That summer on Oahu, in our early twenties, Carol and I blew through mai tai cocktails the size of soup bowls. We wandered the shore, the Pacific waves burying our ankles into Hawaiian sand. A glorious confidence, fortified by palm trees and rum, salted our skin.

“Can we ride?” I slipped my sunglasses on top of my head.

The young man in charge of a catamaran was haloed by the sun. “Fifteen dollars. Each.”

Our bikinis left no room for cash, so we turned away. “Hey.” He lowered his voice. “You can go free.”