The Aloha Quilt (13 page)

“Maui coffee,” Hinano remarked as he brought their steaming cups over to the table
Bonnie had selected near the front corner. The café was long and narrow, with large
windows facing Courthouse Square and original art by Maui residents on the walls,
or so the discreet price tags announced. By her count, at least four people had greeted
Hinano as an old friend while he waited in line. “Pure Hawaiian and better even than
Kona.”

“Lesson one for my campers will be to drink only Hawaiian coffee.”

“Not just any Hawaiian coffee, Maui coffee. Our soil gives the beans a special flavor—What
are you doing?”

Bonnie had retrieved her notebook from her purse and uncapped her pen. “Taking notes,
of course. Drink only Maui coffee.” She had to smile when Hinano’s eyebrows rose in
surprise. “I’m kidding. I’m not going to micromanage their visits to that extent.
Besides, your aunt Midori is in charge of selecting the coffee.”

“No, no, you misunderstand. I’m surprised because I didn’t expect you to take my advice.”

“That
is
why your aunt sent me to see you,” Bonnie reminded him, and she tried again to explain
what she had in mind for the evening programs. Either he wasn’t as condescending as
his first impression had suggested or he was behaving himself out of sympathy, for
he listened without making any more insulting comments about “her quilters.”

“I think I can help you,” he said when she had finished. “I know some good places
to visit and things to do that are off the
beaten track but still accessible. But first you could start with the Old Lahaina
Lu‘au. Most people think it’s the best and the most authentic luau in Maui, and even
guests who want an alternative Hawaiian experience are going to expect a luau.”

Hinano continued to describe several other places and events he thought might interest
guests of Aloha Quilt Camp, everything from ecologically sensitive hikes through pristine
rainforest on private land to a visit to a remote village where ancient Hawaiian customs
were still practiced. Fascinated, Bonnie jotted notes as Hinano spoke, her coffee
cooling and barely tasted.

When he finished, Hinano said, “You should check out these places yourself first to
make sure they’re what you had in mind. Don’t take my word for it.”

Bonnie wouldn’t dream of scheduling an event for her campers sight unseen, but to
be polite, she said, “I will, though I’m sure it’s not necessary. You came very highly
recommended.”

“By my aunt,” he pointed out. “Hardly an objective source.”

She sipped her coffee, now barely lukewarm, pretending to consider the point. “That’s
certainly true.”

“And I made a very bad first impression.”

“That, you did.” With her pen she tapped her notebook, which now held several pages
of useful notes. “But you’ve made up for it since.”

“Glad to hear it. Aunt Midori would tan my hide if she heard I wasn’t nice to you.
And Eric might not be too happy, either.”

Bonnie had to laugh at the thought of petite Midori intimidating her much larger nephew.
“Yes, your aunt mentioned that you and Eric served together.”

“That’s right.” He regarded her over the rim of his coffee cup before continuing.
“We were stationed on Oahu together for a couple of years. We stayed in touch after.”

“Did you retire, too, as Eric did?”

He frowned slightly, looked past her shoulder, and exchanged a quick greeting with
another customer who was walking toward the exit. “I guess you could say that. I got
wounded in the Persian Gulf War—the first one—got an honorable discharge, came home
to Maui, and opened the shop.”

She sensed that he didn’t want to discuss his military service. “It seems like a successful
store, despite your tendency to insult your customers,” she said. “Do you and your
son run it together?”

“Kai helps out on school breaks.” A note of pride rang in Hinano’s voice. “He’s a
senior at the University of Hawaii on Oahu, majoring in Oceanography. He’s only home
for the weekend.”

“It must be nice to have him so close.”

“He’s my only kid, so I hope he stays close after graduation. He’s thinking about
graduate school.” Hinano raised his hand in greeting to a man and woman who had just
joined the queue at the coffee bar. Did he know everyone in Lahaina? “Kai’s a half
decent ukulele player, too. You have any kids?”

