Cy sat on the verandah of the Waimea General Store eating a "shave ice" -- crushed ice in a paper cone with flavored sugar-syrup poured on top, a Hawaiian favorite -- with Sister Anne. It was late afternoon, and steaming hot -- the usual trade winds had stopped blowing, oddly -- and raspberry-flavored melting ice ran down Cy's beard.

"This is melting faster than I can eat it!" Cy laughed, talking to Sister Anne, who was sitting beside him working on a pineapple shave-ice of her own. Cy and Sister Anne were perched on beat-up wooden Adirondack chairs that were once painted a pale-blue, but had faded to the color of grey, aged wood, weathered in the sun and sea air. A tourist bus rushed by them headed West on the two-lane Kaumuali'i Highway, headed toward the Waimea Canyon lookout. This part of Kauai was an odd combination of old Hawaii and frantically encroaching tourism.

"Mr. Lefkowitz," Sister Anne said, tucking her sneaker-clad foot under her, more like an excited schoolgirl than a nun, "I can't tell you how thrilled I am about your agency's volunteering to help us with our fundraising." "Hey," Cy teased, "It's me that's doing the volunteering, remember? I just asked for their help in paying for some expenses!" Embarrassed, Sister Anne said, "Oh, I didn't mean --"

Be a hero. Your time has come, Cy Lefkowitz. You'll soon have the opportunity to prove that you're good at something other than convincing people to buy pizza or laundry detergent. Like saving lives.

"I'm kidding," Cy countered. "Jim Hillyer was happy to do it. Our agency has never done enough 'good works,' as far as I'm concerned. Don't worry about it." As he spoke, though, Cy was tabulating a budget in his head, toting up all the expenses involved in any direct-mail fundraising effort -- copywriting, art direction, separations and film, printing, postage . . . it wasn't going to be cheap, and he hoped Jim knew how much he was counting on the agency's help.

"It's just that I want you to know how much I appreciate it. When the archdiocese cut our funds last year, I knew we'd be fighting for our survival this year, but I didn't know it would be quite so bad. This island's been hit hard."

Sister Anne was referring to the continuing migration of the sugarcane industry from Hawaii to the Philippines, a phenomenon that was occurring because of cheaper labor costs. The result was increasing unemployment on the island, especially among farmers, field workers, and sugar-refinery employees. Just then, as if on cue, a giant flatbed truck loaded with cane roared by, headed to the cane processing plant in Kekaha.

"Anyway," Cy went on thoughtfully as the dust from the passing cane truck settled in the afternoon heat, "I can't wait to get started. I'm driving over to Kapa'a this afternoon to buy a laptop computer and printer."

"You can use the computer in the school office, you know," Sister Anne offered.

"No, I want to set up a little office of my own at home."

"Home?" Sister Anne questioned playfully. "Home? Cy, it's a gecko-infested beach-cabin motel!" She used his first name tentatively.

"Ouch!" Cy laughed. "Is it that bad? I was kind of getting to like it."

"Well," Sister Anne said, standing up, balling up the napkin she'd been using to hold her shave-ice and throwing it in the waste bin on the verandah, "it's a bit primitive."

Cy and Sister Anne's relationship had evolved into a real friendship, although sometimes they were more like father and daughter. Though it wasn't very old, it was a friendship Cy had grown to treasure. He'd never met a young woman who seemed to have less of an "agenda" than Sister Anne -- other than simply helping people, as trite as that sounded. He wondered whether that was why she seemed so beautiful to him.

"I should find a more permanent place, I know," Cy said. "Problem is, I never intended to stay here permanently, you know what I mean? I was just sort of escaping from New York."

So young. So pretty. And so in danger. Not only from an impending tidal wave, but from the increasingly intense "mentoring" of Cy Lefkowitz. Honestly, now--are Cy's helpful intentions toward Sister Anne purely altruistic? Or does he have baser instincts. Come on, Cy--she's a NUN!

"I know," said Sister Anne. "But right now, I'm going to the computer store." "Drive carefully," Sister Anne yelled, hopping off the verandah and opening the door of her pickup. "Those cane trucks are murder on the road." "I will," Cy promised, as he watched her back out onto the road. He watched her truck head west on the highway, along the beach, and disappear around the bend as the road approached Barking Sands beach.

It was then that Cy suddenly heard a piercing screech -- a siren -- coming from the direction of Yagoda's gas station. It was a whoop whoop whoop sound that was so loud he almost had to cover his ears -- but he was too alarmed at what was happening.

People were running out of the Waimea General Store and jumping into their cars; the light afternoon traffic was coming to a halt on the Kaumauali'i Highway; and, in the front yard of the little house across the road, a mother was swooping up a toddler, frantically.

Cy stood up and ran into the store.

"Sam? Sam?" he yelled, looking for General Store's owner, with whom all of west Kauai was on a first-name basis.

"Over here, Mr. Lefkowitz," Sam said weakly, emptying out his cash register.

"What the hell is going on, Sam?"

Sam looked at Cy with panic in his eyes.

"Tsunami inundation alert," Sam said, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Cy stared at him, not quite processing the phrase, as Sam closed the cash-register drawer and rushed passed him. "Shoulda known it was coming," Sam muttered. Weather's been so weird -- airless and all. Shoulda known."

Cy stared at him as Sam hurried out the door. Sam looked back at Cy, the only person left in the store.

"Gotta get to high ground, Mr. Lefkowitz," he warned. "They're saying it's not a drill."