It was fun to start over in this way, owning only what he needed for his new life, whatever that was going to be. After some consideration, he bought a compact sound system and a TV for news and sports. He ate rice and fish, bought vegetables at the farmers market, and walked on the beach. The beach belongs to the people in Hawaii; it cannot be owned or sealed off. He bought a few aloha shirts and spent days at the university, the main library downtown, the shopping center, and occasionally, Waikiki. In a month he had a tan, and his pidgin had come back. Kate had learned to talk on the island; she spoke pidgin from deep down. Joe's pidgin was only half way there. If the locals are in doubt, they will ask anything in order to hear you speak—in a few words they know how long you've been around. Joe didn't mind the test. Usually he got points for trying.
Kate wanted him to visit during the holidays, but he decided against it. He was just getting used to the island and he didn't feel like traveling. The day after Christmas, he was at the Moana leaning back with a beer and thinking about Sperandeo's book on stock trading when someone asked, "Caffe Ladro?" The woman he'd seen in Seattle was standing a few feet away, looking at his T-shirt.
"Ah, Moira." he said, standing up. She was trying to place him.
"Winifred," she said.
"I saw you in The Elliot Bay Book Company," he said. "Last month. Moira was a guess."
"Oh, yes . . . something funny . . . you had a projection."
"Very funny," Joe said. "Winifred, my name is Joe, Joe Burke. Why not come sit? Talk story . . . "
"I've given up on men," she said to someone listening in the banyan.
"Very sensible," Joe said.
She hesitated and sat. "I love this tree," she said, placing her sun glasses on the table between them.