Hawaiian Sunsets and Miss Edna's Coconut Dream Cake

Chapter 2

The flight attendants quickly pushed the carts down the aisle and picked up full food trays. Except for me, no one in the rows surrounding us had eaten a thing; I’d had the world’s smallest Milky Way Bar hidden among the plastic utensils and dishes. Never again would I question the inclusion of a chocolate bar for breakfast. God help those airline attendants if they had placed this in front of Miss Edna. If she had seen what they called a biscuit, I’m pretty sure she would have made them turn the plane around and head for home. While she has little tolerance for ladies who can’t cook, she refuses even to talk to ladies who complain they can’t make a decent biscuit. To her, it’s the simplest thing in the world. You take flour, cut in some shortening or butter, add a little cream and then keep your hands out of the dough. Overzealous housewives who just knead them into hockey pucks have ruined many a biscuit. She thinks self-rising flour is a sin -- close to murder -- and has written the Martha White Flour Company so many times she ended up getting labels printed with their address. “Anybody who is too lazy to mix in baking powder should not be cooking anyway.” I‘ve heard her say that at least once a day for the last 10 years. When I went to Atlanta with Vincent for some sort of conference, I had this incredible lime scone at this little coffee shop. In glorious Miss Edna style, I just plain refused to leave without that recipe. After six cups of overpriced coffee and the repeat of every family story I’d ever heard, they were more than happy to part with their prized recipe, which turned out to be awfully close to Miss Edna’s biscuit recipe with the addition of sugar, lime zest and glaze.

Over my dead body. Just let me think for a minute.”

The trays had been sitting in front of us for about an hour and the only reason they were being removed was that the plane was landing. This was the first I’d seen of a flight attendant in a good thirty to forty minutes. God knows where they could hide on an airplane.

Vincent woke when the wheels touched ground. He’d been asleep since we left Dallas.

“Your friend’s here.”

“Who?”

I had a good mind to grab him by his hair and pull him across the seat onto the open aisle. But, I’d never laid a hand on him or he on me for that matter. While most people find that civilized, I find it quite boring. Our friends Bill and Janice Lee fight like cats and dogs and have the strongest marriage I know. Bill had always liked to fight growing up and Janice Lee was the tomboy on the street. He got the best of her until she misplaced her Richard Simmons video collection and started watching wrestling on TV. She gained so much weight that she easily outweighed Bill by 100 pounds; he had to make her promise not to use the body slam anymore. A-many Sundays they’d be sitting in church with black eyes and broken noses, but always holding hands.

“Lowdown, sorry Sara Wiley.” I had to get lowdown in, since Miss Edna was furious with me when I told her I didn’t use it in the breakfast fight.

“You have to be kidding.” He weaved his head and saw Sara was on the aisle gathering her belongings. “I had nothing to do with this.”

I wanted to believe him, I really did, but this was just too much of a freak accident. On the other hand I also knew Sara Wiley was the most conniving human alive.

“Where did you get the tickets?” I asked.

“Edith’s Travel.”

“That’s her cousin, Vincent.” Sometimes, I swear he just doesn’t think. I loved him dearly and would go to the end of the world for him, but at that point in time, I could have wrung his neck. “I’m assuming we are all staying at the same hotel?”

“Edith sold me a package. I guess I’d better go have a word with Sara.”

“Over my dead body. Just let me think for a minute.” I was so mad I had a good mind just to stay on the plane and go right back to Mississippi, except I’d heard someone say that this plane was on its way to Japan. My problem with the Japanese is that they don’t put much sugar in their desserts, so as far as I’m concerned, that country is out of the question as a vacation spot. Emily, one of my church friends, had been over there to visit her son who was in the Armed forces, and said that for dessert one night, they were served red bean ice cream. I get sick to my stomach just thinking about it.

“If you want to stay married to me, it is.”

The plane emptied quickly; all the country bumpkins were so excited to be in Hawaii. When the only people that were left were several folks on their way to Japan, I grabbed Vincent and headed back to the bathroom.

“Now, don’t you come out until I knock. She might come back looking for us and I’m sure you won’t crawl under the seat like I would.” Vincent went inside, and I peeked out the window and, sure enough, Sara was milling around at the gate.

