Mr. Family. Margot Early
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glanced at the kitchen, the sink, the gas stove. Crayon drawings on the refrigerator. The baseboards looked streaky—perhaps hurriedly swept after a long dust buildup. For some reason, the sight touched her.
This place might become her home. Kal might become her husband—though not her lover—and Hiialo her child. It seemed hard to imagine, but she said sincerely, “I like this.”
Kal swallowed, relieved. Surprised. “Thanks.” He set down her duffel, garment bag and a blue suitcase she’d said contained art supplies and ankle weights. “Let me give you a tour.”
“I want to show you my room,” said Hiialo.
“Okay.”
Hiialo went to the batiked curtains and pushed them apart. Ducking between them, Erika found herself in a tiny chamber with a single koa captain’s bed. The wood was familiar; there had been a lot of koa on the Skye. Hiialo’s closet was built into one wall, and a window looked out on a yellow-blossomed tree beside the driveway.
The watercolor of Pincushion hung over the nightstand, in a plastic frame, no mat. The cheap frame affected Erika much as the hastily dusted baseboards had. “This is a wonderful room, Hiialo.”
Hiialo pointed to a turquoise-and-green ginger pattern quilt on her bed. “This is the quilt Tutu made for me. She gave it to me when I was born.” Her gaze drifted up to Kal, behind Erika in the doorway.
Turning, Erika caught him with a finger to his lips. He and Hiialo must have a secret.
Tutu. “Is that your grandmother?” Maka’s mother?
Hiialo nodded. “My tutu on Molokai. Not Grandma.” She sat on her bed and turned on a lamp with a friendlylooking dragon at its base. “Would you like to see my Barbie dolls? I have Cinderella, too.”
Kal tried to remember the last time Hiialo had shown an interest in dolls. The change seemed to confirm everything he’d suspected: a woman in the house could make all the difference.
But he said, “Let’s let Erika settle in first, Hiialo.” He stepped around the bed and opened the door to the remodeled porch. “This is your room.”
Erika followed him. The narrow room ran two-thirds the length of the house. Windows stretched along two sides, bamboo blinds rolled near the tops of the frames. The sashes were raised, bringing in heady floral scents, and by the window nearest the driveway, new track lights shone down on an art table.
When Erika saw, her eyes felt hot. He didn’t even know her, and he had done all this. He’d made a place for her to work.
What if I can’t sell another painting?
She had to. She’d lower her prices. She’d paint women by the sea again.
Then she remembered something else—the things she hadn’t told him. About her accident and her paralysis. It wasn’t his business, but the untold facts made her feel sneaky.
Kal flicked the light switch. “It’s hard to get natural light in this house. Too many trees. Tell me if you need more light for your work. The table’s an old one my folks had in their Poipu gallery.”
It was hard to get out the words. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Erika crossed the koa floor to the captain’s bed. It was wider than Hiialo’s—full-size—and covered with a slightly faded yellow-and-red handmade quilt. The pattern was tropical, Hawaiian, with vines and blossoms radiating out from the center. Where had it come from?
“Do you like it?” burst out Hiialo. “My great-grandmother made it for my daddy for when he was born. And my daddy built your bed.”
She had to stop this feeling—like she was going to cry. He’d made everything so homey. He must want her to stay. Of course he did. He’d invested a lot in her coming.
Kal’s bare feet moved over the polished hardwood until he stood beside her. He, too, examined the quilt, which his mother had brought over. It had been packed away in a box during the remodeling of his parents’ home twenty years before, and he’d forgotten it existed. His mother hadn’t. You know, I looked and looked for this when you and Maka were married. You know where I found it? In the shed behind the kennels. Your dad and I were clearing it out the other day to make the new whelping room…
Erika studied the quilt, wanting to soak up its history—and Kal’s. “Which of your grandmothers?”
“My dad’s mom. She grew up here. Hiialo is the sixth generation of my dad’s family to be born and raised in Hawaii.”
“I remember.”
There were four doors in the room, one that opened to the outside, toward the mountains. Kal opened the nearest, the original door to the porch, and went into his room.
Hiialo scooted in front of Erika into her father’s bedroom, then huddled close to Kal. Erika followed more slowly.
Inside, her eyes were drawn toward the light from the open window. The quilt on his bed was purple and lavender and well-worn. It was folded over double, and it took a moment for Erika to realize why.
He slept in a single bed.
Erika looked away from the piece of furniture, as though she’d caught him there naked. He really didn’t want a lover.
On one wall was a stereo and a rack of tapes and CDs that stretched to the ceiling. Bookshelves and two guitars hung nearby. One instrument was chrome, etched with Hawaiian designs, the other an old archtop. On the floor beneath them were an amplifier and two cases Erika suspected held electric guitars.
She was startled. Kal had never mentioned music to her. “You play?”
He nodded, without humble disclaimers.
“You never said anything.”
Kal touched the Gibson, drawing sound from the strings. “No.”
Erika decided he wasn’t as simple an equation as she’d first thought.
The bathroom was across the hall. Thin strips of black mold grew on the tub caulking—difficult to prevent in watery climates. For a single father who worked six days a week and cared for a rental property as well, he kept a clean house. You do good, Kal, she thought.
“There’s a gecko, Daddy,” said Hiialo.
An orange lizard scaled the wall above the towel rack.
“Oh, cool!” Erika peered closer.
The lizard scurried away.
“They eat cockroaches,” Hiialo told her.
Erika glanced at Kal.
He shrugged. “It’s Hawaii. We get some.” He stepped out into the hall, Hiialo one pace behind him. “You probably want to unpack, relax.”
“Actually I brought some gifts for you.”
Hiialo’s eyes grew large.
In her own room, Erika crouched beside the bed, opened her tote and removed a gift bag. “This is for you, Hiialo.”
As Kal entered the room, bearing Erika’s other luggage and a large flat box containing watercolor paper, Hiialo peeked in the bag. “Oh, look! Oh, Daddy, he’s cute! He looks like an Akita puppy.”
Erika’s gift was a small stuffed roly-poly dog. It was cinnamon-colored with a black muzzle and fluffy curled-up tail.
Smiling, Kal squatted beside Hiialo to look at the stuffed animal. “Sure does. Hiialo—”
Erika watched him mouth, What do you say?
“Thank you, Erika.” Her grin was toothy, dimply.
Erika said, “There’s something else in the bag.”
Hiialo