My Kind of Town
>> Queen's Medical Center How long has this been...?
Each moment that Lily Ah Sun's lips touched the lips of her cousin Quinn was a moment closer to totally abandoning what she had always believed about intimate relations between close relations: Bad bad bad.
"Lily," he whispered hoarsely. His voice had a guttural, animal quality and she responded with a throaty purr.
"And how is Mr. Ah Sun doing this morning?" a cheery female voice said, pushing open the door. She answered her own question with a mix of cheerful and wishful: "Oh, I see he's doing very well indeed!"
Lily practically gave herself whiplash turning around so fast. She stumbled down from the bed, lost her balance from standing up too fast, had to grab the bed for balance.
And the nurse wasn't alone. There in the doorway, his mouth at half-mast, was her Uncle Mits, Quinn's father.
How long had this been going on?
>> Sheets Ah Sun was so far into his own misery, he didn't notice his wife Grace rise from the chair across the room. Her hand on his shoulder caught him by surprise and he jumped.
"Daddy," she said softly. "Don't lose hope. Akua will hear our prayers."
The way he looked up at her, Grace wasn't sure that Sheets had heard what she said. "Oh," he said, taking a moment to come back from his darkest thoughts, glancing across the room at their son Lance lying unconscious.
"That. Sure."
Grace frowned. Something other than Lance was bothering Sheets. But what could be worse than seeing your son near death?
"Daddy, are you alright?" He didn't look good.
"OK," he said, waving the question away. Not oration exactly, but not monosyllabic either. After 28 years with Sheets, Grace was used to monosyllabic.
He suddenly sat upright, on full alert. "What's that?!"
Grace felt it too, like somebody had just cranked up the AC. Not that the room was getting colder, but she felt the air moving, as if pushed toward her.
And then it was as if a very large something passed, creating eddies in its wake. Something, someone, was moving in the room. Grace reached for Sheets' hand, clutched it, and closed her eyes in whispered prayer.
When she opened her eyes, Grace saw a very tall, very brown, very naked woman leaning over Lance, whispering to him in Hawaiian, breathing on his face, touching her nose to his, kissing him briefly on the lips.
Don Chapman is editor of MidWeek.
His serialized novel runs daily in the Star-Bulletin
with weekly summaries on Sunday.
He can be emailed at dchapman@midweek.com