The Aloha Quilt (5 page)

“Easily promised and easily done,” Claire proclaimed. “Of course they’ll want to come
visit you, and we have plenty of space for the whole crew.”

“They won’t need to visit me,” Bonnie reminded her. “They’ll see me in March.”

Claire hopped down from her stool. “Do you want to see what you have to work with?”

“Sure,” said Bonnie, knowing Claire would never acknowledge Bonnie’s intended departure
date until she was on her way to the airport. “Give me the grand tour.”

She had spoken partially in jest, but the tour was grand indeed. Fortunately—or rather,
unfortunately, since it would have been better for the inn’s financial state if they
were fully booked—many of the guest rooms were unoccupied, so Bonnie was able to see
several, each lovely in its own way. The Garden Rooms on the first floor opened either
onto the courtyard lanai with lush gardens or offered charming views of Lahaina’s
Front Street. Rooms on the second and third floors boasted private balconies—lanais,
Claire corrected her whenever Bonnie slipped and used the more familiar term—and some
had spectacular views of the ocean. Each suite had a private bath, authentic period
décor, and beautiful Hawaiian quilts on every bed.

Bonnie had seen Hawaiian quilts before, but never so many all at once, and never any
so lovely. “Did you make these?” she asked, admiring two particularly exquisite quilts
on twin beds in a third floor suite with dormer windows overlooking Front Street.

“I wish I could take the credit, but I can’t.” Claire stroked the nearest quilt, sharing
in Bonnie’s admiration. “Midori made these. Members of her guild made most of the
rest. Midori knows everything there is to know about traditional Hawaiian quilting.
If you get on her good side, she’ll teach you. Trust me, it’s a lesson worth learning.”

Intrigued, Bonnie followed Claire down the grand staircase and outside to the courtyard
lanai. Bonnie knew a little about traditional Hawaiian quilts, having seen a few in
quilt shows through the years and having stocked pattern books about them in her now
defunct quilt shop. She had never attempted one herself, as she preferred country
colors, homespuns, and folk art designs more than the intricate, two-color appliqué
patterns unique to the Hawaiian style. But quilters
coming to Aloha Quilt Camp on Maui would expect at least one lesson in traditional
Hawaiian quilting, so it would be essential for Bonnie to learn more, at least enough
to understand what resources Claire’s teacher would need, whomever that lucky woman
might be. Perhaps Midori herself would take on the role, although she seemed to have
enough to do already.

Claire’s tour brought them to a section of the courtyard lanai that was partially
enclosed, with a roof and half walls running the entire length of the wing of the
inn. “This will be our classroom,” Claire said. “One of Eric’s friends from the service
took up woodworking in his retirement. He’s going to custom design sewing tables for
us, and he’ll get started as soon as you tell him what we need.”

“Your classroom will be outdoors?” said Bonnie.

“Of course. This isn’t Pennsylvania,” said Claire, beaming up at the sunny skies.
“Foul weather forces us inside maybe ten days out of the year. The roof will protect
us from the rain, and we can light torches if we need light or heat. People don’t
come to Maui to stay shut up within four walls.” Then Claire paused. “Also, we don’t
have any rooms inside large enough to accommodate a quilt class. But really, that’s
just as well, because we’d rather be outside.”

Bonnie nodded, taking in the shaded lanai. It would be a lovely place to teach and
to quilt, but it was too small to divide into separate classrooms as they did with
the ballroom back at Elm Creek Manor. Aloha Quilt Camp wouldn’t be able to offer multiple
courses simultaneously, but perhaps that wouldn’t be necessary. Since the inn had
twenty guest rooms, their maximum enrollment would be forty, and not everyone came
to quilt camp for structured classes. Often campers wanted nothing more than a pleasant
place to work on their
own projects and socialize with other quilters, far from the demands of everyday life.

Bonnie knew she would have to sit down for a long talk with Claire so she could better
understand her friend’s vision for Aloha Quilt Camp—but that would have to wait until
she had recovered from jetlag. At the moment, her head buzzed from lack of sleep and
the overwhelming impressions of so many new sights and smells and sounds.

