The Aloha Quilt (19 page)

He gave her one quick, appraising glance as he unlocked the door and pushed it open.
“Howzit, Bonnie?” He glanced up at the morning sky. “If you’re here to buy a ukulele,
we don’t open for another hour.”

She wasn’t sure whether he was teasing her. “I’m here to talk, if that’s okay.”

He shrugged and opened the door wider. “Come on in.” When she stepped inside, he locked
the door behind her and headed for the back of the store. “You want some coffee?”

“Sure, thanks.”

She followed him around the corner and through the door to the back. She had expected
an office but was surprised to discover three long tables covered in pieces of wood
of various colors and grains, woodworking tools, strings, tuning pegs, and ukuleles
in various stages of completion. Long, thin strips of wood soaked in a deep utility
sink filled with water near the entrance. On a nearby table, a piece of wood of similar
size
and shape had been molded around the sides of an unfinished ukulele, held in place
with small clamps and giving off the faint odor of glue. Bulletin boards, posters
of surfers and musicians, and metal shelves stocked with boxes lined the walls. Two
small windows flanked an outside door and a stairwell. The smell of sawdust tickled
Bonnie’s nostrils and she pressed the back of her hand to her nose to keep from sneezing.

“Did you make these yourself?” she asked, admiring a beautiful ukulele made of koa
wood and ivory on a nearby table, finished except for the strings.

“Some of them,” he said, nodding to the one she had admired as well as a few other
finished instruments on a table near the entrance to the shop. “Some are my students’
work.”

Bonnie was impressed in spite of herself. “You teach people how to make ukuleles as
well as how to play them?”

“Of course. Knowledge is meant to be passed on, not hoarded. When musicians make their
own ukuleles, they treasure them more than any other instrument.” Hinano picked up
a fingerboard, blew off a bit of sawdust, and held it close to his eye to examine
the frets. “The instrument becomes a part of them.”

“Does it also help them to play better if they use an instrument they’ve made themselves?”

“Sometimes. Most of my students are experienced ukulele players who want something
unique they can’t buy in a store. Others are serious musicians who decide to learn
to make a ukulele so that they can better understand how the sound is produced.” Hinano
smiled ruefully and returned the fingerboard to the table. “I do get the occasional
woodworker who can’t play a note on the first day of class but expects to be ready
to play at their neighbor’s luau when their ukulele is finished. I hate to see them
so disappointed, but what do
they expect? You don’t learn to become a master chef by eating at five-star restaurants.
You have to train and you have to practice.”

Bonnie smiled knowingly. “But I’m sure you offer to help these disappointed students
by enrolling them in your music lessons.”

Hinano laughed. “Hey, you’ve been checking up on me.”

“No, I just figure you’re a shrewd businessman.”

Hinano mulled over the compliment as if not sure whether it was one. “Shrewd. I guess
that’s better than some of the other things you could have called me.”

“About Halloween—”

He held up a hand. “You don’t have to say a word. My auntie already let me have it.”

“She did?”

“Oh, yeah. Told me she was ashamed of me and that if I can’t speak nicely to her friends
I’m not allowed to speak to them at all. She also banned me from the family Thanksgiving
dinner but Kai convinced her to give me another chance.”

“I had no idea,” Bonnie said. “I didn’t ask her to intervene.”

“I figured that. But in any case… I’m sorry.”

Bonnie was so pleased to learn that Midori had referred to her as a friend that she
was almost willing to let it go.

Almost.

“Apology accepted,” Bonnie said. “However, there’s something more I’m sure your aunt
didn’t mention.”

Hinano winced and folded his arms across his chest. “Okay. Let me have it.”

“I had freely admitted that I knew nothing about Hawaiian royalty,” Bonnie said. “Obviously
I said the wrong thing, and I’m sorry that my ignorance offended you, but it was unfair
of you to make that snide remark and stalk away from the table. I
wouldn’t have done that in your place if you had unknowingly said something offensive
about—about Pennsylvania history or quilting.”

Hinano frowned, considering her words. “Actually, I know more about quilting than
you might think.”

