The Swallow's Nest. Emilie Richards

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       9

      Plantation architecture arrived in the Hawaiian islands in the early twentieth century. The houses, for workers in the pineapple and sugarcane fields, suited the climate. They were often framed in wood, with wide-hipped roofs, vertical plank siding, and lanais for ventilation and extra living space.

      The Swallows’ cottage had been built by Lilia’s great-grandparents and added on to, as was common, but the lanai that wrapped around three sides of the house was the crowning jewel.

      On the morning after the family luau Lilia found Regan sprawled in a chair in the front with her eyes closed. She was wearing fresh clothing topped with a sadly wilted ginger lei she’d been given at the party. Last night she’d slept on the bed in the loft, where island breezes swept across the narrow expanse from opposing windows. For the Swallow children, sleeping there had been a reward for good behavior.

      Invariably Lilia and Graham had slept in the loft on their visits. This time, for obvious reasons, she was sleeping on the daybed in what was now her mother’s sewing room.

      With a cup in one hand she plopped down in a neighboring chair to sip her mother’s excellent coffee. She closed her eyes, too. “How’d you sleep?”

      Regan didn’t open her eyes. “Am I awake?”

      “You’d better be. This is our only full day together. I wish you could have gotten more time off.”

      “You have any idea what a miracle it is that I got any time off at all? Hello? Remember tax season?”

      Lilia knew March and April were crunch months for Regan, an accountant at a prestigious firm. “I appreciate that, and you.”

      “I’m sorry we never got to talk yesterday.”

      “If I’d dragged you away from my brother, he would have pulled out every embarrassing story he remembered and shared it.”

      “I’d forgotten how cute he is.”

      “And how young he is...”

      “Three years, Lilia. Just three years younger than I am. That’s nothing.”

      “Jordan’s married to his surfboard.”

      “He’s coming to Huntington Beach in September to compete.”

      “You’re so funny. You won’t even remember his name by September.”

      Regan didn’t deny it. Like her own brother, she never seemed to settle down. “I think I kind of disappeared last night. The party was still going on when I went upstairs and tested the bed, just to see how it was, and that’s what I remember. I’m sorry. What are we doing today?”

      “There’s not enough time in the world to do everything you’ll want to.”

      “Whatever was in that punch Jordan gave me was lethal. I need advice, preferably delivered in short sentences.”

      “We can swim, snorkel, hike, shop.” Lilia opened her eyes. The sun was creeping steadily across the lanai. In a few minutes they would need to move. “Whatever works best with your rum-addled brain.”

      “Where would we hike?”

      “We could walk up the Sleeping Giant.” Regan had forced her eyes open, too, and Lilia gestured to the mountain beyond them. “Can you see his profile?”

      Regan squinted. “Maybe. The view’s priceless even without the fantasy. But now I remember what I’d really like to see. The Na Pali coast. Carrick told me all about his visits to the Randolphs’ house there. He said the house overlooked a fantastic beach.”

      The long hikes Carrick and Graham had taken along the coast to get away from the Randolphs had later bloomed into Carrick’s passion for exploring. These days he spent whatever time he could eke out of his law practice backpacking through the West, an antidote, Lilia supposed, to too much time in offices and courtrooms.

      “I know they sold the property a long time ago,” Regan said, “but can we still get down to the beach from there?”

      Lilia certainly knew which beach Regan was referring to. She wondered if her friend knew the story of her last day there with Graham and Carrick, when they were still teenagers. Or had Carrick told his sister about his trips to Kauai and left out that account?

      She hadn’t been to Kauapea Beach in years. There were plenty of other beaches that didn’t come with memories, but since her future might well be spent putting memories behind her, she supposed she could start today.

      “The path down is steep, and this time of year the currents are probably too strong to swim. But we might be able to splash around in tidal pools.”

      “Just lying in the sun for a while sounds great.”

      “Done deal then.” Lilia got to her feet. “I’m going to change. Did you bring sturdy shoes?”

      “Running shoes. Nothing fancy.”

      “Perfect. The trail down is red clay. You’ll get dirty. Wear your suit and a cover-up you don’t care about.”

      “I’ll get up in just one minute. If I can remember how.”

      Lilia held up her mug. “This is my mother’s Kona coffee, and there’s a cup in the kitchen with your name on it.”

      Regan stood and stretched. “I just remembered.”

      * * *