The Aloha Quilt (6 page)

After breakfast, they bade Eric farewell and drove back to Lahaina. “Eric should win
Husband of the Year, every year,” Bonnie told her friend as the wind whipped her short
locks into a frenzy that she suspected made her resemble a brunette dandelion.

“Don’t I know it,” said Claire. “If I could clone him, I’d make a fortune. But if
I were a billionaire I wouldn’t have been motivated to open my quilt shop, and then
where would I be?”

Claire’s store, Plumeria Quilts, was their first stop of the
morning. Bonnie felt a pang of nostalgia for her lost Grandma’s Attic as Claire proudly
led her inside and showed off the enticing displays of fabric bolts, notions, and
pattern books, as well as an extensive collection of Hawaiian quilts and quilted décor
for sale. “Many of our customers are tourists rather than quilters,” Claire confided,
nodding to several browsers in Crocs, sunglasses, and fanny packs, with camera bags
slung over their shoulders. “They prefer to buy a finished quilt to ship home as a
souvenir. Occasionally a tourist will buy a kit to make a quilted pillow in the Hawaiian
style, but how many of them actually open the kits when they get home from vacation,
I’ll never know.”

Most of their fabric off-the-bolt sales were to local residents, Claire explained
as she led Bonnie past numerous bolts arranged on shelves according to color. Bonnie
was tempted to shade her eyes from the bright, almost garish rainbow of hues. Her
favorite country colors and homespuns were conspicuously absent, but she found batiks
and tropical floral prints in abundance.

“We prefer brighter colors out here,” said Claire, trying not to laugh at whatever
it was she read in Bonnie’s expression. “Transplanted mainlanders bring their color
preferences with them, but over time, they all gradually adopt a brighter palette.
The same would happen to you if you stayed long enough.”

Brighter colors to reflect a brighter outlook on life? Perhaps change of that sort
wouldn’t hurt. Bonnie resolved to keep an open mind.

After introducing Bonnie to her employees, Sunny and Aya, who had been busy cutting
fabric, assisting browsers, and ringing up sales throughout her visit, Claire suggested
they get Bonnie settled in her new room at the Hale Kapa Kuiki. When Claire offered
her any available room she desired, Bonnie
chose a suite on the second floor with a private lanai facing the ocean. She hoped
the sound of the waves would lull her to sleep at night and the glorious sunsets would
work their soothing magic on her.

A turquoise-and-white Hawaiian quilt covered the queen bed, so lovely that Bonnie
hesitated to sit upon it. “Go ahead,” encouraged Claire, showing her how easy it was
by kicking off her shoes and planting herself cross-legged in the center of the bed.
Sheepishly, Bonnie followed suit, and couldn’t resist running her hands over the beautiful
quilt. The turquoise appliqué appeared to have been made from whole cloth, cut like
a paper snowflake in shapes resembling broad leaves and small round berries on stems,
symmetrical and lovely. Concentric lines of exquisitely fine quilting covered the
white background, echoing the appliquéd shapes.

“Midori calls this pattern Breadfruit,” said Claire. “You’ll find that most if not
all traditional Hawaiian quilt patterns are inspired by nature.”

“It’s little wonder, considering how you’re surrounded by so much natural beauty here,”
replied Bonnie. “I admit I’m surprised that quilting has long-standing traditions
in Hawaii. I wouldn’t think you’d need quilts in a tropical paradise.”

“You of all people should know that quilts aren’t created for warmth alone.”

“Of course not, but how did quilting develop here? In European cultures and colonial
America, quilting evolved out of the need for warmth and the necessity to use up every
precious scrap of fabric. I can understand how quilting developed in those cultures,
but I wouldn’t have expected quilting to develop in a place like this.”

“You’re right to wonder,” said Claire. “Quilting isn’t indigenous to the Hawaiian
islands. Christian missionaries
introduced the art to the native population in the eighteen hundreds. The Hawaiian
people took what they learned and developed their own unique style. Midori can tell
you more, if you catch her at the right time. Sometimes she’ll share, other times
she acts like she’s guarding a treasured cultural secret to be entrusted only to the
most worthy.”

Claire spoke lightly, unconcerned, but her words piqued Bonnie’s curiosity. Most quilters
were eager to share their quilting knowledge with others. Why wouldn’t Midori? Bonnie
had hoped to ask Midori to teach her how to make a Hawaiian quilt, her own precious
souvenir of her visit to Maui, but Claire’s warning gave her pause.

