Chapter 9: Aloha!

Roger Shipley’s rape trial was set for Wednesday, September 5th, and was expected to hit Prime Time, given the family drama. After Peter’s mother died last month, a TV commentator made a callous remark, costing him his job and the network, several advertisers. “When it comes to Peter Shipley,” he said with a smirk, “if it weren’t for bad luck, he’d have no luck at all.” B-roll footage showed his father at his arraignment weeks earlier, with clips of Peter leaving the church with his sister or stepping from the courthouse with Scott and Oscar Bales, or scenes from his accident nearly a year ago. There were brief talks about a mysterious Japanese exchange student who returned home and vanished. Meanwhile, the woman once known as Kimi Aoki sat in her flat in Nanaimo, BC, watching the news and munching popcorn.

The trial day was a media circus, and Peter and his sister were led into the courthouse through a gated underground garage to keep unofficial personnel out. Their father waited for his time on the other side of the building in a holding cell. The public defender assigned to his case barely defended the man, facing a mountain of incriminating evidence. He could provide nothing of substance other than the defendant’s insistence that he was set up—with only conjecture to back his claim.

After presenting and explaining the evidence, the prosecutors denounced the man’s character by sharing his recent history of abandonment and workplace improprieties that led to his demotion. The hearing adjourned that afternoon after closing arguments, scheduled to reconvene the following day. Once the session started, the jury offered their unanimous verdict, and Roger Shipley was convicted and sentenced to 15 years in prison and forever branded a registered sex offender.

Peter briefly glimpsed his father’s face as he was led from the courtroom. When their eyes met, he recognized disbelief and confused resignation in the man’s expression. Then he was gone, hopefully never to be seen or heard from again.

During his Fall break, Peter and Kathy decided they needed a trip to—anywhere. The limiting factor was Mrs. ‘Stick-up-her-ass’ mandating that—while he could have a passport—Peter couldn’t leave the country without adult supervision. Jeremiah wasn’t interested in traveling, so he turned to his sister.

“Dude! What the fuck, over?” Ronnie grumbled into her phone. “It’s 6:30 in the morning!” she whined. “On a Saturday!”

Peter grinned at his smirking girlfriend as she handed him a cup of coffee. “Hi sis!” he replied. “Have I told you what an awesome sister you are and how much I love you?” He sounded like a salesman trying to pawn carpet remnants, and Kathy rolled her eyes at him.

“What do you want?” she grumbled tiredly.

“We need you to come with us,” he replied candidly.

“Where?” she mumbled.

“Anywhere,” he shot back eagerly. “We don’t care—Cancun, Aruba, Caracas, Trinidad, and Tobago ... you pick the spot, and I’ll pay for everything.”

“What the hell are you on about?” she moaned.

“Fall break! Come on, sis, you get one, too. Let’s go somewhere!” he pleaded.

“Bro, I can’t. I have a mandatory EC class to complete during the break.”

“What? Why? How could you do this to me? C’mon Ronnie! I need a chaperone to leave the country,” he began pouring on the pity syrup. “Please?”

“I’m Sorry, Bub. Why not go to Hawaii or something if you have to stay in the country?”

Peter’s mouth opened and closed as he turned to regard his equally dumbfounded girlfriend. Why didn’t I think of that?

With the Fall Quarter ending on December 9th, he had a month to plan their first vacation. He worked with Jeremiah and a travel agent to arrange a three-week getaway for him and his beloved. He spared no expense, insisting their first-ever flight would be first-class.

“What are you thinking about?” Kathy whispered beside him as they settled into their seats and waited for the remaining passengers to board the 747. Her excitement was palpable, and they fed off each other’s eagerness and trepidation. Neither had flown before, and they held hands tightly as they observed the unfamiliar hustle and bustle. Kathy defied the cold December weather and wore tropical shorts and a Judas Priest Tour shirt. Peter wore practical denim pants, and a tropical Hawaiian shirt printed with pineapples and orchids.

“They built this thing less than 50 miles from here,” he replied with feigned calmness. “Can you imagine the size of the building?”

A flight attendant offered them alcohol-free refreshments while they waited for the plane to finish boarding.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this!” Kathy squealed excitedly, clinging to his arm. “Part of me is terrified we’ll crash and burn. But I know we won’t.”

“Statistically improbable,” he replied with a grin. He chugged his coke, draining it in several gulps. “This is gonna be so cool, babe!” he squeezed her hand back. They were still giggling after their anything-but-routine trip through security. Naturally, his titanium rods set off the metal detectors and the security personnel frowned impatiently as he struggled to contain his amusement. Kathy stood to the side and snapped a picture of the fiasco as they patted him down and lifted the hems of his pants to reveal the prosthetics.

