Somewhere on Maui (an Accidental Matchmaker Novel) Read online

  “Sure, Adam. How’re you doing?”

  “Shitty.” He gave a little bark of laughter as he sat on the couch and opened the lunch box. “I’m not fired today, but I could well be. I had a total showdown with Boss Lady.”

  He described the confrontation with Alixia Lepler. “On top of that, my mom really wanted me to get together with my cousin Tami. When I told her that wasn’t happening, she sort of had a spell. My sister came over to take care of her, and we think she’s okay, but she’s not feeling well lately.”

  He unwrapped one of the musubi, a square of compacted white rice topped by a rectangle of fried spam wrapped in nori, pounded dried seaweed. He ate it in a few quick hard bites.

  Dr. Suzuki flipped through her notes. “Wow, that’s a lot in two days. Anything else going on before we dive into these things?”

  “Yeah. I took your advice about trying Internet dating.” The rice seemed to choke him as he remembered eyes, leaf green with tears. He picked up his thermos and drank.

  “Hmm. Seems like there’s a story there.” Dr. Suzuki took more notes. “Where do you want to start?”

  “How about with Boss Lady? She pissed me off so bad I almost hit her.” Adam felt remembered rage flush through his body.

  “Okay, stop.” Dr. Suzuki’s voice was a whipcrack, bringing him up short. “First of all, no one ‘makes you mad.’ Don’t give away your power. Own your emotion—you felt so angry you wanted to hit her.”

  “Okay.” This was a new idea, and Adam let it settle in. “But I’d argue anyone would have been angry with being blackmailed.” He described his conversation with Alixia Lepler.

  “Did you try the breathing I showed you?”

  “Yeah. Actually, it’s really been helpful several times. I told her to burn in hell, walked out, and spent the morning surfing until I felt ready to go home and deal with my mother. By then Mama was feeling a little better, had gotten out of bed. Charl was glad to take the baby and go home. Then I had my date.”

  “Okay. We have a lot to cover here, but let’s start with Mrs. Lepler. I want you to take some steps to protect yourself. Next time she proposes something, I want you to try to record her. You don’t know what she’s going to do. In my experience, some of these narcissistic, sadistic types enjoy the game; they don’t mind who they hurt. They get off on it.”

  “Yeah, that’s her. It made her hot to try to get me literally on my knees.” Adam’s fists bunched.

  “Do your breathing.” She led him through a couple, and he sat back on the couch.

  “Damn. Here’s the thing—I think I’m so mad at my ex, at Alixia Lepler, that it made me throw this other woman over.”

  “Okay, stop there.” Dr. Suzuki caught his eye. She’d drawn her finely marked brows together in the slight scrunch that passed for a frown. “I am going to keep stopping you when I hear you using externalizing language. The language we use defines our reality, and I’m going to assume you can keep up with me when I say that.”

  “Of course.” His pride pricked, Adam frowned back. “Externalizing language. Explain.”

  “You give away your power and blame others when you say things like “she made me.” No one makes anyone do anything. We all have free will; we all make choices. I want to hear you reframe that comment into owning your emotions and your choices. Trust me. It takes some work, but you’ll begin to feel more in control of your anger when you stop blaming others.”

  “Honestly? I didn’t know I was doing that.” Adam felt defensive but decided her comments had potential. He stared at the ceiling, thinking of how to phrase his thoughts. “Okay. Here goes. I’ve felt so angry with Mrs. Lepler’s behavior toward me, and with my ex for her choices, that I’ve become suspicious and maybe a little bit overreactive.” He was satisfied with this summary. “So when I met this woman on my first Internet date and we had this amazing chemistry—I mean amazing—I just…” He sat forward, his face in his hands. Shook his head. “It freaked me out. Then she told me something that made it easy for me to walk away.”

  “What did she tell you?”

  “She said she liked me and remembered I said I wanted honesty. She told me she wasn’t ready to date and was still hung up on her ex.”

