Sisterchicks Do the Hula (24 page)

“I can see that by the date on her license. Thank you.”

I turned to Laurie with a strained expression as if to say, “You don’t have to tell the whole world! Let me enjoy feeling like I’m eighteen.”

Without anymore comments, witty or otherwise, he started to write on a pad he pulled from his back pocket.

Apparently Laurie was unwilling to let this ticket be issued without a fight. “We were being harassed by some surfers in a truck.” Now she was the one who sounded eighteen.

“Harassed, ma’am?”

“Yes. They were going much faster than we were and …”

“Were you trying to pass them?”

“No.”

“Trying to get away from them?”

Laurie hesitated.

I answered honestly. “No, we were trying to race them.”

He tilted his head and looked at both of us. “You were trying to race them?”

We nodded in innocent unison.

I would have guessed that the uniformed young man was about twenty-five years old. Judging by his build, he probably taught surfing lessons on the weekends. A faint half grin lifted the right corner of his mouth.

“You broke the law,” he murmured, returning his attention to the ticket pad.

“Yes, sir. I did.” I glanced at Laurie. She was looking down at the floorboard, shaking her head. I was sure she would tell me later I had handled this all wrong by eagerly agreeing to my guilt.

“Here you go.” The officer returned my license and the paperwork for the rental car. “Be careful pulling back onto the road and keep to the speed limit from here on out, okay?”

“I will. Thank you.”

With a nod, he handed me the ticket and walked back to his squad car.

“What a disaster!” Laurie said. “How much is it for?”

I looked at the slip of paper and burst out laughing.

“What?” Laurie looked over and read what the officer had written on the ticket.

Happy birthday and, hey, don’t ever grow up. Aloha
.

Laurie laughed with me. “Now, that’s grace. I can’t believe he didn’t pull a ‘book ’em, Danno’ on you.”

I laughed some more. It felt so good. Everything felt good. The sun on my shoulders, the wind in my hair, the birthday gift of grace I had just been given. But especially the feeling that I wasn’t old. Forty wasn’t the end of the world.

“Let’s find a restaurant.” I glanced over my shoulder and cautiously pulled onto the road with my blinker on.

“Did you work up an appetite after all that?” Laurie asked.

“No, I laughed so hard I have to …”

“Don’t tell me. I can guess. The sign back there said the next off-ramp is a mile and a half up the road.”

We pulled off, found a gas station, and then hopped back in with me still at the wheel.

Laurie and I spent the remainder of my birthday driving—the speed limit—singing along with the radio, talking until we were hoarse, and laughing until the moon came out.

It hung there like a golden fishhook in the sky, daring me to jump high enough to get a bite of it. I declined the offer. I’d had enough dares for one day. I didn’t need to try for the moon.

I was forty years old, and I was content.

L
aurie and I had agreed to spend our final day on Oahu driving to the North Shore. Or perhaps I should say, taking turns driving to the North Shore.

We loaded up the car with everything we needed for our romp and were walking out of the hotel when the manager stopped us. “I do apologize, Mrs. Montgomery. If you have a moment, a gentleman is in my office who would like to speak with you.”

Laurie and I fell in step like two truants being taken to the principal’s office. All I could guess was that the officer had changed his mind and was sitting in there, ready to hand me the speeding ticket I deserved.

The man who was waiting wasn’t wearing a police uniform. He looked at us warmly. “Hope Montgomery?”

I stepped forward, but my heart stepped off a cliff. What if something was wrong, really wrong at home? What if this man
was a plainclothes detective, and he was here to tell me something that would change my life forever?

“I’m Mr. Takagawa,” he said with a slight bow. “I work for the Robert Wilson Galleries. I do apologize for the impolite manner in which I am approaching you, but I was told you are planning to leave the island in the morning.”

I nodded, unable to put together a single clue to solve the mystery of why this man wanted to talk to me.

“I wanted to approach you about some of your pictures.”

“My pictures?”

Laurie took a step closer and looked at the blown-up images on the manager’s desk.

“Your photography is extraordinary. One shot in particular.” He reached for a color photo and held it up for us to see. It was a close-up of Kapuna Kalala’s hands as she was holding up the lei she had made, offering the fragrance to the Lord. The picture was stunning. The lighting was just right. The detail of the flowers in contrast to her weathered hands was extraordinary. I caught my breath and glanced at Laurie.

“Our gallery would like to purchase this photo and several others. We realize it is highly unconventional for us to be asking this of you, but it is my understanding that the service that developed these photos is preparing to make you an offer, and we hoped to speak with you first.”

It was starting to sink in. My name was on the order for developing the film. I called to have the photos forwarded to
this hotel. They thought I was the photographer. Laurie looked as stunned as I felt.

“Actually,” I said, trying to select my words carefully. “I’m not the photographer. I did take some of the pictures on the rolls, but my friend here is the artist.”

He turned his attention to Laurie and held out his hand. “My apologies. I have been presenting myself to the wrong person, it seems. Owen Takagawa.”

“I’m …” Laurie hesitated.

“Lali,” I said, skipping the Laurinda Sue and the Giordani and going directly to her Hawaiian name. Then remembering that on the calligrapher’s sign Sue was
Ku
in Hawaiian, I invented a brand-new name for her right on the spot. “Laliku.”

“It is an honor, Laliku,” he said, bowing.

Laurie bowed, shooting me a grin out the side of her mouth.

“Laliku is not my legal name,” Laurie said delicately. “But I am interested in hearing more about your offer, Mr. Takagawa.”

Laurie and I had dressed up a little that morning and had put on makeup because we weren’t sure what the day would hold. She sounded professional and looked like she was ready to be all business.

“Perhaps we can discuss the details now, if you are available.”

