“I’m Mr. Takagawa,” he said with a slight bow. “I work for the Robert Wilson Galleries. I do apologize for the impolite manner in which I am approaching you, but I was told you are planning to leave the island in the morning.”
I nodded, unable to put together a single clue to solve the mystery of why this man wanted to talk to me.
“I wanted to approach you about some of your pictures.”
“My pictures?”
Laurie took a step closer and looked at the blown-up images on the manager’s desk.
“Your photography is extraordinary. One shot in particular.” He reached for a color photo and held it up for us to see. It was a close-up of Kapuna Kalala’s hands as she was holding up the lei she had made, offering the fragrance to the Lord. The picture was stunning. The lighting was just right. The detail of the flowers in contrast to her weathered hands was extraordinary. I caught my breath and glanced at Laurie.
“Our gallery would like to purchase this photo and several others. We realize it is highly unconventional for us to be asking this of you, but it is my understanding that the service that developed these photos is preparing to make you an offer, and we hoped to speak with you first.”
It was starting to sink in. My name was on the order for developing the film. I called to have the photos forwarded to this hotel. They thought I was the photographer. Laurie looked as stunned as I felt.
“Actually,” I said, trying to select my words carefully. “I’m not the photographer. I did take some of the pictures on the rolls, but my friend here is the artist.”
He turned his attention to Laurie and held out his hand. “My apologies. I have been presenting myself to the wrong person, it seems. Owen Takagawa.”
“I’m …” Laurie hesitated.
“Lali,” I said, skipping the Laurinda Sue and the Giordani and going directly to her Hawaiian name. Then remembering that on the calligrapher’s sign Sue was Ku in Hawaiian, I invented a brand-new name for her right on the spot. “Laliku.”
“It is an honor, Laliku,” he said, bowing.
Laurie bowed, shooting me a grin out the side of her mouth.
“Laliku is not my legal name,” Laurie said delicately. “But I am interested in hearing more about your offer, Mr. Takagawa.”
Laurie and I had dressed up a little that morning and had put on makeup because we weren’t sure what the day would hold. She sounded professional and looked like she was ready to be all business.
“Perhaps we can discuss the details now, if you are available.”
“Yes, now would be fine. Are you by any chance a tea drinker, Mr. Takagawa?” Laurie followed the nodding gentleman out the door and shot me a look that said, “Don’t leave me now!”
For the next hour and a half, we had a wonderful conversation with the shrewd businessman. Neither Laurie’s last name nor her connection to the art world was part of the discussion.
I used all the correct tea terminology, which pleased Mr. Takagawa, and offered my diplomatic face gestures to Laurie when it came to the business questions. I had learned enough while opening the Ladybug to know that you never sign anything in such a meeting, no matter how persuasive the presenter is. I also suggested to Laurie that she might want her lawyer to look over the documents, and that seemed to jolt her back to the present.
Mr. Takagawa left us sitting in the open-air lobby with his paperwork in a tidy stack. Laurie drew in a deep breath. “Wow.”
“Yeah, wow. Look at this picture again, Laurie. You captured it all. Exactly. ‘The Fragrant Offering.’ ”
“That’s a perfect title for it. I want to make sure that Kapuna Kalala gets a copy. Thank you, Hope. Really. Thanks for everything.”
“Hey, I told you I’d be the midwife, if you needed me.”
“I just didn’t know you were going to induce labor.”
“With those 259-pounders, you have to do whatever it takes.”
Laurie smiled. “By the way, where did the Laliku come from?”
“Laurie and Sue. It seemed like a good idea at the time. You can change it, of course, but I knew you wanted to avoid the Giordani connection. Sorry if I went too far with it.”
“No, I appreciate it. You’re quick on your feet, Hope. You saved the day. Seriously.”
“We have more of this day to save.” I nodded toward the great outside that had been patiently waiting for us to come out and play. “What do you want to do?”
“Let’s scream on up to the North Shore, have a look around, and find a place to eat dinner on the beach.”
