JoAnn Bassett - Islands of Aloha 07 - Moloka'i Lullaby

by JoAnn Bassett

  Malama arrived at ten minutes after four. She was late, but well within the bounds of “island time.”

  “Aloha,” she said. I stood and she pulled me in for a tight hug, which was fine with me. She was about the same size and shape as my much-loved Auntie Mana who’d raised me. I appreciate any chance to be hugged by a woman who can stand in for my auntie.

  “It’s going well,” Malama said. “I’ve talked to many people, and, so far, everyone says, ‘yes.’ We have music—a slack-key guitar player, best on the island—and flowers, food, everyt’ing. I think it’s all good.”

  “Great,” I said. “And I’ll order the cake from my usual cake artist on Maui. I’ll pick it up the day before and bring it over on the ferry.”

  Lono showed up, machete in hand, and came over to greet his mother. He carefully laid the lethal knife on the ground before going in for a hug. I watched as Malama swayed side to side, squeezing her son with the kind of affection that makes childless women, like me, rethink our priorities.

  “Good to see you, Mom,” Lono said.

  “The whole place looks wonderful, Leonard,” Malama said, eying the tidy landscaping. “But don’t you think that hedge is a little short?” She pointed to a line of colorful croton bushes that had been scalped to knee-high. The top branches of the hedge were bare, like thick brown fingers reaching up, begging for leaves to cover their nakedness.

  “I know. I didn’t want to cut it down that much, but Mr. Bustamante said it blocked his view to the water.”

  “Ah, I see. Well, you’ve done good work here, son. I’m so proud of you.”

  The comment seemed a bit effusive for weed pulling and leaf blowing, but I had a hunch there was a story there. The unemployment rate on Moloka’i is the highest in the islands, so maybe Mom was just darn happy her kid had a steady job and a decent place to live.

  Lono picked up his machete and went back to work.

  Malama said, “I was hoping to meet the bride. Is she around?”

  “Yes, she’s in her room. I’ll go get her.”

  “No, you stay and finish your tea. I’ll go to the house and give my aloha to Mr. Bustamante, and ask Leonard to tell the bride we’re here. I’m sure he knows where she’s staying.”

  I drained my tea while Malama was gone, and made short work of the taro chips, too. I hadn’t eaten lunch and my stomach was rumbling. Hopefully, the meet and greet with Amanda and Malama would go quickly and I’d have time to grab something to eat before my flight home.

  Lono and Amanda arrived a few minutes later. Malama was still up at the house. Amanda looked like she’d been roused from a nap and she wasn’t too happy about it.

  “What’s this guy talking about?” she said, thrusting a thumb toward Lono. She plopped down in the chair opposite me.

  I looked up at Lono, who seemed just as annoyed as having to play butler as Amanda was at being awakened from her nap.

  “Mahalo, Lono,” I said. “I appreciate you bringing Amanda out here.”

  He mumbled something like, “No problem.” Then he ambled off, thunking the dull side of the machete blade against his palm as if signaling a strong urge to whack something.

  “What did he mean when he said his mother was doing my wedding?” Amanda said to me. “Is that guy your son? I mean, if he is, I want the name of your plastic surgeon.”

  “No, he’s not my son. Let me explain.”

  I explained that I’d been fortunate to find Malama because she was a local and she knew how to get all the things we’d need.

  “She’s even lined up a first-rate slack-key guitar player,” I said. “I had no idea how I was going to find a good musician who’d come over here. I was worried I’d have to either hire somebody mediocre from Maui, or line up some local guys to audition. Musicians are notorious for not showing up—for either the audition or the wedding.”

  Amanda stared at me, lip curled, as if I’d spit on her and refused to apologize.

  “So, what are you saying?” she said. “Are you telling me you’ve handed off my fairy tale wedding to a…a…” She floundered to come up with a politically correct way to say something that was anything but politically correct.

  “To a local?” I said, helping her out.

