JoAnn Bassett - Islands of Aloha 07 - Moloka'i Lullaby (7 page)

CHAPTER 9

One innate talent I’m especially grateful for is my built-in navigation system. Like a human homing pigeon, I can always find my way back to anywhere I’ve been before. I have no idea how I do it. It’s just there, in the back of my head, like a GPS that doesn’t require an external power source.

I deftly made the trip to George Bustamante’s beach house with no false turns, no consulting the map.

“That’s quite a wall,” said Hatch. We’d pulled up and parked on the street outside of the formidable lava rock barricade that kept the public from viewing the jaw-dropping property on the other side.

“Wait ‘til you see the rest of the place,” I said.

We walked through the opening in the wall and I shouted for Lono, hoping to avoid another scene with the machete.

He didn’t answer.

“Let’s try the house,” I said. We went up to the double doors and I knocked. Again, no answer.

From the landing outside the front entrance, the view of the ocean was as good as it gets. The blue-black water sparkled as if thousands of brilliant-cut diamonds had been tossed across its velvet surface; and above, the clear blue sky remained unmarred by even a single cloud or stray jet contrail.

“Is that O’ahu?” said Hatch, pointing to a low dark form at the far end of the horizon.

“I think so. We’re facing west, so that would be the next island over.”

After knocking again and still failing to raise anyone inside, we began to make our way back down to the sidewalk. Suddenly, the front door flew open and a florid-faced older man stepped out onto the landing.

“Who goes there?” he boomed. His face was haloed by a mane of yellowish, limp gray hair with lengthy strands that nearly brushed his shoulders. His hands were gnarled into fists.

I stepped up and offered my hand. “
Aloha
,” I said. “My name is Pali Moon. I’m the wedding planner Richard and Amanda hired to do their wedding.”

He didn’t shake my hand, which was okay with me as I wasn’t sure if he was able to unclench his fists.

“Ha!” he barked. “Bad idea, that one.”

I wasn’t exactly sure if he was referring to them hiring me, or the marriage in general, so I didn’t let on.

“May we take a look inside the house?” I said. “I’d like to get an idea of how we’ll set up for the different venues—you know, the ceremony, the dinner, and so on.”

“I told them they had to keep it outside,” he said. “No one allowed in my house.”

“Oh. But we’ll need access to the kitchen,” I said.

“There are full kitchens in both of those
ohanas
,” he said, gesturing to the guesthouses down by the pool. “I’ll allow you to use them, as long as you clean up after yourself.”

“May I see them?”

“What’s to see? They’re kitchens. Stove, refrigerator, microwave; each one is fully stocked.”

“Mind if we look around a little at the grounds? I suppose we could do the ceremony by the pool and then have the dinner on the lanai.”

“The lanai is part of the house,” he countered.

“Yeah, but it’s outside.”

We stared each other down like two cats who’d come to use the lone litter box at the same time; neither willing to give way to the other.

“I suppose I can allow you to eat up there,” he said. “But the sliding doors will be locked. If people need to use the john, they’ll have to use the ones in the
ohanas
.” He paused. “How many people are we talking about here?”

“Fifteen. Maybe a few more.”

“Ah.” He shook his head but his ratty hair stayed put. The shaggy locks made him look a lot like that guy in the old Beetlejuice movie.

Throughout the negotiation, Hatch had discreetly remained at the far end of the sidewalk. George Bustamante turned and went back into the house, slamming the door as a final coda to what he must have considered a less than agreeable duet.

“That was the groom’s friend?” Hatch said as we walked back to the car. “I didn’t catch it all, but he didn’t sound happy. Maybe he’s pissed your guy didn’t ask him to be ‘best man.’”

“No, that’s not it. The two are in business together, and this week something bad happened at work. George must be having second thoughts about offering his place for the wedding.”

“Can you move it somewhere else?” Hatch said.

“I don’t know. I’ll ask Lono’s mother when I talk to her.”

I drove us back to Papohaku Beach  Park, where I’d been yesterday, and parked the car.

“Here we are,” I said. “The biggest beach in Hawaii.”