“Sounds perfect.”
Laurie drove with a light air about her and a light foot. Being “discovered” seemed to settle on her slowly.
“You know what I just thought?” I said. “We haven’t seen the rest of the photos. Did the developing company send them over to the hotel or just selected shots to art dealers?”
“Call the hotel,” Laurie said, tossing me her phone. “See if they got them.”
“They did,” I reported a few minutes later. “They’re holding the package for us at the front desk. I can’t wait to see the rest.”
Laurie saw a sign advertising locally grown Kona coffee for sale and pulled off the road. We parked in the gravel parking area, and I waited in the car while she ventured over to the small wooden stand and bought six bags of the pure Kona coffee.
In the sky above us skittered a fleet of overly ambitious clouds, all determined to block the sun. The temperature cooled.
“Sail on,” I told the clouds. “No raindrops, please. Not on our last day.”
We cruised past a field of pineapples and came to a crossroad that would take us through several small surf towns along the North Shore.
“Do you want to drive?” Laurie asked. “I’m ready to take some pictures.”
“Feeling inspired?”
“I guess I am. I still can’t believe it.”
We switched places in the car, and as Laurie used up her last four rolls of film, I could tell she was internalizing and analyzing everything that had come her way that morning. Leaving her to contemplate and snap away in peace, I kept our little red tomato cruising along the narrow North Shore road at a slow pace. I loved the calmness in the air.
This part of the island was a stark contrast to the Honolulu district. Many of the houses we passed looked as if they had changed little in the past fifty years. Most of them had nicely trimmed lawns. Large stalks of ginger grew like Roman candles shooting out of large clumps of overgrown bushes. Some of the houses were on stilts. Others were flanked by banana trees that were laden with bunches of the short, green, fingerlike fruit hanging within easy reach.
We drove for a long time, taking it all in. On our left side, white-crested waves dashed toward the shore with great force as the wind sculptured a swift curl of spray across their broad foreheads. The sound of them hitting the rocks was thunderous. We didn’t stop to watch the many surfers take on the huge swells because parking was impossible.
On the way back, we stopped at a shop that had surfboards lined up out front. For each of my boys, I bought a key chain with a small wooden surfboard that had the words North Shore hand-painted on it.
“Try this.” Laurie squirted a blob of fragrant white lotion into my open hand. The scent reminded me of Kapuna Kalala and the tuberose leis. I bought two bottles, so that whenever I felt a little glum at home, I could rub some on my hands and instantly be transported back to this wonderful place.
Returning to the hotel, we picked up the packet of developed photos and told ourselves we wouldn’t look at them until we sat down to dinner. Then the debate began over where to eat.
I’m happy with what we decided in the end. We ate on the nearly empty beach in front of our hotel, all dressed up, barefoot, and wearing fresh pikake leis that Mr. Takagawa had sent over for us with a kind note.
I settled into the warm, sugar-white sand. “You do promise to help me get up, don’t you?”
“Yes. And if I need h
elp, I’ll find us a suitable cabana boy.”
We laughed and turned our attention to our grilled teriyaki ahi ahi tuna with up-country green beans and jasmine rice, which the restaurant had graciously prepared for us.
“What an amazing trip this has been,” Laurie said.
I savored each bite as Laurie reviewed a few of the highlights. Reaching over, she comfortably patted my round mama belly. “And you, Miss Emilee Rose, have been a delightful stowaway.”
The graceful, ancient sun shed her translucent garments that were spun from the softest pink clouds and slowly lowered herself into the great Pacific bathtub, pausing long enough to turn toward us and catch her own shimmering, golden reflection in the azure waters of our lagoon.
“Incredible! Look what You made, God! Wow!” Laurie stood to take the very last pictures of the breathtaking sunset. “I’m starting to sound like you, Hope.”
“That’s okay. I’m starting to drive like you.”
“Not a bad trade-off, I’d say.”