  “Yeah, whatever. If I’d wanted some kind of Hawaiian hoe-down, I wouldn’t have come to you in the first place,” she said. “I don’t want to serve pig meat and raw fish, or whatever passes for party food for those kind of people. I want elegance. Like George Clooney and Amal Alamuddin in Venice, or even Kim Kardashian and Kanye West in Paris.”

  It was all I could do to keep from slapping her, but there’d already been enough slapping for one day. Instead I said, “Malama is a highly regarded wedding planner who’s knocking herself out to make your wedding as wonderful as you always hoped it would be. She’s a local, which means she has the contacts and the clout to get things done and to get the people we need to actually show up. On Maui, I have that kind of clout. But here on Moloka’i, your chances of a glitch-free wedding are going to be much better if we work with a local resident.”

  Amanda was still sulking when Malama came down to join us.

  “Oh, is this pretty girl the bride?” Malama said. She went around to Amanda’s side of the table and stood, waiting for Amanda to get up and greet her. Amanda stayed seated, head down, arms tightly crossed.

  Malama dealt with the awkward moment by tossing me a smile and taking a seat in the chair next to Amanda. Once again, the urge to slap the girl silly flashed across my mind but I held it at bay, reminding myself that stooping to her level was the last thing I wanted.

  “Amanda,” I said in a school-marmish voice I save for occasions like this, “this is Malama. She’ll be taking over the local coordination of your wedding. I’ll be paying Malama her fee, so our original contract still stands.”

  “When?” Amanda said.

  “When is your wedding?” I said, confused by the one-word question.

  “No,” she said in her now-familiar, holier-than-thou voice. “When is she taking over?”

  Malama’s forehead wrinkled, but she kept the smile going.

  “Right now, I guess,” I said. “I told you, I need to get back to Maui. Remember? My pregnant friend is having complications, and I need to go home.”

  “Need or want?” Amanda spat out.

  I shot her a quizzical look.

  “Richard says people always mix those two things up. He says that you really need some things: like air and stuff. But most of the time, when you say you need something—like a new pair of Manolo Blahniks, or emerald earrings, or whatever—you actually just want them. So, you should use the word, ‘want,’ not ‘need.’”

  It was hard to be lectured on the finer points of English grammar by a girl who probably thought a noun was a French hair clip, and no doubt confused “verb” with “herb” when talking about what she ate the night before, but I sucked it up.

  “Well then,” I said. “I should say I want to go home. I’m worried about my friend, and I think she’ll feel better if I was there with her.”

  “Fine, but you can’t leave until Richard gets back tomorrow night.”

  I glanced over to check out Malama’s response to Amanda’s rude tirade. Her face appeared unconcerned. Probably she was glad she’d managed to score a twenty-four hour reprieve on putting herself in the line of fire.

  Amanda went on. “Besides, Richard’s already booked us on a sight-seeing trip tomorrow, and we have to go.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah. Richard wants me to see some of the stuff over here. He said he felt bad I had to hang out in this boring place while he’s working, so he arranged for you and me to go on a sight-seeing trip.”

  “What kind of sight-seeing trip?” I said.

  She shrugged. “The usual, I s’pose. Richard hired a guy to take us around to the important sights. He said we had to meet him at the airport at seven-thirty tomorrow morning.”

  “Amanda, I’m not
a hired companion. I’m your wedding planner.”

  “No, you said she was my wedding planner now,” she said, pointing to Malama. “So since you didn’t even bother to ask me if that would be okay, you have to do what I want. And what I want is for you to go with me on this tour. Besides, Richard has already paid for it.”

  Malama screwed up her mouth and nodded, as if agreeing with Amanda’s logic. I, of course, didn’t.

  “Okay, I’ll go with you for a few hours tomorrow, but I’m going to need to catch an afternoon flight back to Maui. And that’s a need, not a want. I’ll do the tour tomorrow, but then Malama will take over. Agreed?”

  Amanda sat back in her chair and smirked. I was really sorry she’d beaten me to the punch by smacking George earlier in the day, ‘cuz there was nothing I wanted more than to wipe that stupid grin off her face.