“According to the locals,” said Hatch. “Let’s check it out for ourselves.”

We walked through a wide grassy area shaded by a thick grove of
kiawe
trees. When we topped the small dune that blocked the view to the beach beyond it was like being in an airplane and coming out of thick cloud cover into bright sunshine.

The beach stretched wide on either side of us for as far as I could see. The soft sand sloped down to the water, unblemished by even a single footprint. The effect made me gasp. I’d never seen such an unspoiled, pristine beach.

“Wow,” said Hatch. “Can you believe this?”

“No. And people think Hana is secluded? This is like ‘land on Mars and find a beach’ secluded.”

“Do you want to walk the whole three miles?” he said. “There’s got to be somebody else out here.”

But there wasn’t. We walked the entire length of Papohaku Beach and only encountered one other person: a woman coming through the park as we were going back to the car.

I felt a little sorry for her. She’d have to put up with seeing our footprints until the waves obliged and wiped them away.

“I can’t believe we never heard of this place,” said Hatch.

“Seems there’s a lot about this island we’ve never heard of,” I said.

After our long slog through the soft sand, we were famished.

“Do you think there’s a restaurant on this end of the island?” Hatch said.

We drove back toward town, slowing at every wide spot in the road, but we didn’t find a single eating establishment.

“Not even a
huli-huli
chicken stand,” Hatch said. “I guess that’s what you get for having a beach all to yourself. But, seriously, how tough could it be to throw some chicken parts over a fire in a sawed-off oil drum? There’s no competition. A guy could make a fortune.”

“You thinking of looking into Moloka’i real estate?” I said.

“Don’t tempt me,” he said. “You know me, always thinking about the next big adventure. But this place may be a little too rural for us.”

The word “us” seemed to hang in the air like the scent of a plumeria tree in full bloom. I’d never been part of an “us” relationship before I met Hatch. Oh, I’d had boyfriends now and then. I even had an embarrassing crush on an instructor at air marshal training in New Jersey. But I’d never been inextricably linked with a guy enough to use the word “us” to describe my future.

We had to drive all the way back to Kaunakakai before finding a place to grab lunch.

***

After lunch, we spent a leisurely afternoon doing what my auntie Mana had euphemistically referred to as “reading the newspaper.” She and her long-time boyfriend used to disappear into her bedroom on lazy Sunday afternoons, telling us kids to go outside and play and don’t come back in unless someone was bleeding or unconscious. I now realize how precious that alone time was for her and Paka. With sometimes up to eight kids in the house, and most of us not even related to her by blood or marriage, her nights were often interrupted with bad dreams, requests for drinks of water, or sleepwalking.

Later that afternoon, Hatch packed up his things to get ready to leave. I was surprised by how sad I felt about seeing him go. We were finally communicating better than we had for months, and I’d allowed myself to get over my skittishness about “’til death do us part.”

Hatch had stuck by me as I’d slogged through the minefield of self-doubt and trust issues brought about by losing both of my parents before I was six. And, although I used to prefer sleeping alone, now when I wake in the night and hear his soft snuffly breathing, it soothes me back to sleep. I’m still not the poster child of “let it be” but I’m working on it.

I was envious of Farrah and Ono: two people who’d probably never even considered, let alone talked about, trust issues in their marriage. Ono’s cheerful disposition was hard-fought after losing his first wife to cancer and then spiraling into a morass of grief, fueled by out-of-control alcoholism. But thanks to his employer who’d introduced him to Bill W, he’d come out the other side stronger, more resilient, and with a sunny-side up attitude that had become even more so since meeting Farrah.

That night, we went into town for an early dinner at the Paddler’s Inn. The name comes from the grueling Moloka’i to O’ahu World Paddleboard Contest that’s held each summer. Competitors come from all over the world to paddle over thirty-two miles across some of the roughest water on the planet. Didn’t sound like a good time to me, but I could see the envy in Hatch’s eyes as he gazed at the photos of the winners.

“Wow, wouldn’t that be awesome?” he said.

“To do it; or to win it?”