“Ready for the pictures before all the light goes?” I reached for the package and made sure my fingers were clean enough to touch them.
“I was born ready,” Laurie said.
“You know what? I believe you were. You were born for this.”
“Hope, you said the other day that my ability to create this art is a gift God gave me.”
“It is.”
“Do you remember what Amy told us about the hula? How the objective of the dancer is to gracefully interpret the story that’s coming through the music?”
“Yes.”
“Well, every life is a story, like Kapuna Kalala said. The artist simply expresses the truth and beauty of that story. When I think of it that way, it takes the pressure off me somehow. All I have to do is … I don’t know how to say it …”
“Go with it,” I suggested.
“That’s it. Just go with it. The whole unforced-rhythm-of-grace thing. And you know what? I can do that. I can interpret the story because … I’m an artist.”
“Wow, Laurie. You said it aloud. Yes! You are an artist. And now you have an opportunity to use that art in a significant way.”
Laurie started to leak. Just a little. “You want to know a secret? This is what I wished for on my birthday. I just realized that God granted me my wish.”
She started to seriously leak. I started to slush. She moved on to squeaking, and I let loose with the gushing. We were a mess.
“We’re going to have to go up by the light around the pool so we can see these,” Laurie said, after I’d used up every one of our napkins and was dabbing my final tears with the edge of my sleeve.
Sitting together on a chaise lounge by the pool, Laurie and I went through the pictures. Our heads were bent over the same frame, even though I had ordered doubles of everything.
“Oh, this one has to go,” I said. “No way.” It was a preposterous shot of me receiving a little more than a helping hand on the catamaran.
Laurie grabbed it and busted up. “Gotta love that zoom feature, dolphin girl.”
The surf pictures were great fun. It was easy to see the Chihuahua in one of the close-ups, and the shot of Laurie carrying her board back to the surf shop was pure Gidget-gold.
“And what exactly is this one supposed to be?” Laurie pulled out the eagerly anticipated rainbow shot.
I laughed hard. The angle was perfect. “That’s you. With a rainbow coming out of your nose.”
Laurie laughed even harder. “Maybe I should use this for my new publicity shot.” She stared at it some more and shook her head. “This is hilarious. Kudos, Hope.”
“Hey, I learned all about angles and capturing the moment from you.”
“Well, if the teahouse thing doesn’t work out, you know, I just might need an assistant.”
When the photos were all examined and exclaimed over, Laurie moved to the chaise lounge beside me, where she stretched out in the balmy breeze. We lingered contentedly as soft Hawaiian music lilted through the air. Above us, the stars glimmered in the night sky, reflecting their unimaginable glory in the still water of the perfectly round, blue-moon swimming pool.
I wanted to go in the pool. I wanted to step right in that pool and scoop up all the stars. I wanted to string them together and lift the garland of radiant glory with both hands as an offering to the Artist above. I wanted God to enjoy His creation tonight as much as I had been enjoying it all week.
Quietly rolling off the chaise lounge, I reverently took my bare feet to the edge of the empty swimming pool. In even measure with the beckoning Hawaiian music, I lowered myself into the shallow end until the warm water was up to my waist. With barely a whisper, I began to move to the strains of the strumming guitar.
“Hope?”
“Yes.”
“Are you in the pool?”
“Yes.”
“With all your clothes on?”
“I thought that was better than the alternative.”
“What are you doing?”
With sublime ease, I drew the music inside of me and moved my arms and legs in a tender expression, interpreting openly all that was in my heart.
“Hope, are you doing the hula?”
“Yes.”
A gentle breeze stroked my cheek. “And you know what, Laurie? This is what I wished for on my birthday.”
Around me the music swirled, the water cascaded from my arms, as I lifted them toward heaven. The stars were singing. I know they were.
With the smallest of splashes, Laurie paddled over to where I floated in the center of the pool. Giving way to complete abandon and a steady flutter of giggles, Laurie and I brought a gift of laughter, singing ourselves into His presence. Unforced. Flowing with the rhythm of grace.