Just as soon as the people stopped coming out of the plane, Sara reared her head and darted off, apparently hoping to catch us in baggage claim.

I collected my husband and we dashed off the plane and headed into the terminal.

“So, what are we going to do when we get to the hotel, lock ourselves in the room for seven days?”

“We’re not going to that hotel.”

I knew Vincent was thinking, “What a waste of money,” but there was no way he would have said a word.

The air was fresh and hot. It was the first time I’d been to an open-air airport, where the waiting rooms, hallways, and baggage claim were all outside. This would never work in Mississippi, where the humidity is so thick you can wave your hand and see the air part. And pity the traveler who steps off the plane at night into a horde of mosquitoes out for their nightly feast. Here in Hawaii the ground was black with molten lava, long ago stopped on its journey to the beach. The mountains stretched to the blue sky, dulled by the faintest whisper of gray, which I would later learn was the smoke of a sleeping volcano. It was not the Hawaii I was expecting, but I had other things on my mind.

I took a deep breath of the hot, dry air and let out a huge sigh of relief. Vincent looked at me like I was crazy, but I didn’t care. Yes, I knew that Sara was on my heels, but this was the first place on earth where I didn’t know a soul; nobody could judge me here. I could do what I damned well pleased over the next two weeks and nobody would say a word. (Technically I knew Sara, but trust me, I would not let her within 10 miles of my husband or me.)

We spotted Sara, as it was hard not to in the bright pink linen number that was supposed to be mine. I’m still not sure today if she knew I loved that suit, or if it was just the worst case of irony in modern history. An older woman held up a sign that read “Sunkist Tours” and pointed to the running bus, filling with our tour group. Convinced we were already on the bus, Sara hurried a skycap along as he wrestled with her five matched suitcases.

“Do you see our suitcases?” Vincent eyed the conveyor belt and spotted them still going round.

“They’re both right there,” he said.

“As soon as she steps on the bus, we run, pick up the bags, and head straight for that lime green cab.”

“Okay, James Bond. Is this really necessary?”

“If you want to stay married to me, it is.” There was not an ounce of my regular good humor in my voice.

I have been leid in every state in the union!

Sara reprimanded the skycap for scuffing her luggage and then rushed on the bus hoping to take a seat near us. We made a run for it.

Within seconds, we were sitting, luggage in our lap, in the back of a cab that hadn’t been cleaned in weeks.

“Aloha,” chirped the little sweet Hawaiian cab driver. “I’m Ben. Where are you from?”

“Mississippi.”

“Mississippi, let’s see, have I ever driven anyone from Mississippi?” Before we could answer, he launched into a verbal history of every cab ride he had taken in the last 30 years. “The Jones couple, let’s see, that was in 1958, but I don’t think they were from Mississippi, now that I think about it, they were from Maryland.”

“Common mistake.” Vincent elbowed me; we were still sitting in the pick-up lane and Sara was getting off the bus and looking. “Excuse me, we’re in a big hurry, could we…”

“I almost forgot.” Ben unbuckled his seatbelt and eased out of his door. “I call it the Ben tradition.” He made his way to the back of the car and after a five minute fishing expedition through his truck, returned with two plastic, faded leis.

“This is for the lady, and this is for the man. I give a pair to the first people from every state I drive. That way, I have been leid in every state in the union!” Ben started laughing so hard, I thought the little old man would have a heart attack. We even chuckled, a little, but Sara was now heading toward our cab.
“We have to go, please.”

“Okay, lady, I was just having a little fun.” Ben pulled the keys out of his pocket and started the aging car. Sara stepped right up to the curb where we were parked and bent down to the open window and stared straight into my eyes. But before she could speak, Ben had somehow found “Drive” and we started out of the airport.

She’d looked right through me. Either she was going to apologize or declare war.

“Ben, we’re looking for a hotel, way off the beaten path. Do you know of any places that are unlisted?”

“No, we pretty well all have phones out here.” Ben eyed us both very suspiciously. “You folks don’t look like drug dealers.”