“Three. Two sons and a daughter, all back home in Pennsylvania.” Bonnie glanced at
Hinano’s left hand and saw that he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. Perhaps he was divorced,
and that was why he had sympathized with her. She wished that Darren had waited five
minutes to call her or that she hadn’t lost her composure in the music shop. She would
enjoy the coffee and conversation much more if genuine interest in her project rather
than pity had inspired Hinano’s invitation.

“Since you brought it up…” Bonnie glanced through her notes. “I’m surprised you haven’t
mentioned anything about the ukulele. You missed a great opportunity to work a visit
to your store into our campers’ itinerary.”

“I thought that would be crass marketing.”

“Whatever it takes to get people through the door.” If she had heeded Summer’s pleas
to improve her marketing strategies, Grandma’s Attic might still be in business. To
Hinano’s questioning look, she replied, “For many years I ran a quilt shop. I had
to close it down last spring.”

“That’s too bad.” He leaned forward and rested his arms on the table. “What happened?”

“It’s complicated. Competition from a chain store, slowdown in the economy, financial
ruin brought on by teenage vandals—You know. The usual.”

“Right,” he said, nodding slowly. “The usual.”

“It’s a long story.”

“I’d like to hear it.”

Bonnie hesitated. “I’m afraid it would bore you. And it doesn’t have a happy ending.”

“Some of the most interesting stories I’ve ever heard don’t have happy endings.”

So Bonnie told him everything—how she had opened Grandma’s Attic after receiving an
inheritance from her grandmother, after whom she named the shop; how she had enjoyed
a long, rewarding run in business and had made many wonderful friends; how the opening
of a Fabric Warehouse on the outskirts of town had lured away all but her most loyal
customers; and how a thoughtless act of cruelty and destruction had pushed her shop
over the edge into bankruptcy. Then, thanks to one of the Elm Creek Quilters, the
vandals who had broken into and trashed her shop had been caught, and the long-delayed
insurance settlement had come through. Reopening her old store was out of the question
since the building had been sold for redevelopment, but Sylvia had invited her to
open a shop within Elm Creek Manor, or she could probably find a
vacancy downtown, a few blocks away from her old location.

“But I don’t know if that’s what I want,” Bonnie concluded, resting her chin on her
hand. “Running a quilt shop was my dream, but that dream ended when I took down the
sign above the door. I think maybe I need to accept that this part of my life is over,
and that I need to move on.”

“Move on to what?” asked Hinano.

“That’s the real question, isn’t it? I still have Elm Creek Quilt Camp, of course,
but beyond that…” She shook her head. “I don’t know. That’s one of the reasons I accepted
Claire’s invitation to come to Maui for the winter, to give myself time to think.”

“So you’re a snowbird, but you’re a snowbird with a mission.” Hinano sat back in his
chair, regarding her with a faint smile. “Your story won’t be finished until you decide.
You may get a happy ending after all.”

“I’m working on it,” said Bonnie wryly, and Hinano laughed sympathetically.

As they left the coffee shop, he asked if she was sure she knew how to find her way
back to the Hale Kapa Kuiki or if she wanted him to see her there. Bonnie felt guilty
enough for taking up so much of his time and leaving his son to run the music shop
alone, so she assured him she would be fine on her own.

“I do want to learn more about your music,” she told him as they stood outside the
café, tourists passing by on either side. “I think the quilt campers would, too.”

“Come by the store sometime,” he said. “I’ll give you a brief history of the ukulele
and a concert, and you can decide if it’s worth sharing with your quilter friends.”

Bonnie was sure it would be, and she told him she would come by soon.

She had almost reached the end of the block when she heard Hinano call, “Be sure to
tell Aunt Midori and Eric that I was nice to you!”

She smiled, and for the first time since Darren Taylor’s call, her heart ached a little
less.

Bonnie told Claire about Darren’s call as soon as she returned to the inn, but waited
until morning to email her friends back at Elm Creek Manor about the detective’s discoveries.
Mere moments after she logged off, her cell phone rang—Sarah, appalled and angry,
and sounding as if she were ready to jump in her truck and race off to confront Craig
herself. Bonnie had sent the email because she had hoped to avoid rehashing all the
details over the phone, but after Sarah’s anger subsided and Bonnie took her own turn
to vent, she felt much better.