  Dr. Suzuki shook her head, her eyes down, and made a note on her pad. Adam felt anger washing over the hurt of rejection as he remembered Zoe’s words. “She wasted my time, and so did the idea of Internet dating.”

  Dr. Suzuki held up a hand, and he stopped. “Do your breathing.”

  He did. He settled back on the couch.

  “Okay, let’s break this down. First of all, you felt chemistry with this woman.” Dr. Suzuki’s eyes narrowed. “She had noticed you enough to remember what you said you were searching for in your profile. Then she told you something that felt like rejection.”

  “I guess.” He picked up his thermos and took a sip to buy time.

  “Right. So it seems like she pushed a button with you, and you took the coward’s way out and walked away.”

  “Damn, Dr. Suzuki. You’re on me like white on rice!” Adam exclaimed.

  “Let’s both take a breath.” They did. Dr. Suzuki leaned toward him. “I don’t think you’re noticing the nuances of your feelings—you’re only noticing and feeling anger, and that means you’ve got only one shade of reaction to everything right now—and it’s red.”

  “Could be. But I don’t see how accepting what the woman said, that she wasn’t ready to date, was taking the coward’s way out.”

  “Did she really seem like she didn’t want to get to know you?”

  He thought back to her eyes shining with tears, her halting and conflicted comments. “I think she was as freaked out as I was.”

  “So, what else could you have done?”

  “Been nice. Kept the door open.” Adam closed his eyes, imagining finishing his drink as they talked, being able to watch those green eyes to see if they changed color again. Leaving the bar on a cordial note with the possibility of calling her, at least. As it was, he didn’t even know her last name, let alone have her number. He felt a little sick at the missed opportunity.

  “Right. Okay, listen. Yes, I am being hard on you. But it’s because I care about you and believe you’re someone who can grow and change in a pretty short time. This week, I want you to stop and really notice whenever you have any kind of strong feeling and identify what it is and, hopefully, where it’s originating. Did you do athletics in school?”

  “Yeah. Football in high school and college.”

  “Okay. Did you grow more with a coach who babied you or one who pushed you?”

  “One who pushed me.” Adam gazed at her, felt a grin pull up his mouth. “So you’re my coach.”

  “I find coaching a helpful framework for working with men,” Dr. Suzuki said primly, folding small ivory hands in her lap. “Most men hate therapy, but under that is fear. Fear of being vulnerable, of being judged. Especially by a female therapist.”

  “You might be onto something there.” Adam unwrapped his second musubi. “Okay, Coach Suzuki.”

  “So tell me about this chemistry with you and this woman and why that was noteworthy.”

  “I saw her eyes, and I felt it. A connection like a lightning bolt. Amazing.” He grinned, shook his head. “Haven’t had a moment like that since high school, when just a glance at Malia Jones had me walking around uncomfortable for hours, if you know what I mean.”

  Dr. Suzuki smiled. “I think you should try a few more Internet dates. See if you get this feeling again. But I suspect it doesn’t happen that often.”

  He picked up his apple, bit in, chewed. “I’m not sure Internet dating is for me. You know who my top match was? My cousin Tami. And I’m already pretty sure we’re too close to be a thing. Seriously, I need to get a handle on this anger, deal with Mrs. Lepler, find a way to see my kids, make sure my mom’s okay—and when all that’s under control, maybe I’ll get back in the dating game again.”

  “Great.” Dr
. Suzuki smiled. “But you might find that lightning never strikes twice. Our time’s up. I’ll see you in a few days.”

  “Thanks, Coach.” He packed up his lunch box and smiled. “I like you as my coach. You can be as hard on me as you want, and I promise I won’t run away.”

  “And I like it that you can take it like a man and come back for more.” Dr. Suzuki followed him out, waved goodbye from the door.

  “Coach Suzuki,” he muttered as he turned the truck on. “Lightning never strikes twice, huh? I wonder if you’re right.”

  Chapter 8

  Zoe noticed the patter of rain on the roof the next morning. She’d ended yesterday as a good writing day, shaking off the earlier angst after a nap—but this morning she’d hoped to get an exercise walk in. Well, it wasn’t like it was cold and she’d melt, she thought, swinging her legs out of bed. Maui on a bad weather day was still warmer than California on a sunny one.