“Were not, we’re secret agents.” I wasn’t sure if my husband was being funny or making fun of me.

“Secret agents? Now, I did pick up these agents one time, now those were some scary folks.” My husband egged him on until Ben confessed to being a spy himself and a major in the Russian army. We both laughed, momentarily forgetting about our dilemma. Vincent reached over and held my hand.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you didn’t tell her.” I was almost sure.

He squeezed my hand and reached over and kissed me. It was a perfect moment, with the mountains lingering by one window and the beaches outside the other. Ben was driving so slowly, the bugs were crashing into the back window. But at that moment nothing else mattered. I told Ben the whole story; Sara, the affair, the whole kit and caboodle. He just chuckled and we rambled on, until the meter reached fifty dollars.

I want to get stoned once while I’m here...

I liked Hawaii; there was nothing ordinary about her. I liked the way she looked. The way she smelled. The remoteness. I liked the one person I had met. His calm demeanor. Everything seemed more relaxed here. When we stopped at a traffic light in the absolute middle of nowhere, Ben got out of the car and retrieved a couple of papaya’s from an unattended roadside stand. After depositing $1.00 in a lock box, he sliced them up and served them up before the light changed green. Delicious. He said they were better with a squeeze of lime, but they tasted about as good as any fruit I had ever sampled.

“So, how about a bed and breakfast?”

“I know a few B and B’s, but well, this is the busy season. I don’t know of one that will have a vacancy.” He pulled out a brochure from the glove compartment and scanned the list. “Let’s try Mahaina Kai.”

He made a U-turn in the middle of the road, took a right down a small asphalt road and stopped at a wonderful house, situated right on the sand.

Trudy welcomed us, but told us she was completely booked. She made a few calls to other B and B’s, only to find they all were filled too. We waved, loaded back into the car and started back toward town. We were stuck.

Ben turned off the meter at seventy dollars when he saw how defeated we looked at the thought of going back to that hotel. Over and over again he hummed a Hawaiian tune that was barely audible over the wind easing through the window. He had been doing it so long, Vincent had begun to hum along.
That Sara had done it again. I felt totally useless.

“I do know of a place that I thought was closed, but I heard someone say, the House by the Sea is still in business.” He made another U-turn and headed down a road even smaller than the one before.

When the road ended at the beach, the house was nowhere in sight; everything was grown over. Ben pulled up to a wall of unkempt bushes and an old cat darted from one branch to another. Layer upon layer of green brush lined a path that hadn’t been trod in years. Water puddles had made their home under the tall bamboo and filled ancient rows of some long ago garden. The air smelled of mildew and salt, with mildew at an overwhelming advantage. I swear I could even smell the mosquitoes.

“Hold on for a minute, please.” Ben got out of the car, retrieved a rusty machete from his trunk, and made his way to the wall of foliage.

“She’s got one mean cat.” I thought he was kidding until the old gray furball lunged at him from the branches. He swatted it away, felling a small palm that had sprouted up in the middle of the path. Then he vanished. “Can you stay here?”

“Vincent, I haven’t even seen it yet. Maybe.” My limited options demanded that I not be picky.

“Well I don’t see Sara visiting us here.” We both burst out laughing like we were stoned. Even though I’d never in my life tried any kind of illegal drug., I’ve heard it makes you laugh … and hungry. And what possibly could possibly be wrong with that?

“I want to get stoned once while I’m here, and this looks like a good place.” Vincent looked at me like I was crazy.

“I do. Just once.”

“Well I can’t, we have drug testing at work.”

“I didn’t say I wanted you to. I said me.” That’s the worst thing about druggies. They always want you to try a little with them. And that’s my pet peeve about drugs. I never cared what people do in their own homes, but don’t get me involved. That’s how I almost lost my good friend Darlene. She loved pot and grew it in her garden, hidden behind the most beautiful zinnias you have ever seen. But you couldn’t go visit her without her dragging you back into her little secret garden and rolling a joint. She didn’t push it on you so much as make you feel like you were a square because you wouldn’t smoke. She was always a ‘happy’ girl, but when she smoked she got to laughing and I swear she wouldn’t stop until she ran out of breath. Then she would go in the house and eat everything within sight. I just had to stop going over to visit. Miss Edna said I should have called Sheriff Holmes, but I couldn’t do that. So Miss Edna went over to Darlene’s house one night and hoed down the entire garden; she wasn’t sure what a pot plant looked like. Darlene’s prize-winning zinnias were lost in the raid. She didn’t speak to me after that for almost a year.

