Chapter 11
The orthopedist’s office in Kahului was a modern building in a business park that always smelled of antiseptic; it was done in the greige neutral color that medical facilities everywhere seemed to have agreed upon.
Dr. Yamashiro had been Aunt Fae’s orthopedist for the duration of the cast and had, over that time, developed the same slightly bemused respect for her that most people did.
Aunt Fae was a patient who had been doing what she was supposed to do, as much as she felt like doing it—and was well ahead of schedule.
The X-ray was clean.
Her bone density was good.
The fracture had resolved itself, neat and tidy.
“Excellent progress,” Dr. Yamashiro said. “No complications.”
“Of course not.” Aunt Fae beamed.
The nurse removed the cast with an electric saw as Aunt Fae and I watched; when it came off she gazed at her pale foot for a long moment.
The skin had the translucent quality that comes from six weeks under fiberglass; her ankle showed evidence of the swelling that had been there when she’d come in.
She flexed her toes.
“Good,” she said. “Glad to put this little adventure behind me.” Aunt Fae had brought flip-flops—“rubbah slippahs” as the locals called them—in her bag.
She slid them on and walked out of the building with the long-legged stride of a woman who had been patient with a gimp foot for six weeks—and now was done.
That was the stride that I associated with her walking the beach in the early morning in Maine, before anyone else was up. A stride that said she was herself again, fully.
I drove us home.
We didn’t talk about what came next in terms of living arrangements, though I’d moved back in from Keone’s to “keep an eye on her” while the foot was in the cast. We drove the back road in the evening with the windows down and the smell of the ocean and the wind on the barren hills, coming and going over about fifty-nine bridges and around at least six hundred curves.
Aunt Fae had her elbow out the window—the posture of a New England woman who had discovered a new level of contentment.
“Well,” she said, about fifteen minutes from home, as she gazed at the ocean.
“Well, indeed,” I said.
“I suppose you’ll be making some changes.”
“Maybe,” I said. “Not right away.”
“That’s nice. I like having you.” A pause while the highway curved away from the ocean and into a green tunnel of hala and ironwood. “The New Ohia house is too big for one person, though.”
“It’s the right size for two or more,” I said. “Maybe you could think about whether the caretaker position has room for a partner. Or get a roommate?”
She glanced at me, frowning. “I don’t want a stranger in my home.”
“Just an idea. Also, Opal and Artie were asking about full-time help,” I said. “Someone who knows the inventory and the systems. And who could manage the place when they travel. Which they want to do more of now that Artie’s health is stable.”
“You’ve been thinking about this. How to keep me busy,” she said.
“A bit,” I said.
The ocean, streaked with reflections from low clouds, winked in and out of view between thick trees and green bluffs. We passed a mynah bird sleep tree; they were making a racket as they gossiped about the day.
“I’ve come to love this place,” she said. “I never expected that.” She stared at one white foot and one tanned foot. “I thought I was coming here for you. And you do need help, Katherine, regularly. That hasn’t changed.”
“True. And I came back to the house to help you,” I said. “We’re family. Always will be. It’s good to be with family.”
“Yep.” A slight, dry warmth in her voice. “But I’m staying here on Maui because I want to, now. That’s different.”
“I know,” I said. “And I’m glad.”
“I’ll think about working more at the General Store. If Opal and Artie will have me.”
“Opal asked me to ask you,” I said. “You’re her first choice.”
“Of course I am.” Aunt Fae gave a snort-laugh. “That tracks.”
“We can both take our time with any changes,” I said; that encompassed a world of things.
We drove the last stretch home, past palms and lava rock walls and mango trees and the ocean, all the way to the model home that had been ours to live in since the New Ohia development was taken over by the state. It would continue to be Auntie’s home still, until I made some changes.
When I was ready. Not right away.
I was getting out of a shower, a welcome refresher after the long day, when Keone called. “I know it’s late notice, but Pali and I want to take you and Elle out for dinner. The four of us,” he said. “Casual. That Thai place. Not a debrief or a case review; this is a dinner date.”
“Does Pali know it’s dinner and not a debrief?” I smiled, toweling my hair. “He’s going to want to hear all I’ve got to share about what went down today. So will you.”
“Oh yeah? As your fiancé, I deserve a preview.”