  She put the coffee on and dressed in her bikini under a pair of nylon athletic pants, a tank top, and a parka shell. Sylvester, seeing evidence of an oncoming walk, danced a little doggy jig by the back door.

  Zoe filled her travel mug with coffee, picked up her trash bag for the beach, and trotted through the splashing drops to her Beetle. She drove them to nearby Baldwin Beach, and the great swath of golden sand was deserted in the rain.

  She let Sylvester off his leash and picked her pace up to a barefoot trot, feeling her spirits lift as she and the dog ran beside the ocean, dimpled with rain. The ironwood trees, usually shushing with movement, dripped silently, and off in the distance violet layers of cloud wreathed the clefts and valleys of the lush green West Maui Mountains with mystery. The ocean surged and retreated, translucent and turquoise, expending itself again and again on the sand in a timeless rhythm that matched her heartbeat.

  The patter of the drops on her nylon parka, the happy bounding of her dog, and the wide-open glory of the beach combined to create a moment of perfect bliss. Zoe laughed out loud and ran as fast as she could for as far as she could, and when she walked back, she felt more peaceful than she had in years.

  They returned to the car. Tired, happy, and sopping wet, Zoe still felt an afterglow of the exercise high or whatever it had been. As they drove out of the park, she reached for a water bottle that had rolled off the seat—and ran the Beetle into the truck in front of her.

  Adam lay in bed, feeling heaviness in his mood as he awoke. He heard the drumming of rain on the tin roof and stared at the old-fashioned lath-and-plaster, the dim blue light of morning casting cool shadow on the ceiling.

  Rain. Great.

  His mind ticked over all the tools and supplies on the job site; ever mindful of the possibility of rain, he always made sure any perishable materials were covered and all tools were locked up in the steel storage shed, so the site should be okay.

  After his meeting with Coach Suzuki, the combination of detail work, dealing with suppliers, and putting in his own hours pounding nails made the rest of the day fly by. At home last night, Mama had still seemed down and low energy, so he’d joined her watching TV and over reruns of That ’70s Show, she’d seemed to perk up. Still, he hadn’t liked her color and how slowly she’d walked back to bed.

  Now, with it raining, he’d be able to see about taking her in to the doctor to get checked out. She’d said last night that she felt a little sick to her stomach and dizzy, “probably something I ate.”

  He considered getting up, glancing over at the clock. Six thirty a.m. already. He was usually up at six a.m.—but he just didn’t want to get out of bed.

  There wasn’t one thing he could think of right now that brought any sense of anticipation. What his life had become was such a far cry from the dreams he’d had at college—working in his own business, alongside his father’s company. Designing environmentally sustainable buildings, where people grew their food and cleaned their air through careful venting and greenhouses, and inner spaces were lit with sunlight. Buildings that gave back as much as they took from nature.

  He folded his arms under his head and stared at the ceiling, listening to the rain. Ever since he was a kid, the sound of rain had filled him with a contentment he couldn’t put into words. Rain meant no outdoor chores. Enough rain meant he wouldn’t have to go to school. Rain meant their father had the day off from his construction jobs and would stay home and play with him and his sisters, and rain usually meant Mama spent the day indoors, cooking delicious things.

  Now rain just meant lost hours working, potential damage and setbacks on the job site, and staying home with Mama, whom he loved but was worried about.

  He shut his eyes, picturing what he wished rain meant.

  Mama healthy and happy, talking to his wife in the kitchen—a wife who’d let him sleep in. Diego and Serena, knowing rain meant he’d be staying home, blowing the door right open and running in to jump on the bed for tickles and hugs.

  His wife. He didn’t believe in living together without a commitment. There was not a question in his mind that he’d get married again—it was just that he was going to wait for the right woman this time. No matter how long it took. He’d gone in too fast and for the wrong reasons with Cherisse.

