I get you something to drink? I feel
horrible not asking you sooner. Where are my manners?” She’d turned an
unhealthy shade of pale at my mention of widowhood. I imagined her hormones had
probably kicked into overdrive at the thought of being left alone with a
newborn.
“No, no, don’t worry, I’m doing
fine. It’s been a while now. Every day it gets easier.”
She looked shocked at my
cavalier attitude.
“No, what I mean is, I loved my
husband very, very much. But we were only married a short time and we didn’t
have kids, or even our own home. It’s hard, of course, but I’ve gotten a lot of
support from the military.”
“Wouldn’t it have been easier
for you to stay over there for the holidays, with the other military wives?”
“No, actually it’s just the
opposite. They take one look at me and they see their worst nightmare. It’s
best for everyone if I handle this on my own.”
I felt like such a fraud, like
an emotional con artist. Why hadn’t the feds come up with something less
heartbreaking? I still thought my Saudi prince story was a better way to go.
“Well, then it looks like this
might work out for both of us,” she said. “Would you like a tour?”
She showed me around her home.
All of the floors were polished hardwood, and the walls were adorned in
sepia-toned prints of hula dancers on the beach. The front room, or as she
called it, the ‘great room’ was a cozy sitting area with a small sofa and two
overstuffed chairs that were clean but had seen better days. There was a small
fireplace against the far wall.
“Is that an operating fireplace?”
I said.
“Oh yes, we use it a lot. It can
get pretty nippy up here on winter nights.”
“Where do you get the wood?”
She smiled. “Look around. These
Cook Island pines sometimes drop ten-foot branches when we get a big storm.”
That was less than comforting.
The three guest rooms were
similar, but not identical. Two rooms had queen beds, and the other room had a
queen and a set of bunk beds. All had attached bathrooms with toilet, sink and
shower.
“The larger room is for
families,” she said. “You’d be surprised how many kids we get here. I think the
parents are afraid to stay at the Four Seasons. The kids might break
something.”
Yeah, I thought, like dad’s
wallet.
“Every morning we pick fresh
fruit and serve it with breakfast. We’ve got mango, papaya, bananas—all kinds
of trees. We even have some strawberry plants in the greenhouse.”
She went on. “My husband,
Darryl, makes muffins or scones to start with. Then, when the guests are
seated, we offer them egg dishes. Sometimes to order—like specialty omelets or
bacon and eggs—or sometimes he just makes a sausage and egg casserole. He’s got
all kinds of recipes he’ll leave for you.”
I was getting a little nervous.
I usually scarfed down some yogurt or cold cereal for breakfast. Whipping up
omelets and casseroles wasn’t my strong suit.
“You look worried. Don’t be,”
she said. “We promise a full, healthy breakfast. If you want to buy some
muffins at the store and fix some oatmeal with fruit, that will be fine. The
only thing you’ve got to get perfect is the coffee. People on the Internet rave
about our coffee.”
“I’m a big fan of the stuff
myself.”
“Good. Because we use the best
Kona beans and we grind them fresh for every pot. We use French presses and
each table gets their own press so they can help themselves.”
“I’ve never done that.”
“It’s simple. If you can operate
a bicycle pump, you can make French press coffee. It’s the same principle.”
She showed me where the cleaning
supplies were kept and then she opened the linen closet. “We wash our own
linens here, but we only change the guests’ sheets every three days, unless
there’s an accident. The guests know that they don’t get new sheets daily, so
it’s not a problem. The washing machine is out in the carport and I dry
everything on the back