“To
survive
it,” he said with a laugh.

The restaurant was a large open room, with a long bar along the back wall, tables and chairs in the middle, and a low stage at right angles to the bar. The casual ambiance was reinforced by an almost tent-like feel, since the side walls were just wooden lattice: open to the evening breeze.

Hatch ordered a beer and I had white wine. While we waited for our food to arrive, the entertainment for the evening started setting up. The band was made up of four locals—three men and a sixty-something woman—who played a wide repertoire of songs, from old Hawaiian favorites to the Beatles.

We had to hurry dinner a bit, since Hatch was catching the last flight to Kahului at seven-thirty.

Our waitress came to pick up our plates. “You guys want to see the dessert menu?” she said.

“
Mahalo
, but no. I’ve got to get to the airport,” Hatch said.

“You going, too?” she said to me.

“No, I’m sticking around for another day or so,” I said. “I’m doing a job over here.”

She looked like she was eager to hear what the job entailed, but I just shot her a smile.

“You going for hot bread tonight?” she said. “I think the cream cheese is back.”

“Huh?” I said.

“You know, hot bread. From the Kanemitsu Bakery.”

I continued to look confused, so she explained, “It starts at eighty-thirty, maybe nine. They open the back door to the bakery and you get fresh bread, right out of the oven. It comes with toppings. They ran out of cream cheese a few nights ago, but I heard they got more.”

“Why would people go to a bakery at nine o’clock at night?” I said.

She shrugged. “What else you gonna do around here? Besides, people get the munchies, you know? Or drunks gotta eat somethin’ to sober ‘em up before the drive home. It’s like what they call a public service, eh?”

I decided I’d run by the Kanemitsu Bakery on my way back from dropping off Hatch. I ordered strawberry and cream cheese. The bread was warm and fragrant. The red gooey strawberry topping dripped down my hand and onto my shirt. I was a sticky mess, but the sugar rush made me feel a little better after watching Hatch’s plane disappear into the dark.

Back at the condo, I looked in the mirror, and it looked like I’d been shot. I didn’t care; I agreed with our waitress. Hot bread on Moloka’i was definitely a public service.

CHAPTER 10
 

Monday was April 15, income tax day in America. I’d done my taxes weeks before, since I was self-employed and I paid quarterly taxes throughout the year. It wasn’t something I enjoyed doing, so getting it off my desk and off my mind was always a relief.

I called Lono’s mother, Malama, at ten in the morning.

“
Aloha
, Malama,” I said. “My name is Pali Moon, and I’m a wedding—”

“Ah, yes. I’ve been hoping you’d call,” she said. “Leonard told me you were putting on a wedding out at Mr. Bustamante’s place.”

“Leonard?”

“Yes, my son. He probably called himself ‘Lono’ when he talked to you. He’s named after my favorite uncle, but Leonard never liked the name. I guess that happens sometimes, you know?”

“Oh, yes. I know,” I said.

“Anyway, tell me how I can help.”

“I guess Leonard told you I’m from Maui,” I said. “I have a wedding planning business over there, and I have a bride who wants to do her wedding here on Moloka’i. To tell you the truth, I’m kind of a fish out of water over here. I’d really like to meet with you and see if we could work together on this.”

“I’d be happy to get together with you,” she said. “Where and when? You pick.”

“I’m in Kaunakakai,” I said. “And I’m free all this morning.”

“Good. I’m out in Maunaloa, but I need to go to town today, anyway. You want to meet somewhere closer to you?”

“I don’t know the area. Do you have a suggestion?”

“How about Moloka’i Burger?” she said. “You know where that is?”

“I know exactly where it is.”

“Fine. I’ll see you there in an hour.” She hung up, leaving me with a good feeling that if her brevity and efficiency in rounding up vendors and putting on a wedding was even half as good as her ability to schedule an impromptu meeting, I was home free.

I got to the burger place a half hour later and Malama was already there. She waved me over, which was a good thing, since I’d forgotten to ask how I’d recognize her. She bore a striking resemblance to Lono—brown-skinned, broad-shouldered, with thick black hair that fell to her shoulders—but then so did most of the other people in the restaurant. She had her hair combed straight back and secured with a bright pink headband.

