Part 3 — The Last Knock
At seven oclock sharp on our fifth morning in Maui, my mother-in-law knocked, as she had every morning that week. And the person who opened the door was my father-in-law.
Walter stood there in a bright flowered shirt, a bag over one shoulder, grinning like a man who had escaped from somewhere. He held a bouquet of plumeria in front of him like a shield.
“Linda,” he said. “Good morning, my darling. Happy second honeymoon.”
She stared at him. She looked at us in our robes behind him. She looked at the bouquet. Her mouth opened and nothing came out.
My husband had slipped out the night before to call his father. He had told him the truth, kindly. That we loved his wife, that she was frightened of losing her only son, and that no one had ever taken her on a trip of her own.
Walter had booked the red-eye that same night. He had reserved a suite on the other side of the island, with a balcony, a spa day, and a dinner on the beach.
“Forty-one years,” Walter said. “You said you wanted to see Maui since 1983. I am sorry it took me this long.”
Linda covered her face with both hands. We heard her say, from behind them, “I thought I was losing him.”
My husband stepped forward and hugged her. “Mom, you are not losing me. You are gaining a daughter. But a honeymoon is for two. You and Dad get your own.”
It was the first time I had seen her cry for a reason other than disapproval. She hugged me too, stiffly, and whispered, “I was unkind. I will do better.”
They left by noon, with their suitcase and a plumeria lei around her neck. Walter turned and gave my husband a two-fingered salute.
Sometimes the most generous way to say no is to make sure the other person has somewhere lovely to say yes.
We had five days of snorkeling, sunsets, and silence. On the last evening a postcard arrived at the front desk in her handwriting. Having a wonderful time. Please enjoy yours. Love, Mom.