Bonnie remembered that he had designed beautiful quilt patterns for his aunt, but
his attempt to distract her sparked her temper. “Fine. The point is, by being a jerk,
you missed an opportunity to teach me about something that’s clearly important to
you. It’s not fair for you to be indignant about mainlanders’ ignorance about Hawaiian
issues, and yet also be unwilling to enlighten us. Knowledge is meant to be passed
on, not hoarded, remember? Or does that apply only to music? Maybe it’s easier to
dismiss mainlanders as hopelessly prejudiced instead of having to make a genuine effort
to explain your point of view. Maybe you’d rather just stay angry.”

“I have good reason to be angry. I’m sure Aunt Midori’s told you everything.”

“She’s told me nothing except that you’re an expert on Hawaiian culture and you have
a temper,” said Bonnie, exasperated. “I’ve seen enough to know that she’s right on
both counts. But she also hinted that you’re worth getting to know despite your irritating,
off-putting manner, and I have yet to see much evidence of that.”

His eyebrows rose. “She called me irritating and off-putting?”

Bonnie tried to recall the exact phrase. “Maybe not in so many words, but that was
the general idea.”

“Man.” Hinano shook his head. “I thought I was her favorite nephew.”

“Maybe you are,” Bonnie shot back. “Maybe your cousins are ten times worse, in which
case I hope I never meet them.”

Hinano stared at her for a long moment before bursting into laughter. “Don’t worry,”
he said. “I’m by far the worst.”

Bonnie folded her arms. “This isn’t funny.”

“You’re right.” Hinano struggled to keep a straight face. “It’s not funny at all.
You know, you have a strange way of accepting apologies. Usually when I admit I was
wrong, I don’t get yelled at for it.”

“I find it hard to believe you admit you’re wrong often enough to be able to make
that judgment,” said Bonnie, deliberately lowering her voice. “Maybe on those rare
occasions, people don’t yell at you because they’re speechless from shock.”

Hinano’s shoulders shook from suppressed laughter. “Stop it, snowbird, or I’m gonna
bust a gut.”

Bonnie scowled at him while he struggled to compose himself, feeling more foolish
with every passing second. She had not intended to scold him. She had not even intended
to come to see him. How ridiculous he must think her, in her running shoes and sweaty
workout clothes, flushed with anger and exercise, prissily upbraiding him like an
old schoolmarm.

“I should go,” she said, deflated.

But when she turned around, Hinano caught her by the arm. “Wait,” he said. “I didn’t
mean to laugh at you any more than you meant to go off on me. Want some coffee? Offer’s
still good.”

Bonnie glanced around but saw only woodworking tools, shelves of supplies, and a small
desk with an old computer, printer, and reams of paper. No coffeepot was in sight,
nor did she smell any brewing. “Is this another joke?”

“Coffee’s upstairs,” he said. “Have a seat, relax, and I’ll bring some down. I can’t
let you go back to the Hale Kapa Kuiki this upset or Aunt Midori will banish me from
Thanksgiving
and
Christmas for the next decade.”

He steered her to a stool and all but pushed her onto it. He ordered her not to move,
promised to be back shortly, and disappeared up the stairs in the back. She heard
faint footsteps fading, then silence except for a delivery truck passing outside.

She waited and considered sneaking away, but regretfully dismissed that idea when
she realized she would then have to apologize to him the next time they met. Someone
had to break the cycle of apologies. She sighed, rose, and wandered around the workshop,
admiring the instruments in progress and trying to picture Hinano at the front of
a classroom. Surely he didn’t belittle his students or storm from the room if one
of them made an innocent, foolish remark or he would have gone out of business long
ago. The Hinano that Midori claimed lay beneath the prickly exterior, the Hinano she
had glimpsed on that awful day when Darren Taylor phoned with the detective’s report—that
must be the Hinano who made such beautiful instruments and music and who taught others
to do the same.

She turned around quickly when Hinano suddenly reappeared with two mugs of coffee
in one hand and a pint carton of 2 percent milk and two red plastic stirrers in the
other. “Maui coffee,” he said, handing her a mug. He dug a few paper sugar packets
from his pocket and tossed them on the closest table. “Best coffee in the world.”

Though tempted to goad him about his obvious bias, she thanked him for the coffee,
stirred in a packet of sugar, and took a self-conscious sip. His hands had brushed
hers as he handed her the mug, and his palms and fingertips were callused from ukulele
strings and woodworking, or so she guessed. She had calluses of her own from years
of needle scrapes and pinpricks. Even those things she loved best in the world had
left her with scars.