Perhaps over time, if she and Midori became friends, Bonnie would feel confident enough
to ask her. Perhaps if Midori learned how much Bonnie respected the rich heritage
of quilting in all its diversity, Midori would consider her worthy of trust.

As Claire helped Bonnie unpack, Bonnie questioned her about her vision for Aloha Quilt
Camp, how she intended to structure the week. Claire proved to be frustratingly flexible:
She would confidently follow Bonnie’s recommendations, whatever they turned out to
be.

“You have to give me more to go on than that,” protested Bonnie, hanging her last
suitcase-wrinkled blouse in the closet. Ironing freshly washed yards of fabric was
a pleasure, but ironing clothing was a chore to be postponed as long as possible.
“You’re the camp director, and you’ll be running things long after I’m gone. I don’t
want to stick you with a program you don’t like.”

“If I wanted to micromanage everything, I wouldn’t have hired you.”

“Offering your opinion when asked isn’t micromanaging,”
Bonnie said. “And we haven’t even mentioned evening programs. You really ought to
schedule outings around Maui in the evenings so that everyone leaves camp feeling
as if they’ve enjoyed a unique, complete Hawaiian experience.”

Claire nodded, amused. “Yes,
you
really ought to set up evening programs too. Just let me know what you decide. I
know you can do it.”

Bonnie wished Claire had substantially less faith in her.

As Bonnie unpacked her carry-on, she came across her cell phone and realized with
a start that she hadn’t turned it back on after turning it off before her first flight
more than a day earlier. She had four messages waiting. The first was from her daughter,
Tammy, wishing her a safe trip and asking her to call when she arrived. The second
was from Darren Taylor to confirm the hiring of a trusted private detective; Bonnie
wrote down his name and number in case she had to reach him directly. The third was
from Sarah back at Elm Creek Manor, hoping Bonnie had arrived safely and was enjoying
her first hours in Hawaii. The fourth, left twelve hours later, was also from Sarah,
a more agitated version of her previous message with the addition of a strained request
for her to call Elm Creek Manor to let them know she was fine, because although a
plane crashing into the Pacific would have made the national news, any number of tragedies
that might have prevented Bonnie from calling home wouldn’t have.

Bonnie blamed the pregnancy hormones for Sarah’s undue worry, but she quickly, guiltily,
dialed Elm Creek Manor. “What time is it on the East Coast?” she asked Claire as the
phone rang. “Are they six hours ahead?”

“Only five at this time of year, since we don’t do Daylight Savings Time,” Claire
replied. “Is something wrong?”

Bonnie shook her head as someone picked up the phone.
“So I take it you’re still among the living,” remarked Sylvia, who pretended to despise
Caller ID but used it as scrupulously as everyone else.

“I’m so sorry I forgot to call.”

“Nonsense. We knew someone would have contacted us if there had been some dire emergency.
Well, some of us understood that. Others chose to worry themselves senseless.”

“Will you please assure Sarah that I’m fine?”

“She knows. She’s right here glaring at me. She wants her turn with you, but I want
a moment to hear your first impressions of Hawaii.”

There was so much to say that Bonnie couldn’t put it into words. “Those who call it
paradise aren’t exaggerating.”

“How wonderful for you. Do enjoy yourself, dear, and please fill me in later when
Sarah isn’t wrestling me for the phone. Here she is.”

“Bonnie?” said Sarah. “Thank God you’re all right. Would it have killed you to call
us when your flight landed?”

Bonnie couldn’t help it; she burst out laughing. “Sorry, Mom. It won’t happen again.”

After a moment’s indignant silence, Sarah laughed too. “See that it doesn’t. I guess
you’re forgiven.” She hesitated. “I’m sorry to bring this up, but has Craig been bothering
you?”

“Every day for years. Why?”

“He showed up here this morning demanding to see you.”

“Why? Darren told his lawyer I would be traveling.”

“Maybe he mixed up the days?”

“Or he’s trying to intimidate my friends or poison my workplace.”

“Impossible,” said Sarah. “I haven’t yet met the man who could intimidate Sylvia.”

“That doesn’t mean he wouldn’t try.”

“You don’t think he’s turning into a disgruntled stalker-type, do you?”