I told him what had happened: the confrontation with Chang, the raid of the warehouse in Kahului, the arrest of David Santos.
“Dang, woman, I go to work, and all the good stuff happens,” Keone said. “This story will get better over beer and Thai food, trust me.”
“Does Elle know about this impromptu double date?” I was already shrugging into a slim-fitting sundress; it was a date, after all, and I wasn’t going to need to bring my weapon or chase anyone.
Hopefully.
“I may have already texted her,” he said. “She said yes. Within forty seconds. I timed it.”
“Are you trying to set those two up?” I tugged on my strappy sandals.
“Keen sense of the obvious, Trouble.” I heard the smile in his voice.
“I’m on board. They’d be great for each other. Elle can be serious, but loves to have fun . . .”
“And Pali’s nothing but serious, and needs to have fun,” Keone finished. We chuckled.
“Speaking of a little fun . . .” My voice trailed off. I wasn’t quite ready to tell him about Aunt Fae’s cast being off, and all that might mean.
“Plan to spend the night at my place,” he said quickly. “I’ll make sure you have a good time.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” I purred, echoing his words from the other night.
The four of us met at the Thai place in Hana, a little hole-in-the-wall with six tables, a chalkboard menu, and no cell signal.
Elle showed up in her event planner work clothes from the Hotel Hana: dark green fitted pantsuit, her long hair in a practical braid, a name tag above her left breast. She stood uncertainly in the doorway of the casual place, undoing the name tag and glancing around—until Pali stood up from the table and approached her.
Elle spotted him, too, and her shy demeanor disappeared as she crossed the restaurant with the slinky confidence she’d brought to the valley switchback trail.
She gave him a quick hug and kiss on the cheek.
“Nice to see you again, Pali,” I heard her say.
He murmured something too quiet to hear and then guided her toward our table with a hand in the middle of her slender back.
Keone squeezed my hand under the table; so far, matchmaking was going well.
We ordered one each of the dishes on the simple menu to share between four people—a decision Keone made unilaterally but which turned out great.
Pad Thai, green curry, a fish special and rich mango salad that tasted perfectly tropical—all of it made for a meal where the food is good enough that conversation happens around it.
Elle told more of her personal story once Pali had told his; she had dry delivery describing her sideways move from the Armed Forces to event planning. Her escape from “a family where our dad named us everything from Navy to Garbanzo Beane” was hilarious.
Later in the meal, Pali and Elle discovered similar opinions on the use of hiking poles on Hawaiian trails, as well as activism for their pet causes.
Pali told a story about a permit objection that had been denied four times and then, on the fifth, had been cited approvingly by the reviewing officer as “exactly the detailed community engagement we want to see.” Same guy doing the denying, different day. “I think I wore him down.”
Elle laughed while we shook our heads.
Finally, Keone turned to me. “Maybe you’d like to catch the rest of us up on recent events on the case? I hear there’s been a lot going on.”
The story of the confrontation at Pearl’s and the takedown of David Santos did, indeed, improve with a retelling; I was able to add relevant details like the way Madison Chang’s nails matched with her pearl-handled derringer and her frosty lipstick.
The way the sound of the door cannon almost knocked Pua and me off our chairs during the warehouse break-in, and the way Santos had curled up under the desk in the warehouse office.
By the time the check came, Pali and Elle were talking about a native reforestation project on Haleakalā with the focused attention of two people who had discovered a shared interest (and are using it as a safe place to direct energy that is not entirely about the subject at hand.)
When Keone suggested they might want to volunteer together, they agreed with alacrity and exchanged their phone numbers. Keone and I could hardly suppress grins and high fives.
Outside on the sidewalk, under a sky sparkling with stars, we said goodnight. Pali and Elle walked toward the parking lot in the same direction, talking. Not touching but walking with the closeness that’s a precursor to more.
“Good call,” I told Keone.
“I have my moments,” he said. He put his arm around me. We walked back to our cars in the warm night.
The trade winds were working through the ironwood trees behind the little town, and frogs were doing their evening opera.
Miles away, Awawakapu was quiet in the dark, its walls holding history, its cave entrance hidden behind fallen boulders—and someday, the stone panels would be back in their places.
Or so I hoped.