“I knew it was you,” she said. She stood and reached a hand across the small table. “Since yours is the only face I’ve never seen in here before.”

We shook hands and she got right down to business.

“How many guests are you expecting?” she said.

I told her at least fifteen but no more than twenty, but I added that George Bustamante had made it clear everyone had to stay outside.

She smiled and shrugged. “No worries. Mr. Bustamante can be a little demanding, but he’s good people. Leonard tells me he’s something of a hermit. I’m surprised he offered up his place.”

I explained that the groom was his business partner. “He may have felt obligated. Maybe he hoped his partner wouldn’t take him up on it.”

“Ah. Well, tell me what you’ve got lined up so far,” she said.

“I brought their file with me,” I said. I pulled out Richard and Amanda’s consultation folder and we went over their choices of flowers, music, food, and so on.

“Looks good,” said Malama. “What can I do?”

“You can help me find all this stuff; I have no idea where to begin. I could get everything sent over from Maui, but it seems like a waste. Especially if there might be people here on Moloka’i who could use the work.”

Malama smiled. “There are many people around here who need work. As you can see, we don’t have the booming tourist business you have over there.”

“From what I’ve heard, people on Moloka’i like it that way.”

“We do, and we don’t. We don’t want to be overrun with mainland visitors. But we’re kind of tired of being thought of as the poor relations in the
‘ohana
, you know? I’ve been doing my party business since back in the days when the Moloka’i Ranch was still open. Since it closed, it’s been tough to get visitors to Moloka’i. Especially to get married.”

“So, do you have local vendors you can recommend?” I said.

“Everything but the cake. I always order my cakes from Honolulu or Maui.”

“Great. I’ll get the cake, but I’ll hand everything else over to you if we can agree on a price.”

“How about you split your fee with me?” she said. “I’ll give you the invoices and you pay the vendors. You can pay me when it’s all over.”

“Great. I charge clients fifteen percent, so how about we split it down the middle—seven and a half for each of us?”

We shook on it. I left the meeting feeling I had lots to think about but, thanks to Malama, nothing to worry about.

***

Hatch called while I was waiting at the airport for Amanda to arrive.

“Hi, babe,” he said. “How’s it going?” He sounded edgy.

“I’m good. How about you? Are you okay?”

“Not much going on today. But I’m a little concerned about a situation up at your place.”

“At my shop?”

“No, your house. It’s Farrah. I went up there last night and her BP’s creeping up. It’s got me worried. High blood pressure is an early indicator of pre-eclampsia.”

“Pre- what?”

“Pre-eclampsia. It’s a condition in late pregnancy where BP spikes and there’s protein in the urine. I’d really like to get it checked out.”

“Did you talk to Farrah about it?” I said.

“Lot of good that did,” he said. “I told Ono, and he wants her to go to the hospital and let them take a look at her. But Farrah won’t go. She’s hell-bent on having her kids at home, and she’s afraid if she goes in, they won’t release her. She did let Ono call the midwife, though. I’m still at work, so I’m not sure if she’s shown up yet.”

“Do you want me to come home?” I said. “I’m at the airport picking up the bride, but after I take her to George’s I could get on the next flight back to Maui.”

“Let’s see what the midwife says first,” he said. “I know you want to get everything set up over there before coming back.”

“I do. But I met with a local wedding planner this morning and she’s going to help a lot. Let me get the bride settled in and then let’s talk again later.”

“Sounds good. I didn’t want to bother you with this, but I thought you’d want to know.”

“I’m glad you called. Call me after the midwife leaves, okay? I’ll come back tonight if Farrah wants me to.”

***

Amanda’s plane landed shortly afterward. I watched as the passengers came down the outside stairway and crossed the tarmac. Amanda was one of the last people off the plane.

“Ugh,” she said as she came clip-clopping over in four-inch wedge heels. She’d picked up a small leopard-print suitcase at the cart and was wheeling it behind her. When she got over to me she thrust the handle my way without so much as a “
Would you mind
?”

