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

“But let’s think this over and talk later.”
    He went out the back, carefully pulling the door closed to avoid waking the rest of the house. I followed him out five minutes later, travel coffee mug in hand. The sun was just peeking over the horizon as I barreled down Baldwin Avenue, ready to kick and scream my way back to a sense of control and equilibrium.
    I pulled into the alley behind the Palace of Pain, the place where I work out most mornings. The name is a bit misleading. I’m not into medieval self-flogging rituals, or anything remotely S and M. In fact, even hardcore mani-pedis, with all that cuticle clipping and callous scraping, give me the willies.
    PoP is a martial arts training facility, called a guan in kung fu terminology. I’ve been training there since I came back to Maui after graduating from the University of Hawaii, and the head instructor, or sifu , is a good friend of mine.
    The building was locked up, but I let myself in using the key I’d been given when I’d achieved black belt status. Early morning is my favorite time. The shadowy training room is deathly quiet; the mats cool underneath my bare feet. A trace scent of bleach hung in the air from my instructor’s attempt to sanitize the place enough to rid it of a lingering odor of grimy feet and dried sweat.
    I went into the back and changed into my black cotton work-out uniform. The pants legs were frayed at the bottom. One of the frog loops on the jacket had broken so I’d resorted to using a safety pin. The whole outfit had been washed so many times it was more gray than black. My sifu , Doug, had tsk, tsk’d me more than a few times about how I should put forth a more professional appearance, but I didn’t care. That uniform had taken me from orange belt to black, so I felt a certain loyalty. I wasn’t willing to toss it on a fire until it leapt there on its own.
    I’d worked out for nearly an hour before Sifu Doug showed up. He came through the door and immediately snapped on the overhead fluorescent lights.
    “Hey, Pali,” he said. “I paid the light bill this month. No need to stumble around in the dark.”
    I laughed. We’d had this discussion at least a dozen times before.
    “Good morning, Sifu ,” I said, bowing.
    He returned the bow. “You on your way out?”
    “Yep,” I said. “I’ve got clients coming in at nine.”
    “It’s not yet seven-thirty,” he said. “Join me for a cup of tea?”
    It was an honor to be asked to spend time with Sifu Doug. Anyway, it was for me. I suppose for naughty kids who were summoned to his office for messing around in class, it was anything but an honor, but as far as I was concerned, time with Doug was always well-spent.
    “What’s happening at your shop?” he said.
    He had an electric hot pot that could boil water in less than a minute, and he busied himself pulling out mugs and tea paraphernalia from his desk drawer. I was a bit skeptical about the cleanliness of the mugs and spoons, but there was no way I’d insult my sifu by getting up and rinsing them off. Instead, when his back was turned, I quickly wiped the rims of the mugs with the shirt-tail of my uniform.
    “I saw that,” he said, turning back around.
    “What?”
    “You wiped my perfectly clean mugs with your grungy uniform.”
    “How’d you see that? Your back was turned.”
    He nodded toward a shelf behind his desk. A tiny round mirror was wedged between a book about famous martial arts fighters and one of Doug’s many tournament trophies.
    “I like the kids to think I got eyes in the back of my head,” he said. “Keeps ‘em guessing.”
    I apologized to Doug for the dis, and then told him I’d signed up my last client before my three months off.
    “You must be getting excited about your wedding,” he said. “Lani’s got the kids folding cranes for you.”
    It’s an old Japanese custom for the bride-to-be to fold one-thousand origami paper cranes to present to the groom’s family on their