  ***

  I walked Malama out to the road where she’d parked her car. Like most of the cars I’d seen on the island, hers was an older model, with dents that had been allowed to rust and tires that were as bald as Howie Mandel.

  “I’d like to apologize for Amanda’s behavior,” I said.

  “You’re not her mother, so no apology necessary,” Malama said with a wave of her hand. “I’ve worked with girls like her many times. She’s probably just nervous. Girls think they gotta get all riled up to show their boy they got it all together. You know, like proving what great wives and moms they’re gonna be.”

  I’d completely forgotten to clue Malama in on Richard and Amanda’s age disparity.

  “Uh, about that,” I said, not sure how to tactfully phrase it.

  My cell phone went off and I held up a finger while I checked the caller ID.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ve got to take this. As you probably heard, my best friend is pregnant with twins and she’s developed complications.”

  I clicked on the call. It was Hatch.

  “Hey, babe, it’s me. No emergency. I just wanted to check and see if you’d been able to book a flight.”

  I looked at Malama, feeling guilty about taking the call after she’d been so rudely disrespected by Amanda.

  “Hang on a minute, okay?” I said to Hatch.

  “Mahalo nui loa for helping me out with this wedding,” I said. “Can we get together and go over everything before I leave tomorrow?”

  “Of course. No worries. I hope your friend gets better and her babies are fine and healthy. Call me when you’re able to meet.”

  Malama got in her car and drove off. The roar of the engine was remarkably loud for the size of the vehicle.

  “Sorry about that,” I said to Hatch. “Are you at work?”

  “Yeah, so I can’t talk long. Who was that?”

  “Oh, that’s Malama. She’s the one I told you about who’s taking over most of this wedding.” I quickly filled him in on what had transpired in the past hour.

  “So, you’re not coming home until tomorrow?” he said.

  “Yeah, it looks that way. But then, I’ll be able to stay home until the twenty-sixth—that’s a Friday, the day before the wedding. The way I see it, it’s short term pain for long term gain.”

  “Okay, but I’m gonna need you to stay in touch. Farrah’s BP is still high, and if it spikes, she’s gonna be asking for you.”

  “I’ll have my phone with me the whole time.”

  “One more day, huh?” he said.

  “Yeah, but then I’m off for three whole months.”

  “I wasn’t gonna say anything until later, but I’m taking some time off myself,” he said.

  “Really? How long?”

  “Long as I want.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “I put in my notice,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Yeah, I had a long talk with the chief a couple of weeks ago. The way things are going around here, budget-wise, it’s gonna be a cold day at the beach before they can promote anyone to officer.”

  “So?”

  “So, I’m not getting any younger,” he said. “And soon, I’m gonna have a wife to support. I don’t want to still be pulling hose when I’m fifty years old, and I told the chief that. I turned in my notice today.”

  “What are you saying? You quit your job?” I said. I let the wife to support nonsense slide by unanswered, because the possibility that he’d quit being a firefighter had my full attention.

  “Not quit, exactly,” he said.

  “Then, what would you call it?”

  “Look, I probably shouldn’t have said anything. This isn’t a conversation we should have on the phone. Let’s talk about it when you get back here tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, let’s,” I said.

  “Are you mad at me?”

  “No, I’m just kind of shocked. I thought this was the kind of stuff married people discussed before they just went off and did it.”

  “It is. That’s why we’re gonna talk tomorrow,” he said. “Uh, the bell’s just started up. Gotta run. Love you.”

  Funny. I didn’t hear any damn fire bell going off.

  CHAPTER 12

  Tuesday morning I got up before daybreak. The maid’s apartment at George Bustamante’s had teak floors, marble counters, and stainless steel appliances in the small kitchenette. The bed was outfitted with a plush mattress and covered with a hand-crocheted bedspread. The entire digs were definitely several notches above the condo Hatch and I had rented in Kaunakakai.