  This imaginary woman was someone kind, someone who loved kids and his mom, someone who laughed and cried easily, someone who made his hands want to tangle in her hair. Maybe he could wish her into being. When he shut his eyes and wished, what he saw was a pair of green eyes.

  Adam sat up abruptly, spooked, and threw the covers off. He was worse than a chick, lying in bed daydreaming of a life that would never happen instead of dealing with the realities of what was.

  He went to the bathroom, brushed his teeth, frowning at his stubbly face, hair all directions, boxers drooping off his narrow hips. He heard his mom in the kitchen, rustling around, turning on the water to make coffee.

  He decided to shave. No sense looking like hell just because he felt like it. He lathered up his face, dragged the razor down, the song of the rain accompanying the scrape and tap of the razor. He was blotting his face with a towel, wondering when Alixia Lepler was going to make her next move, when he heard a crash from the other room—the distinctive sound of someone falling.

  Chapter 9

  Adam followed the ambulance, his hands sweaty on the truck’s wheel. He tried to get close enough to ride its wake, ignoring red lights and other vehicles. The white square vehicle with its nightmare cry and strobing lights outraced him, and he found himself stomping on the brake way too far into an intersection.

  He cursed and backed up behind the line, ignoring another driver’s angry honk. He used the moment to speed-dial Charl. “Mama fell. Something with her heart. I’m following the ambulance.”

  “Oh no! Did you call Mele?”

  “She’s next. See you at the hospital.”

  He held down the speed-dial for his youngest sister. “Mele? Mama’s been taken to the hospital. Something with her heart.”

  “Oh my God! Is she okay?”

  “Obviously not. I’m chasing her ambulance.” Mele, the youngest, always seemed to need everything explained a second, sometimes a third time when she heard something she didn’t like. “See you at the hospital.”

  He hung up on her excuses. She’d come eventually. He didn’t need to sit there listening to her process of adjusting to the situation that had already broken over him like the storm that was slanting hard rain onto the truck’s windshield.

  The light changed and he lurched forward, speeding past Ka`ahumanu Center on the left. Maui Memorial Hospital was only a few miles farther.

  He remembered his mother’s face, drained of color, her hands curled against the breast of her house muumuu. The knot on her forehead where she’d hit her head on the corner of the stove had swelled immediately. Her gasping breaths and gray color were the stuff of nightmare.

  She’d been conscious but unable to speak when he’d roared in from the bathroom, already calling 911 on his ever-present cell pho
ne. He’d propped her head on a pillow, elevated her feet, and chafed her hands until the paramedics got there.

  Thank God he hadn’t had to do CPR.

  The EMTs had been very interested in the situation yesterday and told him that she’d probably had a small heart attack already. The nausea and tiredness she’d felt were lesser-known but common symptoms of heart attack in women.

  He pulled into the parking lot, cruising up and down the packed parking area searching for a spot and finally took one marked “Doctors Only.” Let those well-paid assholes drive around looking for a parking spot; they were just going to work while he was trying to find out what had happened to his one remaining parent.

  He jogged into the emergency room and up to the admissions window. “Hi. I’m Adam Rodrigues. My mother was just brought in by ambulance.”

  “Oh good. Glad you’re here. We had her information on file. Here are some admission forms for you to fill out.”

  “Do you know anything? How’s she doing?” He took the clipboard and pen.

  “I’m sorry.” The admissions nurse seemed to be doing her best to be understanding. “The team took her straight to the back, and they’re doing the best they can for her.”

  “Okay.” He turned away—and faced a roomful of wailing babies, hunched street people, and anxious parents.

  Emergency room hell.

  He walked back outside, the automatic doors whisking open. He sat on a rock wall abutting the entrance under the canopy where the ambulances drove in and did some relaxation breaths. Remarkably, they seemed to help.

  He stared down at the clipboard.

  God. His mom. He knew that in many other places in the United States, young men with sisters didn’t usually end up taking care of their mothers—but this was Hawaii, and in his Portuguese-Hawaiian family, caring for parents was an honor and a matter of course. As the oldest and an unmarried man, he was the natural choice to be her caregiver.