I realized then that for our fortieth birthdays, Laurie and I had planned this little island theme party. We didn’t know it would turn into a surprise party. The surprise was on us when God showed up. We invited Him, of course, but didn’t know if He would be too busy to come.
But He came. Even before the party started, He tied pink and orange streamers to the sun and strung a million bright twinkle lights across the night sky. He passed out crazy fringed party hats to all the palm trees and hired a band of dolphins to kick things off. When Laurie and I arrived, He threw garlands of hosannas around our necks. He brought hundreds of gifts and watched our delighted expressions each time the next gift was unwrapped.
And now here He was, dancing with us, drawing us forehead to forehead with Him so He could breathe on us and trust us with His essence, His Spirit, His aloha.
That was the night these two sisterchicks learned to do the hula.
June 3, 2003
Hartford, Connecticut
Emilee Rose arrived on April 13 at 5:35 in the morning.
She came after an intense four hours of labor. I don’t remember the final push, but Darren said I called out, “Po-hue-HUE!” and out she came. Our little morning glory.
Emilee weighed eight pounds and twelve ounces, was twenty-one inches long with a round button nose and full cheeks that we think she will grow into. She has absolutely no hair, and she fills me with such wonder every time I look at her. The boys are crazy about her. And Darren … he adores her with a deep tenderness that a daddy can only have for his little girl.
Laurie had a gorgeous lei sent to me at the hospital. It was made from baby pink roses interspersed with fragrant white tuberose. “A garland of hosannas,” the card read. “For Emilee Rose from Auntie Laurie with aloha.”
I wore it in the hospital. I didn’t care if the New England nurses looked at me as if I were strange. Mine was the sweetest smelling room on the floor.
A month before Emilee arrived, Laurie had sent a special gift for the nursery. It was a beautifully framed print of “Fragrant Offering.” Darren hung it over the changing table because he thought it was safer there than over the crib. Of course, one of our boys noticed the title of the picture and thought it was funny we put it
over the changing table. So we moved it to the dining room, where I can see it from the kitchen.
Last Sunday we had Emilee dedicated at our church in the first service. Gabe and Laurie came and sat in the front row with us. Darren and I went forward with all three of our sons and stood before the pastor at the altar as he blessed our sleeping baby girl.
As we stood there, our pastor read from John 20. The passage referred to the time soon after Christ’s resurrection when He appeared in the upper room to His disciples.
“Jesus said to them again, ‘Peace to you! As the Father has sent Me, I also send you.’ And when He had said this, He breathed on them, and said to them, ‘Receive the Holy Spirit.’ ”
My heart was pounding. Christ breathed on His disciples. It was right there in God’s Word. That’s why the concept of aloha had seemed so strangely familiar to me.
Emilee opened her eyes at that moment and looked up at me without crying. I drew her close. Going forehead to forehead with her, I whispered, “Aloha.” I could feel her baby’s breath on my face.
After the service, Laurie and Gabe joined our family and friends for dinner at the Ladybug Tea and Cakes. Sharla had suggested we cater the event at the Ladybug so I wouldn’t have a lot of cleanup at my house. She was running the shop with the help of her niece until the end of the summer, and I was making the most of my time off.
“Did you ask your pastor to read that verse?” Laurie asked me while we went through the buffet line together.
“No. Was that wonderful or what? I’m telling you, Laurie, I haven’t been the same since that trip.”
Gabe leaned over. “That trip was the best thing you two could have ever done.”
“It was your clever wife’s idea,” I said. “Both times.”
Gabe smiled. “She hasn’t been the same since. Did she tell you the Kalamela Hotel chain is using her ‘Fragrant Offering’ picture on the cover of all their brochures?”
“Laurie, that’s wonderful!”
“I was going to tell you later. I had a large sepia print done, and Gabe painted in the flowers. It’s really extraordinary. The second hotel you and I stayed at bought it, and it’s going up in their lobby.”