that hung over her bed. Clutching her chest, she tried to slow her rapid breathing. Her sweat drenched body shook with tremors, and air came out of her mouth in choppy bursts. Tears slipped down her cheeks, and she swiped at the moisture on her face.
A dream
, she reassured herself. It was only a dream. But she knew that wasn’t entirely true because her father was still dead; the
ifoga
had been carried out, and her family forgave his killer.

But Chase
, she shuddered,
Chase was very much alive and real
.

Chapter 9

I
’m baking in this
, Alana thought as she tugged on the dress that covered her from her chest to her toes. Standing in the corner of the seamstress’s living room, she inspected herself in the mirror that was temporarily propped up for customers. The material was an elegant soft silk that clung to her curves, but the combination of stifling heat and tropical humidity made for an uncomfortable duo. She was sweating under the arms and wanted nothing more than to strip out of the garment and walk around with only a
lavalava
for modesty.

Moira, their tailor, worked from home. To Alana it looked more like the inside of a washing machine than anything else with clothes strewn everywhere, bits of colorful cloth and material draping over the chairs, and some ready-made shirts and dresses hanging from wire hangers. There was no doubt in her mind that Moira was very good at what she did. The products that were a result of her creative genius impressed her immensely, especially since the last time Alana tried to bring needle and cloth together, she ended up sewing them into her skirt. Twice. She was in awe that Moira printed her own material in unique designs and then fashioned them into clothing, table runners, and pillow covers. Her mother called her their fairy godmother with an accomplished wand, and she was about to turn them all into Cinderellas.

They were all here for the final fitting—Malia, Perlita, Aunt Malae, and her cousins. Alana glanced around the room and saw the other bridesmaids in their dresses, Moira moving around them with pins in her mouth adjusting here and there. Malia and her mother were observing closely; her sister had no problem giving orders on exactly what she wanted. Aunty Malae lounged lazily on a chaise, fanning herself with the biggest
ili
Alana had ever seen.
Malia chose well
, she thought. Alana admired the emerald green she picked for the dresses. Coupled with a bouquet of fuchsia flowers, she knew the effect was going to be stunning. She liked that each dress was designed uniquely to accentuate each woman’s body. Hers was strapless, maxi length, and the skirt of it billowed around her waist, while the others were either one-shouldered or V-neck. She admitted she felt beautiful in it, curving in all the right places with just the perfect length.