“I certainly hope not.” In the background, Bonnie heard Sylvia admonish Sarah to stop
frightening her. “Tell Sylvia I’m not frightened. Craig’s an angry bully, but I don’t
think he’s dangerous. I’ll have Darren call Craig’s lawyer and have him tell Craig
not to come to Elm Creek Manor anymore. In the meantime, don’t provoke him, and don’t
tell him where I am.”

“Don’t worry,” said Sarah. “I’ll cite a lot of employee confidentiality legalese and
send him away.”

“Let’s hope it won’t be necessary.” Claire was shooting Bonnie looks of increasing
alarm, so Bonnie changed the subject to a brief, cheerful description of her first
day in Maui. As she hung up and dialed her daughter’s number, she gave Claire a quick
summary of Craig’s appearance at the manor.

“It’s time to get a restraining order,” Claire warned, just as Tammy answered, sparing
Bonnie the uncomfortable task of making excuses for him.

Tammy was considerably less frantic than Sarah had been, and she delighted in Bonnie’s
descriptions of the beautiful scenery and the charming inn. Tammy, in turn, entertained
Bonnie with stories of her children’s latest antics and promised to send her a picture
the eldest had drawn in nursery school that morning. They would have chatted longer,
but Bonnie noticed Claire studiously folding and putting away Bonnie’s T-shirts, pretending
not to eavesdrop and looking a little left out, so she wrapped up the conversation
with a promise to call in a day or two with more about her Hawaiian adventures. Before
hanging up, she asked her daughter for a favor.

“Sure, Mom,” said Tammy. “Anything.”

“Please don’t tell your father where I am or how to reach me.”

“Oh, Mom. I thought you wanted me to water your plants or pick up your mail or something.
You know I can’t take sides between you and Dad.”

“This has nothing to do with taking sides and everything to do with my privacy.”

“What am I supposed to do if he asks? Lie?”

“No, just tell him I asked you not to divulge that information.”

“I can’t say something like that to Dad.”

“With any luck, he won’t ask.” But if he wanted to know her whereabouts badly enough
to bother the Elm Creek Quilters, he wouldn’t overlook asking his own daughter. “Listen,
honey. He knows he’s supposed to contact me only through my lawyer. Just remind him.”

“How long do you think you can keep that up? Realistically, I mean. Are you and Dad
never going to be in the same room together? What about when my girls graduate from
college? What about when Barry gets married?”

“What? Barry’s getting married?”

“Not anytime soon. Don’t panic, Mom. That’s just a hypothetical.”

“Well, please choose a less startling hypothetical next time!” At Claire’s inquiring
look, Bonnie shook her head to indicate nothing was amiss. “It’s a very contentious
time for your father and me. After the divorce is final and the dust settles, I’m
sure we’ll manage to be civil, but this is the way things have to be right now. Please
call your brothers and tell them the same thing, okay?”

Tammy hesitated but agreed, although Bonnie knew she wasn’t happy about it.

The back-to-back calls left Bonnie disconcerted. “This is not how I expected my life
to be at this point,” she said, putting
her cell phone into her purse and setting her purse on the nightstand. “I’m supposed
to be settled. I’m supposed to be wise and secure. Happily, contentedly, maybe even
boringly married. This is not what I bargained for.”

Claire tucked the last of Bonnie’s T-shirts into the bottom drawer of the bureau and
shut it with her foot. “Bonnie, no one ever gets what they bargained for in a marriage.”

“You did.”

“Eric is great, without a doubt, but do you think I enjoyed packing up and moving
every year or two, dragging the girls around the world behind us?”

“But you always made it sound like a grand adventure,” protested Bonnie, taking her
shoes from her suitcase. “So exciting and glamorous, and such a wonderful education
for your daughters. You have friends in every country I’ve ever heard of and some
I couldn’t find on a map if I tried. You’ve seen more of the world than I ever will.”

“And yet I’ve spent many long days wishing I had a cozy house in Pennsylvania in a
neighborhood near friends I’ve known all my life, where I could plant bulbs in my
garden in the fall and know I would be there to see the tulips come up in the spring.”

Bonnie shook her head in wonder. “I had no idea. You never said anything.”

“Of course not. Who complains about a saint like Eric? Faithful, dutiful, loyal to
both me and our country. Overall, I’ve been very happy. Very. But we always long for
what we can’t have, don’t we?”