The Swallow's Nest. Emilie Richards

more rested after your nap?” Nalani asked.

      “A little.” Lilia hadn’t napped as much as collapsed in a lounge chair after breakfast. She was fairly certain she hadn’t slept more than an hour at a time since her arrival. She was still too angry, too torn, and despite herself, in the deepest part of her heart, too worried about her husband and his son. Some habits were hard to break, and she’d spent a year thinking of little other than Graham’s survival.

      Nalani read between the lines. “If you disappear after you’ve greeted everybody, no one will ask where you are.”

      Nodding her gratitude, Lilia took two of the platters of her mother’s shoyu chicken and set one on each end of two wooden tables placed end to end. Cabbage salad topped with crunchy ramen noodles, macaroni and cheese dotted with Spam—a local favorite—and a platter of fresh fruit had preceded them. Steaming bowls of rice would be set out when the family began to arrive in a few minutes. Identical bowls adorned two tables inside, and her brothers’ families would bring their own additions, as would the relatives and neighbors who came and went through the evening. Kai had agreed to sing and play, probably with friends from his band, and music magically turned the welcome home party into a luau. Children would chase each other, too excited to sit and eat. Grown-ups would “talk story,” which was local pidgin for chatting.

      “Talk stink” was trash talking, and considering that by now everyone already knew why Lilia had come home, there would be plenty of that, too.

      The usual family gathering.

      The preparations reminded her of the party she had thrown for Graham. She had learned to entertain from her mother, who loved having guests as much as she did. Nalani was short and plump with a round face and shining salt-and-pepper hair that just cleared her earlobes. While Lilia most resembled her father, the two women were much alike in every other way.

      She took a step backwards and nearly squashed a chicken parade, a hen and three chicks who were cleaning up crumbs behind her. Ellen had come to the island for Lilia and Graham’s wedding and shrieked when a rooster pecked at her sandaled toe. That memory brought the first smile of the day.

      “You know we’ll have chaos, like usual,” Nalani said from the other side of the table. “You’re ready?”

      “I’ve missed everybody. I’ll never stay away this long again.”

      “Sounds like you’re planning to go back home then.”

      “I’ll be back and forth.” There was no point in pretending. She hadn’t decided much, but she had decided that. “My life’s in California now.”

      “Even without Graham?”

      “I guess our friends will choose sides. But enough will choose me. I won’t be alone.”

      “Then you’ve decided to leave him?”

      Lilia had expected these questions soon after her arrival, but she wasn’t surprised Nalani had waited until now. She and her mother always had their most serious talks while they set out food. Until now she had asked very little, letting Lilia begin the healing process first.

      “I make a decision. Then I change my mind. I’m a mess.”

      “You love him.”

      Lilia was no longer sure present tense worked. “I did love him. I don’t know what I feel now.”

      “You think he was unfaithful more often than he said?”

      “I don’t know.” She straightened the bowls of food until they were in a perfect line, although nobody would notice. “Wouldn’t somebody have found a way to tell me? Our marriage was out there where people could watch it. My website, the how-to videos we did together, the renovations Graham did on our house. Our relationship was almost public property. Wouldn’t somebody have told me if things weren’t the way they seemed?”

      “People don’t always like to give bad news. But before this happened? Most people would have said Graham was honest no matter what it cost him. When he stood up to his father and went public with the problems at the Randolph Group, he lost his parents. But he did it anyway.”

      “Some might. But he never had his parents, so what was there to lose?”

      “And after having you, would he take a chance on losing you?”

      “He clearly did.”

      “So you’re still not sure he’s telling the truth?”

      In the past week Lilia had asked herself that question over and over. On long walks at the beach and hikes on a mountain trail. “What he told me may be true. But what about now, Mama? He has a son. Not my son. His.”

      She thought about Eli’s confession on the way home from the airport and wondered how her brother had found the inner strength, the goodness, to raise Amber’s firstborn as his own. At the moment she couldn’t find hers.

      “You need more time. And a friend to talk to.”

      “I have you. That’s enough.”

      “There’s a difference in generations, and a difference between mainland and here.”

      As her mother went into the house for more food, Lilia thought about that. The difference wasn’t imaginary. In the islands, family or ohana was primary, but it was far more than blood ties. Boundaries were fluid, and family included those who might be related or even wanted to be. Lilia shouldn’t have been surprised Eli had chosen to raise Amber’s son as his own. The individualism that was held up as an American value was not as valued here.

      The Swallows heritage was mixed, but in this way, they were most like their native Hawaiian ancestors. When her Auntie Alea could no longer care for herself without help, various family members had taken turns staying with her in California until Lilia took on the job full-time. Nobody had considered engaging professionals. Help came from within.

      Lilia sometimes felt she was walking a high wire strung between cultures, but when her mother returned, one thing was easy to put into words. “There might be a difference between generations, Mama, but nobody’s advice is as good as yours.”

      “I have no advice. You have to walk your own path. I could tell you to forgive, and if you couldn’t, then you would carry the burden of my advice, as well as your own sadness.”

      “I want somebody to fix this.”

      Her mother was close enough to reach out and stroke her daughter’s cheek. “There is no one but you, Lilia Alea.”

      The next half hour was filled with greetings, serving, sharing stories and catching up on family and local gossip. For the most part Graham’s absence was ignored, although a petite cousin pulled her to one side and told her she would personally go to San Jose on her next business trip to the mainland and slap him around if Lilia just gave her the go-ahead.

      The air was filled with the scents of plumeria, pork roasting in an outdoor oven her brothers had built for her mother, fragrant pikake and ginger leis. For the most part the women were clad in flowered sundresses or muumuus, although some of the younger ones wore jeans, and the men wore aloha shirts patterned with flowers and local scenery. Her youngest brother, Jordan, a professional surfer, arrived in the striped board shorts he’d worn in his last successful competition and announced he planned to wear them until the next one.

      Lilia noted that her father kept track of her, and when he sensed she was trapped in conversations for too long, he came to the rescue. Joe Swallow, former cop and now the owner of his own security firm, wasn’t a man who was comfortable talking about feelings, his or anybody else’s, but nobody ever doubted his devotion.

      Several hours into the commotion, as Kai’s little band turned up the volume, new supplies of food arrived, and more neighbors arrived to listen, her father sought her out.

      “A friend of yours is here.”

      Lilia thought everybody she’d met in her years on Kauai was already at