“Yes, now would be fine. Are you by any chance a tea drinker, Mr. Takagawa?” Laurie followed the nodding gentleman out the door and shot me a look that said, “Don’t leave me now!”

For the next hour and a half, we had a wonderful conversation with the shrewd businessman. Neither Laurie’s last name nor her connection to the art world was part of the discussion.

I used all the correct tea terminology, which pleased Mr. Takagawa, and offered my diplomatic face gestures to Laurie when it came to the business questions. I had learned enough while opening the Ladybug to know that you never sign anything in such a meeting, no matter how persuasive the presenter is. I also suggested to Laurie that she might want her lawyer to look over the documents, and that seemed to jolt her back to the present.

Mr. Takagawa left us sitting in the open-air lobby with his paperwork in a tidy stack. Laurie drew in a deep breath. “Wow.”

“Yeah, wow. Look at this picture again, Laurie. You captured it all. Exactly. ‘The Fragrant Offering.’ ”

“That’s a perfect title for it. I want to make sure that Kapuna Kalala gets a copy. Thank you, Hope. Really. Thanks for everything.”

“Hey, I told you I’d be the midwife, if you needed me.”

“I just didn’t know you were going to induce labor.”

“With those 259-pounders, you have to do whatever it takes.”

Laurie smiled. “By the way, where did the
Laliku
come from?”

“Laurie and Sue. It seemed like a good idea at the time. You
can change it, of course, but I knew you wanted to avoid the Giordani connection. Sorry if I went too far with it.”

“No, I appreciate it. You’re quick on your feet, Hope. You saved the day. Seriously.”

“We have more of this day to save.” I nodded toward the great outside that had been patiently waiting for us to come out and play. “What do you want to do?”

“Let’s scream on up to the North Shore, have a look around, and find a place to eat dinner on the beach.”

“Sounds perfect.”

Laurie drove with a light air about her and a light foot. Being “discovered” seemed to settle on her slowly.

“You know what I just thought?” I said. “We haven’t seen the rest of the photos. Did the developing company send them over to the hotel or just selected shots to art dealers?”

“Call the hotel,” Laurie said, tossing me her phone. “See if they got them.”

“They did,” I reported a few minutes later. “They’re holding the package for us at the front desk. I can’t wait to see the rest.”

Laurie saw a sign advertising locally grown Kona coffee for sale and pulled off the road. We parked in the gravel parking area, and I waited in the car while she ventured over to the small wooden stand and bought six bags of the pure Kona coffee.

In the sky above us skittered a fleet of overly ambitious clouds, all determined to block the sun. The temperature cooled.

“Sail on,” I told the clouds. “No raindrops, please. Not on our last day.”

We cruised past a field of pineapples and came to a crossroad that would take us through several small surf towns along the North Shore.

“Do you want to drive?” Laurie asked. “I’m ready to take some pictures.”

“Feeling inspired?”

“I guess I am. I still can’t believe it.”

We switched places in the car, and as Laurie used up her last four rolls of film, I could tell she was internalizing and analyzing everything that had come her way that morning. Leaving her to contemplate and snap away in peace, I kept our little red tomato cruising along the narrow North Shore road at a slow pace. I loved the calmness in the air.

This part of the island was a stark contrast to the Honolulu district. Many of the houses we passed looked as if they had changed little in the past fifty years. Most of them had nicely trimmed lawns. Large stalks of ginger grew like Roman candles shooting out of large clumps of overgrown bushes. Some of the houses were on stilts. Others were flanked by banana trees that were laden with bunches of the short, green, fingerlike fruit hanging within easy reach.

We drove for a long time, taking it all in. On our left side, white-crested waves dashed toward the shore with great force as the wind sculptured a swift curl of spray across their broad foreheads. The sound of them hitting the rocks was thunderous.
We didn’t stop to watch the many surfers take on the huge swells because parking was impossible.

On the way back, we stopped at a shop that had surfboards lined up out front. For each of my boys, I bought a key chain with a small wooden surfboard that had the words
North Shore
hand-painted on it.

“Try this.” Laurie squirted a blob of fragrant white lotion into my open hand. The scent reminded me of Kapuna Kalala and the tuberose leis. I bought two bottles, so that whenever I felt a little glum at home, I could rub some on my hands and instantly be transported back to this wonderful place.

Returning to the hotel, we picked up the packet of developed photos and told ourselves we wouldn’t look at them until we sat down to dinner. Then the debate began over where to eat.

I’m happy with what we decided in the end. We ate on the nearly empty beach in front of our hotel, all dressed up, barefoot, and wearing fresh pikake leis that Mr. Takagawa had sent over for us with a kind note.

I settled into the warm, sugar-white sand. “You do promise to help me get up, don’t you?”

“Yes. And if I need help, I’ll find us a suitable cabana boy.”

We laughed and turned our attention to our grilled teriyaki ahi ahi tuna with up-country green beans and jasmine rice, which the restaurant had graciously prepared for us.

“What an amazing trip this has been,” Laurie said.

I savored each bite as Laurie reviewed a few of the highlights. Reaching over, she comfortably patted my round mama
belly. “And you, Miss Emilee Rose, have been a delightful stowaway.”

The graceful, ancient sun shed her translucent garments that were spun from the softest pink clouds and slowly lowered herself into the great Pacific bathtub, pausing long enough to turn toward us and catch her own shimmering, golden reflection in the azure waters of our lagoon.

“Incredible! Look what You made, God! Wow!” Laurie stood to take the very last pictures of the breathtaking sunset. “I’m starting to sound like you, Hope.”

“That’s okay. I’m starting to drive like you.”

“Not a bad trade-off, I’d say.”

“Ready for the pictures before all the light goes?” I reached for the package and made sure my fingers were clean enough to touch them.

“I was born ready,” Laurie said.