The Aloha Quilt by Jennifer Chiaverini

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     back into her French twist. “That’s Claire for you. She can’t help herself, as I’m
     sure you know.”
    “She could help herself, she just doesn’t,” said Bonnie, remembering how they had
     often exasperated each other as roommates back at college. Still, it had always been
     impossible to stay angry with her impulsive, irrepressible friend, as younger women
     because they had been kindred spirits despite their differences, and in later years
     because their friendship had become all the more precious for its long duration. Apparently
     Midori had also fallen under the spell of Claire’s charm. “How did you and Claire
     meet?” Bonnie asked.
    “Eric’s a close friend of my nephew,” said Midori. “They were stationed on Oahu together.”
    “So you’ve known Claire a long time.”
    “Oh, yes. Years.”
    “And in all that time, you never taught her how to make a Hawaiian quilt?”
    Midori set down her knife and gave her a curious, appraising look. “She never asked
     me to. I didn’t think she cared to learn.”
    “I don’t know that she does,” Bonnie hastened to explain. “I just thought—well, every
     bed in the inn has a Hawaiian quilt spread upon it, but Claire made none of them.
     Since she obviously loves the style, I assumed that she would have made one of her
     own if she knew how.”
    “I would teach Claire if she asked me to,” Midori said, arranging the pineapple spears
     on the platter. “But you’ve taken a tour of her shop and you know her temperament.
     Claire prefers Mariner’s Compasses and stars arranged in traditionalblocks and rows. She has a dozen projects going on all at once and she zooms from
     start to finish so she can display them in her shop to sell patterns and fabric. Her
     favorite tool is her rotary cutter, and her second favorite is her sewing machine
     with a computer built in. I think one reason Claire admires Hawaiian quilts so much
     is that she knows she doesn’t have the time or inclination to create one herself.”
     Midori shrugged and shook her head. “It’s not a criticism. I say this with love.”
    Every word rang true, even the last, which from any other person might have sounded
     ironic. “Maybe she’ll never make a Hawaiian quilt herself, but only because she doesn’t
     think she’ll do it justice. She never attempts anything unless she’s confident of
     success.”
    “And that is why she succeeds at everything she tries,” said Midori with a cryptic
     smile.
    Perhaps it was Bonnie’s sudden discomfort at gossiping about a dear friend that made
     her change the subject to something she otherwise would not have mentioned until she
     and Midori were better acquainted. “I’d like to learn how to make a Hawaiian quilt,”
     she heard herself say. “I’m not saying that I’m any more skilled or persevering than
     Claire, but I’d love to learn.”
    “Is that so?”
    “I’ve been quilting since college, so your lessons wouldn’t have to begin at square
     one. I could show you some photos of my work, if you like, if you’re concerned that
     I might not be able to do the handwork.”
    “That’s not necessary. Claire’s told me all about your quilting, how you used to sew
     those blocks for your grandmother when she fell ill. And you’re an Elm Creek Quilter,
     which says a lot.” Midori fell silent, thinking. “My quilt guild, the Laulima Quilters,
     meets tonight. You can come and sit in with us andsee how it’s done. After that, if you still want to learn, I’ll teach you.”
    “Thank you,” said Bonnie. “After I see your friends working on their Hawaiian quilts,
     I know I’ll want to make my own even more.”
    “We’ll see,” said Midori. “But there’s something you should understand. You won’t
     be making a Hawaiian quilt. You will only be able to make a quilt in the Hawaiian
     style.”
    “That’s fine,” said Bonnie, puzzled by the emphasis Midori had placed on the last
     two words. What was