“All right, if that’s what you want.” I could get most anything I wanted from him right now, and he knew it.

horror stories about Hawaiian restaurant prices....

Ben returned smiling, revealing a shiny golden tooth gleaming in the sun.

“She’s open, and completely empty. Do you want to take a look inside?”

“We’ll take it.” To this day, I’m not sure why I said that. We couldn’t even see the house through all the brush. It must have been Ben and his gentle soul. My husband gave me that “You’ve lost your mind” look again.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m not planning on staying here the whole time. Who cares what it looks like? I just want a warm bath, and then I’m going to sit my big white ass out there on that beach and sleep.” When I repeated that line in my head, I felt like such white trash… and I am not fat!

Ben pulled the suitcases from the truck and handed Vincent the machete. “I hope you don’t need it.” Ben chuckled and then grunted as he dragged my suitcase. I had brought a few essential things from my kitchen cupboard, just in case. The hotel was supposed to have a kitchenette, and I’d heard these horror stories about Hawaiian restaurant prices. Our friends, Jim and Alice Berry, told us they went to some restaurant with their rich friends and, while they didn’t see the whole bill, the tip alone was $110.00. Every year, the more they told the story, the more the tip amount grew and grew. I guess it was inflation, but I didn’t want to take any chances and packed accordingly.

With the machete drawn, we’d almost made it out of the thicket when the old gray cat trotted out of the bush with a large rat firmly planted in his jaws. That was something I did not need to see.

“We’ve got loads of those critters ‘round here. And chickens, it’s the state bird, you know. You will never see more beautiful chickens in your life. And pigs….” Ben continued on until I completely forgot about that rat. That’s what southerners do. Before they’ll let your mind linger too long on something bad, they turn the subject completely around. Listen to any southerner who has just heard something bad about his state, he will immediately recite the glories of the food, the hospitality, and the beauty of the land. It was working well until the cat dropped the mangled rat in the middle of the path and dared us to step near it. Vincent manned the machete and cleared us a new pathway to a small clearing, beaten back enough to reveal the front of a long-forgotten house.

its grace had faded like an old quilt

At first glance, you could almost see the charm in it; but that was only if you glanced and turned away. If you stared too long, you couldn’t help but notice that its grace had faded like an old quilt that had gone from soft and worn to ragged and unusable. The house was simple in style, a box with large windows and dormers that rested on the steep roof. The left side sagged, almost touching the ground while the rest of the house rested on brick pillars. Stretching across the entire front was a porch, netted in a screen littered with so many tears and holes that every bug on the island could have nested there. The rusty tin roof revealed layers of paint, once green, once black, from a time when someone had cared for it. The house was a gallant old lady who had planted herself on the sandy soil and weathered the years as best she could.

By the time I made it to the rotten steps, Vincent was already halfway back to the cab – clearly he didn’t want to stay here. Ben took a seat on my portable kitchen somewhere between us both and chuckled to himself, probably expecting a fight.

A large black crow peeked his head out of a hole in the screen and cawed to announce the arrival of a wrinkled hand that pushed open the creaky wooden screen-door. There stood the tallest female creature I had ever seen, draped in a multi-flowered muumuu. She tugged on what should’ve been a knee-length dress to keep it below her crotch. Her wrinkled limbs jutted out of every opening in the apparel. Her hair, gray from age and gold from the sun, folded neatly on her shoulders like a long-ago contestant in a Miss America pageant. You could tell that she was once pretty and stately but like with her house, time had taken its toll. She smiled and the wrinkles deepened and shot toward her clear blue eyes. I knew right away that I would like her.

“Welcome, I’m Louise. I thought you said it was a couple, Ben.” Ben motioned to the noise of a lost Vincent clearing his way out of the thicket.

