“No, they got off.”
        “You're kidding.”
        “No, we all gave statements, and Mark actually testified at the trial, but in the end they all got off on some technicality.”
        And that's another story, I start to add, but then I see Phil's face: the rigors of the Big Island marathon finally tugging at the corners of his eyes like the decades that bind the two of us together. At fifty, there's one thing I know for sure: when it's time to go.
        I climb to my feet and turn to Ann, who is lounging on the other side of rug. “Hey, tomorrow's a work day for you two. Thank you for dinner and for inviting us into your home. It's meant a lot.”
        “Yes, it has,” Sheyene adds.
        Ann rises and hugs us both. As the two women say their goodbyes, I turn to Phil. He rises from the lotus position, teetering on his heels for just an instant half way up. In this moment I sense the effort Phil has given each day, since long before the Elephant Gang, to stay balanced. In the fluid synchronicity of Phil's life, this evening fits.
        “Thanks for telling the story, haole.”
        He lays a hand on my shoulder and shrugs. “What I could remember.”
        

        By the time Sheyene and I return to Waikiki, the small underground parking garage beneath our hotel is closed, a barred fence drawn across its entrance. After I park the Mustang on a side street, we decide to take a stroll along the beach.
        A silver moon floats in the starry sky. We slip off our sandals and walk along the wet flattened sand where waves lap the shore. The surf is small tonight, no more than a foot, but it washes our bare feet with a regular, pulsing rhythm. Ahead of us are the classic beachfront hotels I remember from the evening my toes first touched these sands: the Moana, the Royal Hawaiian, the Sheraton Waikiki. From this angle they look exactly the same as they did almost three decades ago, when another life mate walked beside me. Inside they are different.
        Sheyene takes my hand. “I have to admit it: You were right. Your friends here are great.”
        “Our friends,” I correct her, the salty scent of the ocean crinkling my nose.

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