“I can take you to Portland if you want to go that far. It would be my pleasure to help you,” he said in a soft tone.
For the first time since Daniel had found me, I dared to hope, yet I hesitated.
2
People didn’t do anything without expecting something in return. I knew that, and since I had no money to pay him for his help, I feared to ask what he wouldn’t want in return.
“My daughter had an abusive husband. At first, she refused to see the need to leave the bastard, but when she did, she had a support group that kept the bastard away from her and her kids,” he continued. “I can see that you don’t have that, and though I know how hard it must be for you to trust a stranger, especially a male stranger, please let me help you. I’ll take you to Portland, no strings attached.”
His words moved me, but I still felt uncomfortable and, yes, a bit scared of accepting his offer. “It’s very kind of you…” I mumbled.
“If it makes you feel better, I’ll give you my bank account info, so you can pay me back when you get a job. What do you say?” he suggested, still smiling.
Knowing it would be offensive and disrespectful to insist on the matter, I decided to accept, for now. I could always run away if things got rough. “Thank you, that makes me feel better,” I conceded.
“Perfect,” he cheered. “Why don’t you get some sleep in the back? The sheets and covers are clean since I never use them. My old body requires a proper bed,” he said, with an amused grimace. “You look like you could use it.”
“Thank you, but I’m fine. It would make me feel dizzy and nauseated,” I explained.
“Fine by me. I sure as hell will appreciate the company,” he said with a smile. “Just let me know when you get tired of my voice,” he warned her.
I smiled and assured him that it wasn’t possible.
“My name is Brett Johnson, and you are?”
Since he knew I was running away, and from whom, I decided there was no harm telling him my real name. After all, he could have turned me in with Daniel at the parking lot.
“Ailani Kekoa.”
“Those are Hawaiian names, aren’t they?” he asked, intrigued.
“They are. I was born in Maui. My mother went to Hawaii when she was twenty-five, on a business trip and fell in love with my father. Though marriages between Hawaiians and haoles, also known as foreign people, weren’t well tolerated back then, my father married her, and they lived happily for a few years,” I explained, with a sad smile. “Mom was from New York. Paradise for her was strolling along Fifth Avenue, not the golden beaches of Maui. They got divorced when I was ten, and my mother brought me back to the mainland with her.”
“Do you miss Hawaii?” he asked, in a low tone.
“Every single day. I guess I could have gone back when I turned eighteen, but my father never asked me to,” I explained, with a hint of scorn in my tone. My father’s blatant indifference towards me still hurt, even after fifteen years. “He got married again to a native woman, and they had three kids, so I guess I would be out of place.”
“That’s very sad.”
I shrugged. “It’s life.”
“Is your mother still alive?” he asked, after a moment of silence.
I shook my head. My mother’s death had been the decisive moment of my life. I had tried so many times to tell her how Daniel made my life a living hell. But she had always refused to listen.
Daniel was the perfect son-in-law, and she wouldn’t hear a word that might ruin her little fantasy. When she died, I felt I had no one to please but myself and that it was about time I started thinking about what I wanted, instead of what other people expected of me.
A couple of weeks after the funeral, I had packed my things and left the house where I had felt trapped for two years. Though I was scared to death, it also felt amazing walking away and not looking back.
“No, she died last year, in a car accident,” I explained.
Though my mother’s death had been a shock to me, it hadn't been heartbreaking. We had never been very close, and my mother always resented the way I looked. It was impossible to deny my Hawaiian roots, and she had never been comfortable with that.
She used to say my looks were her punishment for her wild youth. I had inherited the green eyes, but not the fair skin, the tall, slim body, or the golden mane. Instead, I was short, with long dark curls, tanned skin, and generous curves. Certainly, not the daughter she had always dreamt of
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thank you,” I mumbled, not willing to give him too many details. “What about you?”
