playfully. “I’m teasing. Look, I’d like to sign up for a snorkeling lesson if you have something this morning. I’ll buy the gear. I’m going to be here for a few months.”
“Do you live here? I can give you the kama’aina rate.”
“The what?”
“The rate for locals.”
“Thanks. But I’m not local. The only ocean swimming I’ve done was at Rehoboth Beach. In Delaware.”
“Delaware? What state’s that in?”
Ellie laughed. “That’s a trick question. Do you have lessons this morning?”
The boy returned to the counter. “Yeah. Noa’s teaching a class in an hour.” He nodded to the back of a darkly tanned man patiently helping a gray-haired woman with fins.
“Okay. Sign me up.” She handed him the business credit card with only a twinge of unease.
Learning to snorkel must fit in my job description somehow.
The class met at the north end of the first of three beaches all called Kamaole. Ellie deposited her tunic, towel, and flip flops above the high tide line and joined the small group standing near the water. They were easy to identify, with identical orange snorkels and masks hanging from their hands. A man approached them from a stairway tucked between the palm trees and rocks, yelled something, and waved. He limped slightly and Ellie’s fantasies of meeting another Baby Hater fell away as she took in the instructor’s brown hair that had been cut so long ago all style had faded to fringe, his wiry, almost emaciated body, and the baggy board shorts held up precariously on jutting hips.
The other students were two Vancouver families with three children each and an older couple from Dallas. Ellie recognized the older woman as the one from the store. The instructor, Noa, made them laugh with his short bio of how he moved from the Bronx to Maui. Then Ellie made them laugh when she blew into the bottom of the snorkel instead of the mouthpiece.
Noa brushed her arm and whispered as he passed her. “Wish you were holding something else in your mouth.”
Ellie narrowed her eyes and shot him a look, but he was helping adjust a young girl’s mash. She shrugged.
In the water, Noa took a hands-on approach to instruction. He held the children up under their stomachs, one floating on each side of him. He carefully eased the older couple into their fins, submerging to made adjustments while the woman giggled.
“Ooh. I’m ticklish. Oh, my.”
“Don’t let him do anything I wouldn’t, eh?” Her husband peeped anxiously beneath the surface with his mask.
The woman splashed water at him. “Honey, the last time you removed my shoes was on our wedding night.”
During Ellie’s turn, she wondered about Noa’s needing to support her flat stomach while she practiced kicking. When he moved his hands to her thighs to adjust her style, she pulled slowly away. He gave her the thumbs up sign and motioned for the group to follow him.
The shimmering blue world beneath the waves amazed her. Ridges in the sand far beneath reminded her of Italian marbled paper. Cream-colored fish with whiskers sifted for food. Black lava rocks loomed in the distance. Ellie pushed to one side the “Jaws” theme that had been playing softly ever since she entered the water.
The older man pointed to long, skinny fishes that looked to Ellie like silver sticks. A small maroon box dotted with white spots darted beneath her. Schools of glittering flat yellow and white gems inspected the expanse of coral ahead. Sea urchins shone in hues of black, gray, white, and red.
Suddenly, something brushed her chest. The snorkel muffled her scream. She whipped around to see Noa at her side and shook her head at him. Her bikini, her hands pantomimed, was off-limits. He shrugged, gave her another thumbs up sign, and paddled toward the two families.
Ellie kept the others in sight but steered clear of Noa. As the coral grew thicker, fish swam in greater profusion around her, their color and variety beguiling. She followed a lustrous
“Do you live here? I can give you the kama’aina rate.”
“The what?”
“The rate for locals.”
“Thanks. But I’m not local. The only ocean swimming I’ve done was at Rehoboth Beach. In Delaware.”
“Delaware? What state’s that in?”
Ellie laughed. “That’s a trick question. Do you have lessons this morning?”
The boy returned to the counter. “Yeah. Noa’s teaching a class in an hour.” He nodded to the back of a darkly tanned man patiently helping a gray-haired woman with fins.
“Okay. Sign me up.” She handed him the business credit card with only a twinge of unease.
Learning to snorkel must fit in my job description somehow.
The class met at the north end of the first of three beaches all called Kamaole. Ellie deposited her tunic, towel, and flip flops above the high tide line and joined the small group standing near the water. They were easy to identify, with identical orange snorkels and masks hanging from their hands. A man approached them from a stairway tucked between the palm trees and rocks, yelled something, and waved. He limped slightly and Ellie’s fantasies of meeting another Baby Hater fell away as she took in the instructor’s brown hair that had been cut so long ago all style had faded to fringe, his wiry, almost emaciated body, and the baggy board shorts held up precariously on jutting hips.
The other students were two Vancouver families with three children each and an older couple from Dallas. Ellie recognized the older woman as the one from the store. The instructor, Noa, made them laugh with his short bio of how he moved from the Bronx to Maui. Then Ellie made them laugh when she blew into the bottom of the snorkel instead of the mouthpiece.
Noa brushed her arm and whispered as he passed her. “Wish you were holding something else in your mouth.”
Ellie narrowed her eyes and shot him a look, but he was helping adjust a young girl’s mash. She shrugged.
In the water, Noa took a hands-on approach to instruction. He held the children up under their stomachs, one floating on each side of him. He carefully eased the older couple into their fins, submerging to made adjustments while the woman giggled.
“Ooh. I’m ticklish. Oh, my.”
“Don’t let him do anything I wouldn’t, eh?” Her husband peeped anxiously beneath the surface with his mask.
The woman splashed water at him. “Honey, the last time you removed my shoes was on our wedding night.”
During Ellie’s turn, she wondered about Noa’s needing to support her flat stomach while she practiced kicking. When he moved his hands to her thighs to adjust her style, she pulled slowly away. He gave her the thumbs up sign and motioned for the group to follow him.
The shimmering blue world beneath the waves amazed her. Ridges in the sand far beneath reminded her of Italian marbled paper. Cream-colored fish with whiskers sifted for food. Black lava rocks loomed in the distance. Ellie pushed to one side the “Jaws” theme that had been playing softly ever since she entered the water.
The older man pointed to long, skinny fishes that looked to Ellie like silver sticks. A small maroon box dotted with white spots darted beneath her. Schools of glittering flat yellow and white gems inspected the expanse of coral ahead. Sea urchins shone in hues of black, gray, white, and red.
Suddenly, something brushed her chest. The snorkel muffled her scream. She whipped around to see Noa at her side and shook her head at him. Her bikini, her hands pantomimed, was off-limits. He shrugged, gave her another thumbs up sign, and paddled toward the two families.
Ellie kept the others in sight but steered clear of Noa. As the coral grew thicker, fish swam in greater profusion around her, their color and variety beguiling. She followed a lustrous
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