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

little too rural for us.”
    The word “us” seemed to hang in the air like the scent of a plumeria tree in full bloom. I’d never been part of an “us” relationship before I met Hatch. Oh, I’d had boyfriends now and then. I even had an embarrassing crush on an instructor at air marshal training in New Jersey. But I’d never been inextricably linked with a guy enough to use the word “us” to describe my future.
    We had to drive all the way back to Kaunakakai before finding a place to grab lunch.
    ***
    After lunch, we spent a leisurely afternoon doing what my auntie Mana had euphemistically referred to as “reading the newspaper.” She and her long-time boyfriend used to disappear into her bedroom on lazy Sunday afternoons, telling us kids to go outside and play and don’t come back in unless someone was bleeding or unconscious. I now realize how precious that alone time was for her and Paka. With sometimes up to eight kids in the house, and most of us not even related to her by blood or marriage, her nights were often interrupted with bad dreams, requests for drinks of water, or sleepwalking.
    Later that afternoon, Hatch packed up his things to get ready to leave. I was surprised by how sad I felt about seeing him go. We were finally communicating better than we had for months, and I’d allowed myself to get over my skittishness about “’til death do us part.”
    Hatch had stuck by me as I’d slogged through the minefield of self-doubt and trust issues brought about by losing both of my parents before I was six. And, although I used to prefer sleeping alone, now when I wake in the night and hear his soft snuffly breathing, it soothes me back to sleep. I’m still not the poster child of “let it be” but I’m working on it.
    I was envious of Farrah and Ono: two people who’d probably never even considered, let alone talked about, trust issues in their marriage. Ono’s cheerful disposition was hard-fought after losing his first wife to cancer and then spiraling into a morass of grief, fueled by out-of-control alcoholism. But thanks to his employer who’d introduced him to Bill W, he’d come out the other side stronger, more resilient, and with a sunny-side up attitude that had become even more so since meeting Farrah.
    That night, we went into town for an early dinner at the Paddler’s Inn. The name comes from the grueling Moloka’i to O’ahu World Paddleboard Contest that’s held each summer. Competitors come from all over the world to paddle over thirty-two miles across some of the roughest water on the planet. Didn’t sound like a good time to me, but I could see the envy in Hatch’s eyes as he gazed at the photos of the winners.
    “Wow, wouldn’t that be awesome?” he said.
    “To do it; or to win it?”
    “To survive it,” he said with a laugh.
    The restaurant was a large open room, with a long bar along the back wall, tables and chairs in the middle, and a low stage at right angles to the bar. The casual ambiance was reinforced by an almost tent-like feel, since the side walls were just wooden lattice: open to the evening breeze.
    Hatch ordered a beer and I had white wine. While we waited for our food to arrive, the entertainment for the evening started setting up. The band was made up of four locals—three men and a sixty-something woman—who played a wide repertoire of songs, from old Hawaiian favorites to the Beatles.
    We had to hurry dinner a bit, since Hatch was catching the last flight to Kahului at seven-thirty.
    Our waitress came to pick up our plates. “You guys want to see the dessert menu?” she said.
    “ Mahalo , but no. I’ve got to get to the airport,” Hatch said.
    “You going, too?” she said to me.
    “No, I’m sticking around for another day or so,” I said. “I’m doing a job over here.”
    She looked like she was eager to hear what the job entailed, but I just shot her a smile.
    “You going for hot bread tonight?” she said. “I think the cream