"Kailua isn't paradise, exactly. I've got to stop a moment in town and then we'll go over to Kaneohe."
"Sure." They wound down off the pali, and Joe waited while Mo accomplished her errand. She drove along Oneawa Street past the Racquet Club. Joe pointed. "See that hedge? I planted it!" A tall oleander hedge curved along the club drive. "A hundred small bushes," Joe said, "took me almost all day."
"Your roots in Hawaii?"
"Yok. I used to live there with Sally and Kate. I was the manager."
"How old is Kate?"
"Twenty-seven. Hard to believe. Where are we going?"
"Tops."
"That's pretty exciting. We can eat breakfast again."
"I hope she's there—a picture I'm thinking about." Mo pulled into the Tops parking lot and they sat at the counter. Joe didn't need to look at the over-sized plastic menu; he'd read it dozens of times in the Ala Moana Tops. A tall woman wearing a cook's apron stood in front of the grill. Her black hair, gathered behind her head, was held by a tortoise shell comb. Her face was long and utterly calm. Eggs, homefries, and burgers sizzled in front of her. She dropped slices of bread into an industrial toaster, flipped and scrambled, stirred and buttered, served and cleaned with untroubled movements of her arms and hands. Occasionally she turned or moved a step sideways without changing expression. She was like a reflection of herself in a still pond.
"Something else," Joe said.