JoAnn Bassett - Islands of Aloha 07 - Moloka'i Lullaby by JoAnn Bassett Page A

she said as she came clip-clopping over in four-inch wedge heels. She’d picked up a small leopard-print suitcase at the cart and was wheeling it behind her. When she got over to me she thrust the handle my way without so much as a “ Would you mind ?”
    “That was awful,” she said. “I forgot how nasty it is to fly commercial. But Richard took his jet back to LA, so how else was I supposed to get here?”
    “You could’ve taken the ferry,” I said.
    “Really? There’s a boat?”
    “Yeah. But if you didn’t like the plane ride, you would’ve hated the ferry ride. It takes two hours and it’s often pretty rough going.”
    “How do you stand living here?” she said. “People told me Hawaii was nice, but so far everything’s been horrible.”
    “What don’t you like?” I said. I probably sounded defensive, but I was curious to learn what she found so awful.
    “Everyone’s so phony with their big smiles and ‘ aloha. ’ And the weather’s terrible. It’s hot and sticky, and it’s been windy every day since we got here. It totally messes up my hair.”
    She ran a hand through her lustrous, perfectly-cut and coifed hair.
    “I think your hair looks great,” I said.
    “Well,” she said. “That’s only because you have to look at yours’ every day.”
    “Look, Amanda, I’ll help you get settled in and then I may need to go back to Maui.”
    “When?”
    “Later this afternoon.”
    “What? You can’t leave! Richard won’t be here until tomorrow night.”
    “I’m sorry. But my best friend is very pregnant and she’s having complications. I may need to get back there and help.”
    “You’re not a doctor,” she said. “What does she expect you to do?”
    I sucked in a breath and centered myself using a technique I’d learned from Sifu Doug. Then I smiled through clenched teeth.
    “My car’s right over here,” I said. “Did you check any other bags?”
    She raised an eyebrow as if I’d asked if she’d brought along a clean change of underwear.
    “Of course,” she said. “I’m getting married here, remember?”
    “Well, then let’s go get it,” I said.
    When we got to baggage claim I couldn’t help but wonder how much she’d paid in luggage fees. Four large suitcases and two smaller ones, all in the same matching leopard print, had been stacked on the floor.
    “These are all yours?” I said.
    “Yeah. I had to leave a bunch of stuff back on Maui,” she said. “The guy at the airport said the plane was overweight.”
    She sniffed and went on. “As if my luggage was the problem. Did you see some of the fatties on that flight? I didn’t see any of them paying extra.”
    I wrestled the seven suitcases onto a creaky luggage cart and we headed out to the parking lot. When Amanda saw the blue Geo she gasped. “You don’t seriously expect me to ride in that.”
    “It’s got four wheels and an engine. That’s all we need to get from here to there.”
    “But, it’s filthy dirty,” she said. “And look at that dent. Did you hit a pedestrian or something? If you did, I hope you reported it. I had some serious crap come down on me one time…” Her voice trailed off.
    “No, the dent was there when I got the car. Look around, Amanda. We’re on Moloka’i. They don’t stand on ceremony here.”
    “What’s that mean?” she said, looking stricken. “Aren’t we supposed to have the wedding ceremony here?”
    I closed my eyes and brought to mind the ever-patient, soothing voice Hatch uses when he deals with panicked car crash victims. I’d witnessed it first-hand one night when we’d come across a three-car pile-up on the Haleakala Highway. While I called 9-1-1, Hatch sprang into action.
    “Amanda, you’ll love it out at George Bustamante’s place. It’s a beautiful beachfront home, right on the ocean.”
    “I’m sick of the beach. It’s windy and sandy and…” She paused, as if trying to come up with the third leg of the stool. “And wet. The ocean is totally