They worked with a travel agent booking accommodation at the Hilton Resort in Waikiki and arranged excursions. Jeremiah signed a carte blanche affidavit allowing them to check into the resort and rent cars, helicopters, and small planes to other islands. They obtained American Express Cards and a stack of traveler’s checks at his recommendation.

During the safety presentation, they paid rapt attention to the attendant as she demonstrated the proper use of a seatbelt and the floatation device under their seat, in case they plunged into the ocean at terminal velocity plus 90 to 100 mph ... give or take. Peter looked in the seat pocket before him and handed Kathy his sturdy baggy. “Just in case you need two barf bags,” he said soothingly, trying to maintain a loving expression as her eyebrows arched.

“Remind me to take you out on a gillnetter sometime,” she said, slapping him with the paper bag. Pleasant chimes sounded, and the air from the vents stopped and then started again. Everyone was reminded to fasten seatbelts and stow tray tables. After checking their area, Peter and Kathy held hands as the jet jolted and moved backward. They pressed into their seats, watching the crew ensure everything was stowed and seats upright. After a serious discussion, they chose seats in the center aisle to avoid getting sucked out a window. They craned their necks to see the terminal disappear through the tiny portholes.

“I’m getting a window seat next time,” Peter lamented.

“What if you get sucked out of the plane?” Kathy asked challengingly.

“I’ll only regret it until I go through the engine,” he retorted.

It took them forever to taxi around the airport to the take-off end, and then they sat for five minutes at a time before inching forward, only to sit again. Finally, they felt the airliner turning onto the runway and gripping each other’s hands tightly as the engines spooled up. They felt their heartbeats in their throats as it got louder inside the cabin. Then the pilot tripped the brakes, and they began rolling forward, causing Kathy to squeal in surprise. Other passengers looked at them and smiled as the jet surged around them, pressing them back into their seats.

“Holy shit! Holy shit! Holy shit!” she repeated as they sped up. “How fast do you think we’re going?”

“I don’t know,” Peter replied. “One hundred ... two hundred miles an hour.”

“What if we run out of pavement?”

“Hopefully, we’ll be flying by then,” he replied as he tried to swallow. Seconds flew by as they continued accelerating down the runway, remaining firmly on the ground.

“Babe?” she whispered harshly.

“Yeah?”

“Are we flying yet?” He could tell by her voice that she was in a near panic.

“I don’t think...” he started, and they squealed as the front of the aircraft rose, and they were shoved back into their seats. “Yup! We’re flying!”

“Holy shit!”

During the five-and-a-half-hour flight, they enjoyed a surprisingly good meal and watched Arnold Schwarzenegger in Total Recall, sipping endless Coke and Sprite. Any fears about crashing were replaced by excitement for the tropical island. The landing was smooth, and the reverse thrusters made them grin as they felt the pull. By the time the jet stopped, they were eager to disembark. Unlike SeaTac, they exited via a large staircase into a heat wave. They left Seattle at 10:30 am and arrived in Honolulu shortly after noon. Their bags were handed to them next to the plane, and a pretty, dark-skinned woman gave them leis as they entered the air-conditioned terminal.

“Aloha!” they were greeted as they entered the complex, smiling excitedly. Following signs for Resort pick-ups, they found a driver holding a “Shipley” sign. Their ride was a limo, and they gawked at the sights while speeding through traffic. The Hilton Hawaiian Village was a huge beachside resort. The chauffeur took them to the check-in lobby, assisting with their bags. Peter tipped him $50. Scott chatted with him about their visit, knowing he’d be tipping a lot. They got adjoining rooms to bypass the no-sleeping-together rule. Everything they needed—food, sunscreen, gifts, surfing lessons—would be charged to their room and American Express. They could convert traveler’s checks at the lobby bank. Peter was pleased to find a business center with computers. When he asked about using them, they offered to set up a machine in his room.

“I think I’ll like it here,” he sighed after they got to their rooms and opened the doors separating them. Kathy agreed and pulled him out to their 28th-floor balcony of the Rainbow Tower. “Whoa,” he gasped at the clear blue ocean before them. The beach below was covered with sunbathers, snorkelers, and surfers.

“Wow baby, you know how to impress a girl,” Kathy purred as she pulled him against her. She had removed the Judas Priest shirt revealing a bikini top underneath. “This is incredible!”