Her calm somewhat restored, Bonnie retrieved her folder from Claire’s office, settled
herself on the lanai, and tackled the job announcement with new determination to get
it right. After reading over what she had written the previous day, she drew a large
X through all but the paragraph containing contact information and started fresh.
This time the words came easily, and after an hour of intense writing and revising,
Bonnie thought she had captured the fun and camaraderie of quilt camp in her description
of the new teachers’ proposed duties. She hoped that every qualified quilting instructor
who read it would be intrigued enough to send in a résumé.

Bonnie stood up and stretched, pleased with a job well done. As she gathered up her
papers to take inside to show Claire, her gaze fell upon a strikingly familiar shape
nestled within the low green garden foliage. She drew closer, and at
first glance she thought someone had dropped a whole pineapple into the planting beds.
Then she spotted another pineapple, and another, and several more, each sitting firmly
upright in the middle of a whorl of long, narrow, green leaves.

She must have cried out in astonishment, for a moment later, Midori appeared at the
kitchen window. “Bonnie? Are you all right?”

“There are pineapples,” she exclaimed. “Growing here! In your garden!”

She heard the screen door slide open and shut, and soon Midori was at her side. “Well,
what do you know,” said Midori, barely concealing her amusement as she studied the
pineapple patch and nodded to show she agreed with Bonnie’s assessment. “Of course,
Hawaii is rather well known for pineapple, so we probably shouldn’t be surprised.”

“But they’re growing here, on the ground. Real pineapples.”

“Of course they’re real. I’ve tried growing the fake kind and it doesn’t thrive.”

“Stop teasing me,” protested Bonnie, laughing at herself. “It just threw me for a
minute. I know pineapple grows in Hawaii, but I wasn’t expecting to see it here.”

“Where did you expect it to grow?”

“I don’t know. On tall trees, in pineapple orchards.”

Midori folded her arms and regarded her. “You need to get out more.”

“I do get out. I don’t just work all day. I see a lot on my morning walks.”

“There’s more to Hawaii than the streets of Lahaina.”

“I know, and your nephew gave me some great suggestions for what to see first.”

“Did he, now?” Midori’s eyebrows rose. “I hope he was a gentleman.”

“Oh, absolutely,” said Bonnie, perhaps a bit too emphatically, for Midori made a scoffing
sound. “He was very helpful. I have pages of notes and lots of great ideas.”

“Did he give you his usual political lecture?”

“No,” said Bonnie, puzzled. “He didn’t say a word about politics.”

“He’s probably saving that for when he knows you better.” Midori bent over the pineapple
plants and grasped hold of one large fruit. “Here’s a good one. Do you want to pick
it?”

“Me?”

“I’ll do all the work if you insist, but I thought since you’ve probably never picked
a
real
pineapple before, you might like to try it yourself.”

“Of course.” Bonnie managed to refrain from asking if the pineapple was edible, sparing
herself additional teasing. “How do I do it?”

“Just reach down and pluck it.”

Tentatively Bonnie obeyed, the firm skin of the pineapple rough against her palms.
“A real pineapple,” she said, brushing off bits of broken leaves, not caring if her
wonder and delight were amusing.

But to her surprise, Midori said, “It’s a pleasure to see someone enjoying a simple
task, a simple gift, one that is far too easy for those of us accustomed to it to
take for granted.” She took the pineapple from Bonnie and indicated the kitchen door
with a tilt of her head. “Come inside. Let’s have a taste.”

Quickly Bonnie gathered up her papers and followed Midori to the kitchen. Deftly Midori
sliced off the leafy, plumed top with a sharp knife, then the bottom, and set the
rest on her favorite koa wood cutting board. She pared off the rough skin and cut
the fruit into spears, setting the core aside. When Midori beckoned, Bonnie helped
herself to the sweet, juicy
pineapple, without a doubt the freshest, most delicious she had ever tasted.