“That was awful,” she said. “I forgot how nasty it is to fly commercial. But Richard took his jet back to LA, so how else was I supposed to get here?”

“You could’ve taken the ferry,” I said.

“Really? There’s a boat?”

“Yeah. But if you didn’t like the plane ride, you would’ve hated the ferry ride. It takes two hours and it’s often pretty rough going.”

“How do you stand living here?” she said. “People told me Hawaii was nice, but so far everything’s been horrible.”

“What don’t you like?” I said. I probably sounded defensive, but I was curious to learn what she found so awful.

“Everyone’s so phony with their big smiles and ‘
aloha.
’ And the weather’s terrible. It’s hot and sticky, and it’s been windy every day since we got here. It totally messes up my hair.”

She ran a hand through her lustrous, perfectly-cut and coifed hair.

“I think your hair looks great,” I said.

“Well,” she said. “That’s only because you have to look at yours’ every day.”

“Look, Amanda, I’ll help you get settled in and then I may need to go back to Maui.”

“When?”

“Later this afternoon.”

“What? You can’t leave! Richard won’t be here until tomorrow night.”

“I’m sorry. But my best friend is very pregnant and she’s having complications. I may need to get back there and help.”

“You’re not a doctor,” she said. “What does she expect you to do?”

I sucked in a breath and centered myself using a technique I’d learned from Sifu Doug. Then I smiled through clenched teeth.

“My car’s right over here,” I said. “Did you check any other bags?”

She raised an eyebrow as if I’d asked if she’d brought along a clean change of underwear.

“Of course,” she said. “I’m getting
married
here, remember?”

“Well, then let’s go get it,” I said.

When we got to baggage claim I couldn’t help but wonder how much she’d paid in luggage fees. Four large suitcases and two smaller ones, all in the same matching leopard print, had been stacked on the floor.

“These are all yours?” I said.

“Yeah. I had to leave a bunch of stuff back on Maui,” she said. “The guy at the airport said the plane was overweight.”

She sniffed and went on. “As if my
luggage
was the problem. Did you see some of the fatties on that flight? I didn’t see any of them paying extra.”

I wrestled the seven suitcases onto a creaky luggage cart and we headed out to the parking lot. When Amanda saw the blue Geo she gasped. “You don’t seriously expect me to ride in that.”

“It’s got four wheels and an engine. That’s all we need to get from here to there.”

“But, it’s filthy dirty,” she said. “And look at that dent. Did you hit a pedestrian or something? If you did, I hope you reported it. I had some serious crap come down on me one time…” Her voice trailed off.

“No, the dent was there when I got the car. Look around, Amanda. We’re on Moloka’i. They don’t stand on ceremony here.”

“What’s that mean?” she said, looking stricken. “Aren’t we supposed to have the wedding ceremony here?”

I closed my eyes and brought to mind the ever-patient, soothing voice Hatch uses when he deals with panicked car crash victims. I’d witnessed it first-hand one night when we’d come across a three-car pile-up on the Haleakala Highway. While I called 9-1-1, Hatch sprang into action.

“Amanda, you’ll love it out at George Bustamante’s place. It’s a beautiful beachfront home, right on the ocean.”

“I’m sick of the beach. It’s windy and sandy and…” She paused, as if trying to come up with the third leg of the stool. “And wet. The ocean is totally wet. And if you get in it, it makes you wet, too.” She shot me a triumphant look, as if she’d done herself proud in succinctly describing the key features of seventy-percent of the earth’s surface.

I heaved two of her smaller bags in the trunk, and then wedged the other bags into the back seat while Amanda sullenly got herself into the passenger seat.

I slammed the driver door, started the engine, and pulled out of the parking lot, sending up a prayer of thanks to Malama for offering to take over the bulk of the wedding chores.

I had a feeling that once Malama met Amanda Ward she might want to renegotiate our fee arrangement. That’d be okay with me. I’d already decided if she’d be willing to take this whiny gold-digger off my hands I’d be more than willing to give her the whole darn commission.