“Vincent!” I called and the noise stopped. “Hi, I’m Sadie Vaughan, and that’s my husband, Vincent, doing a little exploring.”

She laughed and cracked a knowing smile. “Husbands!” The crow above the door squawked and Louise reached in her pocket and pulled out a handful of seed. The crow swooped and rested on her hand. “This is Tina and this is really her house.” I could not believe she let that nasty animal land on her hand, its beady black eyes evilly peering at me, between pecks at the seeds. I like animals, but this seemed a little bit out of the ordinary. “How many days are you planning to stay?

“Tonight for sure.”

“I bet you’ll be here a week. I’ll give you the weekly rate per day, I‘m so sure of it.”

Vincent had made his way out of the bushes and pulled out his wallet.

“Hello, I’m Vincent.” He tried to be nice, but it was easy to tell he’d be back in the cab the first chance he got.

“Just pay when you leave."

“Folks, you’re going to need a car out here, and I have an old one you can use,” Ben offered as he hoisted our suitcases onto the front porch. Before we could say anything, he was halfway down the path.

“Hey, wait a minute, we haven’t paid the fare.” Vincent reached around for his wallet. “How much do we owe you?”

“Just give me a twenty.” My husband was so stunned with this generosity, he gave him the twenty, plus another twenty as a tip. But Ben handed back the extra twenty and gave me a little hug.
“Take her out to a nice dinner.”

And then he left.

“It’s just about my favorite thing in the world.”

We followed Louise onto the porch, which was lined with old rocking chairs, although only two looked like they could support any weight. The front door was open, revealing a large breezeway that ran the depth of the house. When we stepped inside, we were hit by a gust of cool ocean air whisking over the worn wooden floor planks. The ceilings were high and a few spider webs clung to corners. Two benches made of horsehair lined either side of the hallway. Off to one side was a living room, home to ancient furniture that looked uncomfortable, cold, and lonely. I’d bet no one had been in there for years. Connecting to it was a dining room with a large pine table, polished to within an inch of its life, crowned with the same vase of porcelain flowers that had been on our table growing up in Yazoo City. They were ugly. She pointed out the kitchen as the last door off the breezeway, but we didn’t get that far. There was a line of bedroom doors on the other side, and she opened the one in the middle.

The room was larger than any hotel room we could have hoped to find. It was a little musty, but as she pried open the window the breeze rejuvenated the stagnant air. A queen bed, a small pine desk and a large armoire barely filled the room. It was quiet, like the dead of night. Vines had made their way onto the window, mashing themselves against the panes and duplicating the faded wallpaper.

“The control to the attic fan is right outside the door.” Louise went outside, touched the switch and the motor roared in the attic of the breezeway while a tidal wave of wind poured in from the outside. “Your bath is behind that door -- it shares with the next room, but since no one else is here, it’s all yours.”

“I brought along a few cooking items. Would it be okay, if I use the kitchen sometime?” My husband gave me that look, like I was pushing my luck and should just keep my big mouth shut. He did that a lot, so I never paid too much attention to it. Momma always used to say, “You don’t ever know, if you don’t at least ask.” And I had always managed to sweeten any deal, just by asking. Mr. Ledbetter, down at Yazoo Appliances threw in a 6-month supply of Tide even though I purchased a dryer because I convinced him that my washer would break soon. Donald at the Yazoo Motor Company was delighted to give my husband a free recliner when he purchased that truck despite the incentive having expired a year earlier and being for cars only. You had to ask.

“Don’t mind at all, just make yourself comfortable.” I knew it was childish, but I had to stick my tongue out at my husband. I usually got what I asked for. “You like cooking, ha?”

“It’s just about my favorite thing in the world.”

“Well, don’t go expecting an earth-shattering breakfast tomorrow. It’ll be good and healthy, and if I get up early enough to get those guavas off the tree, fresh. Where are you from?”

...the bugs were crashing into the back window

“Mississippi.”

“Mississippi, let’s see, have I ever driven anyone from Mississippi?” Before we could answer, he launched into a verbal history of every cab ride he had taken in the last 30 years. “The Jones couple, let’s see, that was in 1958, but I don’t think they were from Mississippi, now that I think about it, they were from Maryland.”