Claire seemed to sense her fatigue. “I’ll show you the quilt shop tomorrow, after
you’ve caught up on your rest,” she said. “Let’s go home. Eric’s expecting us.”

Bonnie gratefully agreed and, after passing through the kitchen to bid Midori good-bye,
they returned to Claire’s convertible and were soon zipping off down the highway.
Claire turned on to a rural road that wound eastward away from town as it climbed
into the foothills. It took them about fifteen minutes to reach a sun-splashed bungalow
tucked amidst palm trees in a small neighborhood on the hillside. The house was placed
on the lot facing uphill so that the backyard surely offered the same spectacular
view of the ocean and another island—Lana‘i, Claire told her—that Bonnie admired from
the street.

“I need a glass of wine,” said Claire, pulling to a stop beside a large black SUV
in the driveway.

“Make that two.” Puffs of white-gray smoke drifted over the roof of the bungalow from
the backyard. Bonnie’s stomach rumbled when the breeze carried the aroma of charcoal
and spicy meat to her, and she felt as if it had been hours since she had eaten Midori’s
delicious popovers.

Bonnie waited for Claire to open the trunk, but instead her friend ushered her around
back, saying that Eric would bring her suitcase in later. They found him on the lanai
turning fish
on the grill, barefoot but clad in khaki Bermuda shorts, a white polo shirt, and dark
aviator sunglasses. At the sight of Bonnie, his face lit up. He set down his tongs
and hurried over to greet her with open arms.

“Aloha,” he boomed, hugging her so fully her heels lifted off the ground. Eric was
tall and slender, with hard, wiry muscles from years of calisthenics. “Welcome to
Maui.”

“It’s wonderful to be here,” Bonnie said, laughing as he released her.

“What did you think of the inn?” he called, striding back to the grill. His blond
hair had more silvery white in it than she remembered, but his short military cut
was unchanged.

“It’s lovely.” Bonnie seated herself on a chaise lounge while Claire went inside for
drinks. As soon as the sliding glass door closed behind her friend, Bonnie asked,
“What do you think of Claire’s plan to turn it into a quilters’ retreat?”

Eric shrugged, smiling, and lifted the fish onto a platter. “You know Claire. She
doesn’t get ideas, she gets obsessions. I had my doubts when I first walked through
the place, but she was determined. Now that I’ve seen how she’s transformed it, I
can’t remember why I ever doubted her.” Eric set the platter on a shaded table and
returned to the grill for some vegetables still cooking there—potatoes? Bonnie couldn’t
quite see. “With your help, she’ll figure out how to bring in the quilters. Claire’s
going to make it a huge success, I’m sure of it.”

“That’s what he says now,” teased Claire, emerging from the bungalow carrying three
glasses of white wine. She closed the sliding glass door with her foot. “You should
have heard him fuss and complain when I showed him the mortgage papers.”

“A momentary lapse of faith,” Eric protested. He had sounded so proud as he described
his wife’s accomplishments that Bonnie didn’t doubt him for a moment. Claire apparently
didn’t either, for she set the drinks on the table, cupped his chin in her hand, and
pulled his face close for a kiss.

Bonnie looked away, smiling, and reached for her drink. The happy couple seemed to
remember her and quickly separated. “Don’t stop on my account,” she teased.

“Sorry.” Claire took the bowl of vegetables from Eric and set them on the table. “We
should be more sensitive.”

“What are you talking about? Do you think that because I’m single now, or soon to
be single, you two have to pretend you’re not happily married?”

“Well, no,” said Claire, “but we don’t have to flaunt it.”

“Flaunt away,” Bonnie said as they seated themselves and Claire began to serve the
meal. “Just because my marriage crashed and burned doesn’t mean I want every other
married couple to be miserable.”

“If you want to talk about the divorce, we’re here and ready to listen,” said Eric.
“Or if you’d rather we never mention his name again, we can do that, too.”

