The Bone Field by Debra Bokur (top e book reader txt) 📕

“Let me fix you something for dinner,” said Kali, wondering if she had anything in the refrigerator to make up a meal.

“Oh, now you talk to me,” said Makena. The testiness had returned to her voice. She leaned against the back of the sofa and glared at Kali. Hilo lay down by Makena’s feet, panting.

“Sorry,” said Kali. She realized too late that she’d hardly spoken to Makena throughout the drive. “I’m not ignoring you intentionally, it’s just . . .”

“That you’re trying to solve a crime, and that’s more important,” said Makena. She pushed herself off the sofa and moved to the table. She pulled out a chair and sat down. “No worries. I’m used to it. Dad was the same way. I know where I fall on the list of what’s important and what’s not.”

Kali bit her lip. She opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bowl of eggs and a small plate that held half a stick of butter. She rummaged around in the crisper drawer that held a few miscellaneous vegetables and removed a half-empty bag of spinach and part of an onion that was wrapped in plastic.

“It’s not like that,” she said. She tried again. “Why don’t you make us a pot of tea, and I’ll make omelets?”

“Did you learn to cook?” asked Makena, making no effort to hide her sarcasm.

Kali froze, holding the bag of spinach in one hand, the onion in the other. She looked at Makena, then burst out laughing, unable to help herself. To her surprise, Makena began to laugh as well.

“You’re thinking of those brownies, aren’t you?” Kali said, recalling a long-ago afternoon when she’d attempted to bake brownies from scratch, using a recipe from a cookbook she’d found on one of Mike’s kitchen shelves. The results had been inedible, and Kali had been appalled to see the level of disappointment reflected on the faces of both father and daughter when they’d bitten into the dry, crumbling squares of chocolate.

Makena got up and walked over to the counter where the electric kettle was plugged into a wall socket. “Yeah. That and everything else.” She glanced at the food Kali was transferring to the counter. “Is there any cheese?” she asked.

Kali looked back into the fridge. “A little goat’s cheese,” she answered. “It’s got herbs in it. Is that okay?”

Makena nodded. “Yeah, I guess so.” She eyed the vegetables in Kali’s hands. “But no onion for me. Gives me heartburn.”

For the next fifteen minutes, the two women prepared tea and omelets. They worked mostly in silence, but the atmosphere was less charged than it usually was when they were together. Kali accepted that while the moment wasn’t exactly companionable, it was at least unmarked by the swearing and angry remarks that usually defined their exchanges. She unplugged her computer and transferred it to the coffee table in front of her sofa, then set the table, realizing that it had been quite some time since she’d put out place mats and set silverware and glasses out to share a meal with another person.

After they had finished eating, they sat across from one another, content. Hilo had relocated to beneath the table, lying stretched between their feet. As Kali leaned forward, ready to get up and remove their plates, Makena spoke.

“I don’t remember my mother,” she said. There was a moment before she said anything else, as if she were trying to picture her mother in her mind. “Not even a little bit. You know, what her voice sounded like, or if she wore perfume.” There was no grief in her voice; it was a simple statement, as though this fact had only just occurred to her.

“I didn’t know her,” said Kali slowly, unsure whether or not a response was desired. “I wish I had, but she died a long time before I met your dad.”

Makena was holding a teaspoon. She looked down at the stainless steel outline, and at her fingers as she rolled the bowl of the spoon against the surface of the table. On impulse, Kali stood up. She glanced at the window, gauging the light.

“Come on,” she said. “I want to show you something outside if you feel up to it.”

Makena didn’t appear especially interested, but she rose from the table all the same. Her slight figure was silhouetted as she moved past the window, and Kali sensed the fragility of her body. She followed Kali across the lanai and down the steps to the lawn, then toward the thicket of trees where Mike’s canoe lay shrouded in its hlau shelter by the palm fronds that covered the roof of the small structure. They ducked inside the hlau, which was open at either end, Hilo darting between them. He sniffed the ground and lost interest, then dashed from beneath the shelter and across the lawn toward the drop-off to the sea. The two women watched him for a moment, then turned their gazes to the canoe.

“This is the canoe your dad was building,” said Kali.

She pulled away the large canvas tarp she’d used to cover it, revealing the slender, unfinished wooden boat. Even in its current state, it was beautiful. Makena moved toward it. She reached out and ran her fingers along the edge from the centerline toward the exaggerated stern neck that had been left in place to transport it to its current location. The interior space was only roughly hewn, suggesting the narrow cavity that had been intended.

“He wanted it to be authentic,” said Kali. “He said it needed to rest here for several years for the wood to cure properly before he could finish carving out the interior.” She didn’t bother to say what each of them knew—that his life had ended before he’d had the opportunity to complete his task.

“Why do you keep it?” Makena asked.

Kali pondered the question. How could she explain to this girl that it was a connection—something she could touch? There were good memories attached