He left New Jersey on a Thursday and landed in Honolulu on Friday, somehow having lost a day amidst the lights of Las Vegas and the hours of hurtling through the darkened skies between the east coast, the west coast, and the blank expanses of the ocean beyond it.
Jet-lag dragged at those around him, and he was glad that years on the force had given him the ability to drop off where and when it was needed because he needed to be alert here in this new place, this new life. Baggage claim was easy, the rental car line less so, but soon he was out of the airport, headed for the one-room apartment that would now be home.
A call that should have been quick but dragged on cemented the afternoon’s plans, and he quickly showered and changed, putting on a button-down shirt in defiance of the island’s relaxed atmosphere.
Lunch and an attempt at making the apartment look more homey filled the remaining hours, and finally he was standing outside the building, scanning the emerging crowd for the face he wanted to see – and there she was, his reason for being here, his reason for being. Her cry of happiness cut through the high-pitched conversation of the children around her, and suddenly he had an armful of wiggling, kissing little girl.
It wasn’t home, but it would do.
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