Authors: Jennifer Chiaverini
“You’re a liar,” Bonnie scoffed, but she was touched that Claire had picked an occasion
marked by Craig’s absence rather than mentioning any number of the more recent occasions
when the two couples had met at Penn State for class reunions or football games.
“Let’s get your bags,” Claire said, tucking her arm through
Bonnie’s and leading her to baggage claim. While they waited, they chatted about their
kids—Claire’s daughters were both on the mainland, the eldest married and the youngest
away at college—and old friends from Penn State who still kept in touch. When Bonnie
hefted a single large suitcase from the baggage carousel, Claire exclaimed, “That’s
all you brought for five months?”
“I assumed you’d let me do laundry at your place,” Bonnie said, wheeling the suitcase
after her as Claire led the way to the parking lot.
“We’ll go shopping,” Claire promised, pressing the fob on her key chain. Nearby, the
trunk to a blue convertible popped open. “You’ll need some island wear.”
“Nothing too daring,” said Bonnie, eyeing Claire’s bright pink and green floral blouse.
“Or too bright.”
Claire merely laughed.
They drove with the top down, wind whipping their hair, shouting to converse, laughing
at the impossibility of understanding each other. Bonnie put on her sunglasses and
soaked in the sunshine and the scenery as they drove southwest across the island past
fields of sugarcane and rugged green mountains. The air was fragrant with flowers,
the mountains glorious in their beauty. They passed through a tunnel, and on the other
side the ocean appeared before them, endless and blue. Overcome, Bonnie could not
speak, but gazed out at the water as they drove along the cliffside. To her left was
the ocean, vast and deep; to her right were the gently rising foothills of deeply
forested mountains. It was powerful and beautiful, exactly as she had imagined it
and yet completely new and unexpected. Tears pricked her eyes, but she blinked them
away. Her heart felt lighter than it had in months, years, as if she had left all
her troubles on the plane.
All at once, three white puffs went up from the water about a hundred yards offshore.
“Are those whales?” Bonnie cried out, twisting in her seat in time to catch a glimpse
of a massive dark shape shadowing the water before disappearing.
“Yes,” Claire replied, glancing in the rearview mirror before the steam dissipated
entirely.
“You can drive along the highway and see whales from your car,” Bonnie marveled, and
Claire laughed.
Before long they reached Lahaina, Claire’s adopted hometown. She happily pointed out
the road to Ho‘oilo House, a bed and breakfast in the west Maui foothills run by her
friends Dan and Amy; an ideal wayside for whale spotting; her favorite used bookstore;
and the direction to a banyan tree at Courthouse Square, which Claire promised to
show her another time.
“Where do you want to go first?” Claire asked. “The future home of Aloha Quilt Camp,
the quilt shop, or my house? Eric’s grilling out for us, but supper won’t be ready
for another hour.”
Bonnie barely allowed her friend to finish before replying, “The quilt camp site,
of course. You sent me only one picture of the front porch. I need to see what I have
to work with.”
“I like your priorities.” Claire turned off the highway onto a road lined with shops
and restaurants. To Bonnie’s delight, Claire pulled to a stop in front of a quaint
Victorian inn surrounded by palm trees, through which she glimpsed waves crashing
on the sandy beach.
“You’re right on the ocean?” Bonnie exclaimed. “Claire, you don’t need me. Quilters
will flock to this place even if all you offer is breakfast and electricity for their
sewing machines.”
“We both know that’s not true.” Claire led the way up the broad front staircase. The
banisters gleamed white as if freshly painted, extending to a porch that appeared
to wrap around
the entire building. Balconies on the second and third floors echoed the design. “Elm
Creek Quilt Camp has set the bar too high. We have to offer classes and entertainment,
or why would anyone come here instead of central Pennsylvania?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Bonnie teased as Claire opened the front door, upon which a wreath
of hibiscus flowers hung. “Beaches? Sunshine? Abundant pineapple? We’re not open during
the winter, either, so we won’t compete with you for half the year.”
“Good. Then you can come to work for me during your off season.”
Bonnie was so surprised that she laughed. “It’s too soon to make me an offer like
that. I’ve been here less than a day. Let’s see how you feel after my first performance
evaluation.”
