Chapter 1

I just realized I walked out with their pen. Too embarrassed to go back in, I stuck it in my pocket and looked around for my rental car, which, of course, was still back at the beach. My eyes hurt too much to drive anyhow, so I found the bench they’d mentioned, sat on it, and tried to figure out what to do.

It was my first vacation in several years of being on my own. I’d graduated from U of M with a master’sin archaeology, actually found a good job, and a fun boyfriend, whose name was Mud, I mean, Bud. I’d been working my butt off ever since. While Bud was fun, he was also an alcoholic, a cheat, and a liar. Ithad taken me six months to get back to financial stability after we separated. Too bad, he’d really have enjoyed Maui, and I’d have had a friend here to drive me home.

I’d finally had enough of him, started going to Al-Anon, and took up Karate-Do because I was starting to become afraid of him. After all that, he left me when he found a richer boyfriend. So there was no drama, no me going to the hospital, no dramatic domestic abuse police visits, nothing. I came home from work one day, and he, all his things, plus most of ours and some of mine, were gone. I sat down and wept with relief.

How had I been so stupid so long? Probably came from my upbringing. My grandparents had been hippies; anything went, free love, sex, drugs. But their kids? Totally another ball game, so to speak. My parents were church goers, uptight, and by the damn book. Gay? Oh, hell no. Not in their family. I was born into the wrong generation, as so many of us were.

At least they insisted I go to college and have a respectable career, preferably an out-of-state college I couldn’t come home from very often. God forbid, the neighbors.

College gave me an education, all right, but no intelligence. That is, no street smarts or sense of self-worth. I only began to find that after succeeding early in my career, enjoying it, and from the non-physical lessons of karate. I studied Ninjutsu and enjoyed every minute. I discovered I could duck and avoid blows easily. I also could do a very good backward roll; forward not so easily, but back was harder anyhow.

I loved my job in archaeology, especially the field trips when we’d go out to a dig or to an abandoned building. When we took children or even underclassmen from the college along, that was the best of all. I worked for a business firm but hoped to eventually go back to the university and maybe teach. I volunteered at the museum there, so I had that as a possible in.

I’d combined my trip to Maui with a chance to explore some places here, too. My first target was a beachnear the airport. It was the first day of my visit, the sun was shining, and I was absolutely carefree and ready for fun. There was an abandoned trainer plane at the beach I chose, left there from WWII when there had been an air base located close by. Now I know WWII is not old in archaeological years, but I wanted to combine my work interests with going to the beach. I was also going to check out some Dojos, but martial arts would come later.

The plane was all I’d hoped for. It wasn’t all there, but I pored over every bit of the wings and cockpit. The propeller lay on the ground in front of the wreckage, covered with vines and grass. Bright graffiti covered the cockpit, which just added to the fun. If I’d been younger, I’d have sat in it and pretended to be a war hero, but then there was the fact of the huge spider web covering the chewed-up seat. So, nope.

Then I went to the big beach I’d heard about on the other side of the island to go swimming. I couldn’twait. I parked my rental—a beautiful, bright red Mustang convertible—left my things in it, locked it up, and ran down to the shore. It was everything I’d ever thought a beach should be. It was still early,and there were only a few people there.

I stripped down to my bathing suit, ran down to the water’s edge, waited for a wave, and dove in. That was my first big mistake. It’s not like I went head on into the bottom; I’m not that stupid. No, I was stupid in that I didn’t stand there and watch the waves or the shore break, or, hell, even look to see if others were going in. Nope. So in I went in head first, all excited, and it was like I’d dived straight into Satan’s washing machine. Where I should have just shot straight through the water and come up again, I found myself unable to know which way was up. I quickly found which way was down becausemy body slammed into some coral. You could call it going airborne except, you know, underwater.