  Noting the contrast got me thinking. Did Hatch have something up his sleeve about working full-time for the Australian guy who owned the fancy place where he lived? If not, why on earth would he quit his job? He loved being a firefighter and an EMT, or so he’d said. Granted, Maui firefighters didn’t make the kind of money he would’ve made if he’d stayed in Los Angeles, but… no, I wasn’t even willing to think about it. No way he’d try to pull something like that on me.

  I’d made a cup of fancy coffee in the Keurig and brought it outside so I could sit by the pool, but by six-thirty Amanda still hadn’t stirred from her ohana. I was beginning to get worried about making it to the airport on time when Lono showed up.

  “My mom said to tell you she can come by any time after you get back,” he said. “Just give her a call and she’ll come right over.”

  “Your mom’s a saint,” I said. I eyeballed the door to Amanda’s ohana, to make sure she wasn’t eavesdropping. “Our bride, however, is something else.”

  “My mom’s a saint, bride or no bride,” he said. “She’s always stuck by me, no matter what.”

  I waited for him to fill in the blanks. I’ve learned that a steady gaze and a closed mouth usually prompts people to keep going.

  He shrugged. “Yeah. I got myself in some trouble back when I first got out of high school,” he said. “Grabbed a car one night and took off. Like there’s anywhere to go on this island.” He shot me a smile, but I could tell the memory wasn’t a good one.

  I continued to hold eye contact.

  “Anyhow, I was hot-doggin’ and showin’ off for my friends. You know, acting cool.”

  I didn’t know. I’d only had one good friend in high school—Farrah. And she and I were much more likely to have been caught hunched over her Ouija board hoping to learn if a guy she liked also liked her than out with bad boys in stolen cars. We were what could best be described as island-girl geeks. We weren’t computer whizzes or even marginally talented at math; our geekness sprang from an abundance of interest in Magic cards and forays into the realm of the paranormal. Our obsession with “The Hobbit” and Lisa Frank rainbow and unicorn stickers totally sealed the deal.

  “So, anyway,” he said. “This little kid just pops up outta nowhere. No way I could stop in time.”

  He lowered his head.

  “Oh,” I said.

  “Yeah. They took him to the hospital in Kaunakakai, but he didn’t make it.”

  “Wow. That must’ve been tough.”

  He nodded. “I did two years in Halawa for
vehicular manslaughter. Just got out eighteen months ago.”

  “You still on probation?”

  “Yeah. How’d you know?”

  “I studied criminology at U of H. We had to learn the mandatory sentences for common crimes.”

  “Yeah. Anyhow, Mr. Bustamante took me on. No doubt my mom did some major arm-twisting, and that woman’s fierce.” He smiled, and this time it was genuine.

  Once again, I checked out Amanda’s ohana door before speaking. “Well, she’s gonna need to be fierce with that one.”

  “Don’ worry. My mom’s like a momma whale,” he said. “Big and strong, and she don’ sweat the small stuff. She’ll push right through anything that gets in her way.”

  Amanda came out of her quarters at a few minutes before seven. She was done up as if she was going shopping on Rodeo Drive, not about to go sightseeing in an open four-wheel drive vehicle.

  “How do we get breakfast around here?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. When I came out earlier, this coffee carafe was on the table. But no one’s come down here since.” I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing I’d been banned from the main house. But then, maybe after the slapping incident she had been, too.

  “Don’t they have a bell or something?” she said. “How’re you supposed to call the help?”

  Since I was the help, I thought it best not to weigh in.

  Lono was trimming a bush on the other side of the pool.

  “Yoo-hoo,” Amanda trilled to him. “I need you to come over here.”

  I pondered pointing out to her that she’d used the word, need rather than want, but then thought better of it. I’d be spending a good part of the day with the woman, and I certainly didn’t need to start off on a bad foot.

  Lono ambled over. “Yeah?”

  “I’d like a poached egg, medium. With rye toast, no butter. Oh, and chamomile tea. And it needs to be quick, ‘cuz we need to leave.”

  Lono stared at her as if she’d spoken in a foreign tongue.