“Common mistake.” Vincent elbowed me; we were still sitting in the pick-up lane and Sara was getting off the bus and looking. “Excuse me, we’re in a big hurry, could we…”

“I almost forgot.” Ben unbuckled his seatbelt and eased out of his door. “I call it the Ben tradition.” He made his way to the back of the car and after a five minute fishing expedition through his truck, returned with two plastic, faded leis.

“This is for the lady, and this is for the man. I give a pair to the first people from every state I drive. That way, I have been leid in every state in the union!” Ben started laughing so hard, I thought the little old man would have a heart attack. We even chuckled, a little, but Sara was now heading toward our cab.
“We have to go, please.”

“Okay, lady, I was just having a little fun.” Ben pulled the keys out of his pocket and started the aging car. Sara stepped right up to the curb where we were parked and bent down to the open window and stared straight into my eyes. But before she could speak, Ben had somehow found “Drive” and we started out of the airport.

She’d looked right through me. Either she was going to apologize or declare war.

“Ben, we’re looking for a hotel, way off the beaten path. Do you know of any places that are unlisted?”

“No, we pretty well all have phones out here.” Ben eyed us both very suspiciously. “You folks don’t look like drug dealers.”

“Were not, we’re secret agents.” I wasn’t sure if my husband was being funny or making fun of me.

“Secret agents? Now, I did pick up these agents one time, now those were some scary folks.” My husband egged him on until Ben confessed to being a spy himself and a major in the Russian army. We both laughed, momentarily forgetting about our dilemma. Vincent reached over and held my hand.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you didn’t tell her.” I was almost sure.

He squeezed my hand and reached over and kissed me. It was a perfect moment, with the mountains lingering by one window and the beaches outside the other. Ben was driving so slowly, the bugs were crashing into the back window. But at that moment nothing else mattered. I told Ben the whole story; Sara, the affair, the whole kit and caboodle. He just chuckled and we rambled on, until the meter reached fifty dollars.

I swear I could even smell the mosquitoes

I liked Hawaii; there was nothing ordinary about her. I liked the way she looked. The way she smelled. The remoteness. I liked the one person I had met. His calm demeanor. Everything seemed more relaxed here. When we stopped at a traffic light in the absolute middle of nowhere, Ben got out of the car and retrieved a couple of papaya’s from an unattended roadside stand. After depositing $1.00 in a lock box, he sliced them up and served them up before the light changed green. Delicious. He said they were better with a squeeze of lime, but they tasted about as good as any fruit I had ever sampled.

“So, how about a bed and breakfast?”

“I know a few B and B’s, but well, this is the busy season. I don’t know of one that will have a vacancy.” He pulled out a brochure from the glove compartment and scanned the list. “Let’s try Mahaina Kai.”

He made a U-turn in the middle of the road, took a right down a small asphalt road and stopped at a wonderful house, situated right on the sand.

Trudy welcomed us, but told us she was completely booked. She made a few calls to other B and B’s, only to find they all were filled too. We waved, loaded back into the car and started back toward town. We were stuck.

Ben turned off the meter at seventy dollars when he saw how defeated we looked at the thought of going back to that hotel. Over and over again he hummed a Hawaiian tune that was barely audible over the wind easing through the window. He had been doing it so long, Vincent had begun to hum along.

That Sara had done it again. I felt totally useless.

“I do know of a place that I thought was closed, but I heard someone say, the House by the Sea is still in business.” He made another U-turn and headed down a road even smaller than the one before.

When the road ended at the beach, the house was nowhere in sight; everything was grown over. Ben pulled up to a wall of unkempt bushes and an old cat darted from one branch to another. Layer upon layer of green brush lined a path that hadn’t been trod in years. Water puddles had made their home under the tall bamboo and filled ancient rows of some long ago garden. The air smelled of mildew and salt, with mildew at an overwhelming advantage. I swear I could even smell the mosquitoes.

"Palin, Joe the Plummer, McCain, Obama, ACORN, and Swing States all love Miss Edna's Coconut Cake"