Free The Aloha Quilt by Jennifer Chiaverini Page B

had played ukulele with several different bands throughout his career, performing
     everywhere from small bars only locals knew about to exclusive resorts frequented
     by tourists from around the world. When their youngest child started school, Midori
     began working as a housekeeper at a hotel in Kaanapali, eventually working her way
     up the ladder and learning all aspects of hotel management along the way. “This is
     my retirement job,” she told Bonnie, smiling as she deftly sliced off the top of a
     pineapple. “I do this for fun, so I don’t slow down and grow old. It’s also the only
     way I can live rent-free on the ocean.” She smiled to herself and added, “Claire thinks
     I chose my suite because it’s more private, off on its own, but I chose it for the
     view.”
    “I chose my room for the view and for the quilt on the bed,” said Bonnie, folding
     napkins into a graceful fan as Midori had shown her. “Claire called it the Breadfruit
     pattern.”
    “Oh, yes. You’re in the room with the turquoise-and-white one, isn’t that right?”
     When Bonnie nodded, Midori added, “That’s one of several Breadfruit variations I made
     for the inn. I think it’s my favorite.”
    “Variations?” echoed Bonnie. “You didn’t use the same pattern each time?”
    “Of course not.” Midori’s knife sliced through the pineapple core and struck the wooden
     cutting board with a sharp thwack. “No two quilts you create should be exactly alike,
     just as no two children you bear are perfectly alike. Even twins. Even identical twins,”
     she emphasized, as if she expected a challenge. “Everything in God’s creation is unique,
     though there may be superficial similarities. So too should our quilts also be unique.
     This is the Hawaiian way. Everything is special and created with love. No mass-produced,
     factory assembled quilts for meand my loved ones, thank you very much, although that might be the way of things on
     the mainland.”
    Bonnie nodded in reply and continued working, worried that she had offended the older
     woman. “I think I saw a few of the other Breadfruit variations when Claire gave me
     the grand tour,” she said, when the silence, for her at least, had become uncomfortable.
     “I recall a green one on the second floor, and a fuchsia one down the hall from my
     room. I thought they were the same at first, but now that you mention it, there were
     differences. The green one had a different border than the one in my room, and both
     of the others had narrower leaves.”
    Midori nodded her approval. “That’s right. You have a good memory. There’s an orange
     variation in a first-floor suite, too. The room’s occupied or I’d show it to you.”
    “They were all beautiful, but the turquoise one seemed so cool and soothing that I
     knew I’d have good dreams beneath it.” Bonnie laughed a little to conceal how badly
     she needed to take every measure possible to secure good dreams. “It was so lovely
     that I was afraid to sit upon it.”
    “I’m glad you didn’t,” declared Midori. “Most mainlanders aren’t aware of what a great
     insult that is to Hawaiian quilters. They toss their suitcases on the quilts, lie
     on top of them with shoes full of beach sand, all without a thought for the quilter
     who put so much of her heart and soul into every stitch. Even Claire, a quilter herself,
     doesn’t seem to know any better. I caught her sitting on the quilt I made her and
     Eric for their anniversary, although she jumped right off when she saw me in the doorway
     and swore it was the first and only time.”
    Bonnie hid her dismay as best she could, imagining Midori’s reaction if she had seen
     Claire and Bonnie sitting cross-legged on the turquoise-and-white Breadfruit quilt.
     “I hope you forgave her.”
    “Of course I did, both for sitting on my quilt and for trying to cover up her bad
     habit with a lie.” Midori smiled, sighed, and tucked a loose strand of black