ALONE IN PARADISE

Ingrid sat up straight, her hands folded on her lap, waiting quietly to present today’s lecture. She was well prepared, as she had always been well prepared during her thirty-three years imparting knowledge on marine micropaleontology to undergrads at the University of Hawaii. Today’s lecture, though, would pertain not to marine micropaleontology but a subject many times greater in scope, infinitely more complex, extravagantly more nuanced; one she’d studied exhaustively from her earliest childhood, for which she was universally acclaimed the world’s foremost authority.
        Several hours earlier, her nephew Michael awoke in her guest bedroom. It was only five a.m., but he couldn’t sleep. It was already eight in California. He wouldn’t be adjusted to Hawaii time until he was already back home, so he didn’t try. He lingered for a while, then got out of bed, reminded again of this glorious tropical climate, so mild that his aunt’s house was innocent of solid walls, requiring only louvered wood blinds that allowed the trade winds to drift freely through the rooms.
        He walked through the empty place, so airy, so beautifully decorated with exotic artifacts from across the Pacific: basketry, tribal carvings, religious relics from Borneo, Malaysia, New Guinea. He stepped down into the lanai and gazed through the screened walls. From this vantage point, he could see much of the Aina Haina neighborhood, and off in the distance, maybe a mile away, a sliver of blue Pacific through the palm trees.
        He sat at the little table and punched home on his cell phone. Deborah answered, they spoke for a few minutes, just touching bases, then both had things to do. They would catch up again tonight. He slipped on his sandals, locked the front door, negotiated the many steps down the hillside to Lawelawe Street, then strode pleasantly through the exotic neighborhood, along W. Hind Street, taking in these Hawaiian homes, so different from Northern California; simpler, manicured golf-green lawns, lush tropical plants, everywhere palm trees.
        Under a high pale sky and a few thin clouds – every local he passed, all Asians, carried an umbrella – he reached the Aina Haina Shopping Center, walked past the Rainbow Market and the little shops along the strip mall, all deserted at this hour. At the far end of the lot he stepped inside the Sunshine Café, bought a bran muffin, banana, hard-boiled egg and a newspaper.
        With his bag of food, he retraced his steps along W. Hind, up the hill to Lawelawe Street and the many steps to Aunt Ingrid’s house. He returned to his chair in the lanai, ate his little breakfast, read the paper, and from time to time took in the magnificent view. He pondered how wonderful it would be to live here but knew he would never leave the