“Don’t be silly, Eric. I know Craig’s your friend.” Bonnie couldn’t miss the quick
glance Claire and Eric exchanged. “What?”

“We haven’t liked him much for at least a dozen years,” Claire confessed. “He’s changed
since college. Lately we’ve just tolerated him for your sake.”

Astonished, Bonnie burst out laughing. “You can’t be serious. That’s a long time to
tolerate someone you can’t stand.”

“Not if we only had to see him a couple of times a year.” Eric placed a generous portion
of grilled fish on her plate. “Grilled ahi with sesame glaze. Eat up. There’s plenty.”

“Thanks.” Bonnie shook her head in amazement as she helped herself to salad. It was
a shame Claire hadn’t given Bonnie her honest opinion about Craig years before. Bonnie
could
have avoided so much pain, so much grief—but really, would it have made any difference?
Several of the Elm Creek Quilters had made no secret of their poor opinion of Craig
through the years, but that had not stopped Bonnie from fighting to save a marriage
that was long past saving.

When Claire passed her the bowl of potatoes, Bonnie took the spoon to serve herself,
but a glance into the bowl gave her pause. “These potatoes are purple.”

Eric turned a laugh into a cough. “These are taro,” said Claire. “They’re delicious,
a bit like sweet potatoes. Try some.”

Dubious, Bonnie took a small serving and sampled a tiny bite. “Better than any potato,”
she declared, making her hosts beam. She took another bite to prove that she wasn’t
merely being polite. She wondered if she would be able to find taro in the grocery
store back in Pennsylvania. She had never noticed them before, but she had not been
looking for them.

A lot about life had escaped her notice because she had not been looking.

The fish was light and flavorful, the taro sweet and nourishing. Bonnie savored every
bite while Claire and Eric entertained her with a humorous account of the purchase
and refurbishing of the inn. Eventually, Bonnie found the story of her impending divorce
spilling from her, how she had stumbled upon Craig’s first cyber-affair a few years
before, how she had thwarted the lovers’ plans to meet, and how Craig’s renewed commitment
to their marriage had disintegrated all too soon. How he had squirreled away money
in anticipation of leaving her. How Agnes had discovered his ruse. How Craig had delayed
the resolution of their divorce, and how Bonnie had resorted to hiring a private detective
to try to unearth something that she might use against him. How she hated having a
man she once loved become her adversary.

Eric refilled their wine glasses somberly as she told them everything, everything
she had been concealing from all but the Elm Creek Quilters. Eric’s expression clouded
over as she spoke, and sometimes he punctuated her tale with exclamations of disbelief
or anger. For her part, Claire looked shocked, then horrified, and then so upset her
eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Bonnie,” she murmured, time and time again. She shook
her head, words failing her.

Twilight had descended, and through her unshed tears her friends’ compassionate gazes
were difficult to make out in the dim light.

“Ancient Hawaiians believed that Hawaii was the source of all the love in the world,”
said Eric quietly. “Soak up that love and beauty in the months ahead, and eventually
your pain will subside.”

Bonnie thanked him. Her pain was already ebbing, released in the flow of words confided
to her friends. Only the Elm Creek Quilters knew so much about the demise of her marriage,
and for the first time Bonnie understood that she could talk about her sadness, her
disappointment, her anger without feeling guilty for betraying her husband. The betrayal
was his, and Bonnie was done covering for him.

Chapter Three
 

Bonnie slept soundly in the bedroom Claire still called “the girls’ room” even though
her elder had married and moved out and the younger came home only on school breaks.
The two-bedroom one-bath bungalow was small but tidy, Eric’s need for military order
overcoming Claire’s tendency to accumulate clutter. The home was charming and cozy,
but even so, Bonnie was relieved when during breakfast the next morning, Claire explained
that Midori had arranged a suite for her at the inn for the remainder of her stay.
Bonnie knew that even the most welcome guest could become a nuisance after a while,
especially in such close quarters.