“So,” Bonnie said, floundering for something benign to talk about, “I guess you have
a staff lounge upstairs?”

“No,” he replied, amused. “We’re not that big of an operation. That’s my apartment.”

“Oh.” She thought of Grandma’s Attic, and how once upon a time her morning commute
had consisted of descending a back staircase from her family’s third floor condo to
her beloved quilt shop. “I used to live above my store, too.”

“Yeah, you mentioned that. Until your husband locked you out, and you stayed with
a friend, and you finally had to agree to sell the place…”

As Hinano’s voice trailed away, she realized that he knew much more about her than
she knew about him. Somehow this seemed to give him an advantage. “What about you?”
she asked.

He took a slow drink of coffee. “What
about
me?”

She gestured, glancing up at the ceiling to indicate the apartment above. “Do you
live alone?”

“When Kai’s not home from school, yeah.”

She could see he was determined to be as reticent as possible. “Divorced?”

“Widowed. Or is it widowered?” He frowned and shook his head. “My wife passed away
almost ten years ago.”

Her irritation vanished. “Oh, Hinano. I’m sorry.”

He studied her quizzically. “My aunt didn’t mention any of this?”

Bonnie shook her head at him in feigned bewilderment. “You seem to be under the impression
that we sit around chatting about you all day. I’m sorry to bruise your ego but that’s
simply not the case.”

Hinano laughed and slapped his palm to his chest. “Ouch! The truth hurts.”

“Sorry.”

“You don’t sound sorry.”

She was, if not in the way he meant. “I am.”

He shrugged and looked away, managing a hard smile. “They say life goes on.”

“What do ‘they’ know?” she scoffed. “ ‘They’ always have opinions and sometimes I
think ‘they’ ought to just shut up.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Hinano raised his coffee mug in salute, and after a moment’s
hesitation, she clinked her mug against his. “If one more person tells me that Nani
is in a better place now, I might punch them.”

“If one more person tells me how much better off I am without my soon-to-be ex-husband,
I’ll scream.”

“At last. Common ground,” said Hinano dryly.

“You might find we have more than that in common if you forget for ten minutes that
I’m an ignorant mainlander and treat me like a human being.”

“All right.” Hinano drained the last of his coffee, set the mug on the table, and
folded his arms over his chest. “That’s fair enough. Does this mean you want another
lesson in Hawaiian history?”

“Yes. I’d like that.” She set her mug, still half-full, beside his. “But not now.
I have to get back to the inn.”

He glanced at the clock on the wall above the computer desk. “And I should probably
open the store sooner or later.”

She smiled and thanked him for the coffee. He accompanied her back into the store,
flipping on the lights as they went and unlocking the front door. “We’ll talk,” he
said as she left. “We’ll set up a date for history class soon.”

Bonnie agreed and hurried off, quickening her pace at the thought of Midori preparing
and serving breakfast on her own.

Later, after the guests had eaten and Bonnie had helped
Midori tidy up, she mentioned that she had seen Hinano that morning on her walk. “Is
that why you were so late?” inquired Midori, stacking plates in the cupboard. “My
nephew talked your ear off and you couldn’t sneak away?”

“Quite the opposite,” said Bonnie, rinsing a dishcloth in the sink and wringing it
out. “He says very little about himself, at least to me. He seems to think that you’ve
told me all about him, though.”

Midori snorted. “Because we have nothing better to discuss. Men. Honestly.”

“He told me that he lost his wife ten years ago.”

Midori paused before shutting the cupboard. “Yes.” She brushed crumbs from a plate
into the trash and opened the dishwasher. “It was sad. Very sad. Hinano lost the love
of his life and Kai lost his mother. He was only eleven years old.”

“What happened?” Quickly Bonnie added, “I know it’s not really any of my business.”

For a moment, Midori seemed engrossed in loading the dishwasher. “That’s Hinano’s
story to tell.”

“Maybe he hopes you’ll tell me so he doesn’t have to.” When Midori shot her a skeptical
look, Bonnie added, “He always seems surprised that you haven’t told me everything
about him.”