Sixty-Seven
Sunday, May 29
Halawa Valley, Moloka‘i
Eva was glad she’d worn her running shoes when she first came to meet Thomas at the bay. There was absolutely no way she’d have managed this rough trail without them. She’d barely managed it with them. It felt like they’d run a marathon, uphill, at a sprinter’s pace. Her calves cramped and her lungs burned.
“Isn’t this high enough?” she gasped. Surely, they had run at least another two miles by now, and the last time she’d asked, Thomas had said they had only a little over two miles more to go.
“We’re almost to the falls,” Thomas said. “I promise.”
He grabbed her hand and towed her behind him. And sure enough, as they rounded another bend, a new roar joined the chorus, a counterpoint to the freight train sound of the ocean. The water