“I know you, Bonnie.” Claire held the door open wider and gestured for Bonnie to enter.
“You’re creative, you’re fun, you’re experienced, and you’re absolutely trustworthy.
You’re a friend. There’s no one I’d prefer as my partner, and if I thought I could
steal you away from the Elm Creek Quilters, I’d make you an offer right now.”
“Claire…” Bonnie didn’t know what to say. “You said you wanted to hire me as a consultant.
Temporarily.”
“I know.” Claire was all innocence. “But let’s see what happens. No pressure. After
a few months, you might decide that Maui feels like home. You might decide you enjoy
having half an ocean and most of the continental United States between you and Craig.”
But that same distance would separate Bonnie from her children and grandchildren,
as well as her dearest friends and colleagues. She no longer had a permanent home,
that was true, but Elm Creek Manor had been a refuge in difficult times, and she loved
working with her friends in the business they
had founded and nurtured. As excited as she was to launch a new quilt camp with Claire,
she couldn’t imagine staying beyond the winter into spring, when her friends and students
expected her back at Elm Creek Quilt Camp.
She searched her memory but couldn’t recall a single conversation in which she had
suggested anything to the contrary. Apparently Claire hadn’t lost her habit of hearing
what she wanted to hear and dismissing everything else. “I’m thrilled for the chance
to help you get Aloha Quilt Camp started, but in March, I’m going home,” Bonnie said
firmly, ignoring the nagging voice in the back of her mind that reminded her she didn’t
really have a home in Pennsylvania any longer, just a place where she worked and a
place to store her belongings.
But her troubled thoughts slipped away as she stepped into the foyer of the inn. Tables
adorned with fragrant tropical floral arrangements flanked the entrance, directly
across from a grand staircase that climbed to a second floor landing where it split
into two staircases and continued up to the third floor. To the left of the staircase
was a cozy sitting room decorated with bamboo furniture and historic photographs.
A built-in bookcase loaded with many well-read volumes stood between a pair of windows
overlooking a lush garden. Bonnie glimpsed an older couple sipping coffee at a small
table outside and heard the low murmur of other unseen guests chatting. To the right
of the staircase was a dining room, the table set with woven Polynesian linens and
white china. On a sideboard stood two large glass pitchers—one of lemonade, Bonnie
guessed, and another of iced tea—and a silver fruit bowl filled with pineapples and
mangoes, with plates and glasses nearby so guests could help themselves. Gentle breezes
wafted in through the open windows, stirring the sheer curtains.
It was an enticing blend of tropical and Victorian décor,
comfortable and lovely, but Bonnie was puzzled. “Where’s your quilt shop?” she asked.
“In the white building across the street,” Claire explained. “It’s second from the
end, between the sushi restaurant and the ice cream parlor. This is the Hale Kapa
Kuiki, the future home of Aloha Quilt Camp, with twenty beautifully appointed guest
rooms—or at least they’re beautiful now. When Eric and I bought the place, it had
fallen into disrepair. It’s a historic building so any renovations must follow strictly
enforced codes, and the former owners couldn’t afford to make the necessary improvements.
They were looking to retire, anyway, so Eric and I snapped it up.”
“When did all this happen?”
“A year ago.” Claire rolled her eyes and ran the back of her hand across her forehead
as if she were still recovering. “A year of very hard work, more scrubbing and polishing
and repairing than any one woman should do in a mere twelve months. The results are
worth it, but my hands will never be the same.”
“You never breathed a word of any of this.”
“I was too busy to send out more than a generic Christmas card last year, and I didn’t
want to say anything in case it turned out to be a huge mistake. Anyway, you can’t
tell me you’re not secretly glad to have avoided the real dirty work.”
Bonnie shook her head, amused. “You always were good at keeping secrets, but this…”
She turned around in place, admiring all her gaze took in. “I never imagined you as
an innkeeper, but this is wonderful.”
“You haven’t even seen the guest rooms yet. Each has its own private lanai—that’s
a balcony or a patio for you mainlanders—and the furnishings are authentic 1920s Hawaiian,
the same period as the inn itself. We serve breakfast each morning on the main lanai—you’d
probably call it a courtyard. The garden
gives our guests privacy, but they can still hear the ocean, and the beach is just
a few steps away through the back gate.”
“But Claire—” In the absence of specific details, Bonnie had imagined a few guest
rooms over the quilt shop, with one large classroom below, certainly not an entire
inn. “It’s amazing, and don’t take this the wrong way, but what do you know about
running an inn?”
“My friends Dan and Amy let me work for them at Ho‘oilo House for a few months. I
know a bed and breakfast isn’t the same as an inn, but it was still great training.
Besides, I’m not doing it all by myself. I have Eric, you—”
“For the winter.”
“And my staff.” Beaming, Claire linked her arm through Bonnie’s. “Come on. Let me
show you to the kitchen. There’s someone I want you to meet. Without her…” Claire
shook her head to emphasize that whoever awaited them in the kitchen was indispensable.
Bonnie followed Claire across the foyer past the staircase and into a spacious kitchen
where a petite woman in her late sixties was removing a batch of pineapple glazed
popovers from one of the large ovens. She wore a long pink dress with an allover pattern
of banana leaves in white, her black hair arranged with apparent effortless grace
in a French twist. She looked to be Asian, native Hawaiian, or perhaps both.
The woman looked up at the sound of their footfalls on the gleaming wood floor, set
the hot popover pan on a towel spread upon the bamboo counter, and brushed her fingertips
on a tea towel. “Aloha,” she greeted them, smiling as she sized up Bonnie with a single
appraising glance.
“Midori, this is my best friend from college, Bonnie Markham,” said Claire. “Bonnie,
this is Midori Tanaka, our manager, cook, and housekeeper, all in one.”
Then what was left for Claire to do? “How do you do?” Bonnie asked, shaking her hand.
“Fine, thanks.” Midori’s smile was both cheerful and knowing. “I’ve heard so much
about you. You’ve made Claire the happiest woman on the island by agreeing to come
work for her.”
“For the winter,” Bonnie quickly added.
Midori gave Claire an inquiring glance, which Claire seemed not to notice. “Are you
hungry?” Claire asked Bonnie. “You must be starved after all that travel.”
Midori took a plate from a cupboard and placed a popover upon it. “They’re best when
they’re hot,” she advised, setting it on the counter and gesturing for Bonnie to pull
up a stool. “Something to drink? Jasmine tea? Lemonade?”
“Tea, please,” said Bonnie, taking her seat as Claire leaned against the counter nearby.
The popover was almost too warm to touch, but she tore off a piece, blew gently on
it, and took a bite. It was light and flaky, with a perfect hint of sweetness from
the pineapple. “Delicious,” Bonnie sighed, and then laughed with delight as Midori
set out a beautifully arranged dish of sliced pineapple, mango, and papaya, quickly
followed by a charming tea service complete with honey and cream. “If this is how
you treat all of your guests, you must be booked solid all year round.”
“We’re working on it,” said Claire. “The inn developed a less-than-spectacular reputation
under its prior owners, and once those bad reviews get on the Internet, they never
disappear completely.”
“We’ve had many good reviews since Claire took over, especially in the past four months
since the restorations were finished.” With a spatula, Midori deftly transferred the
rest of the popovers from the pan to a wire cooling rack, except for the
last, which she added to Bonnie’s plate before she could demur. “In time, and God
willing, I’m sure the word will spread and we’ll be full to capacity every week of
the year.”
“You should say since
we
took over,” Claire corrected, adding in an aside to Bonnie, “Honestly, I don’t know
what I would have done without Midori.”
“You’d be lost without me,” said Midori cheerfully. “Doomed to failure.”
“Since we completed our renovations, we’ve welcomed enough guests and made enough
of a profit to cover the mortgage, but little more than that,” said Claire, with a
helpless sigh. “I think if we can reinvent ourselves as a special destination catering
to quilters, we might be able to change all that. And if we can say that our program
was designed by an Elm Creek Quilter—”
“So that’s why you called on me,” teased Bonnie. “I have street cred.”
Claire smiled. “I would have said quilt shop cred, but okay.”
“I don’t think you can attach the Elm Creek Quilts name to your camp,” Bonnie warned.
“Not without permission, and that might not come easily. You might have to guarantee
each of my friends a Hawaiian vacation.”