gs. Why
don't we go over to Kauai some time? Day trip. Catch an early plane,
drive around, look at things, and be back by dinner? Mo pursed her lips
and considered.

" I have a client over there; I could write it off. It would be nice to
see the canyon. I have to go to the mainland next week. How about the
week after, say Friday? That would give me time to get something done
before we went."

"Sounds good. Closest flight to seven o'clock, two weeks from Friday?"

"Which airline?" Mo asked.

"I don't know--Aloha?"

"O.K. It's easier for my books if I get my own ticket," she said.

"Great. If I don't hear from you I'll see you at the terminal. Good
luck with Jade Willow Lady." Mo dropped him off at the shopping center
and drove into traffic without looking back.

He took the escalator to the upper level and walked into Shirokya,
drawn by Japanese muzak and pretty packaging. The Japanese were
incapable of bad design, he thought. It was in their genes or
something. Or maybe it was just that they cared. He almost bought a
porcelain doll to keep Batman company on the lanai, but he decided that
might be pushy. He called Aloha and bought a ticket for the 7:10 flight
to Kauai. He and Mo hadn't agreed on a return time, but the 5:45 seemed
most likely.

It was nearing pupu hour at The Chart House. He walked over in time to
get a table by the open windows, ordered a Glenlivet, and stretched out
to enjoy the view of masts in the marina. The trade wind kept up an
aluminum chatter, not as nice as the spirit of the bamboo grove, but
pleasant in its own way.

At the next table, three boat owners in their thirties were drinking,
talking story, and laughing loudly. As the first group of well dressed
office women came through the door, one of the men leaned back in his
chair. A grin spread his mustache across his red face. "Bogeys, three
o'clock," he announced.

The squadron adjusted for combat. Most would become prisoners of war,
Joe thought. He'd been one himself, not unhappily. Perhaps it was the
habit of being coupled that was pushing him in Mo's direction. She
wasn't as natural as Sally, his first wife, or as cheerful as Ingrid;
she was more independent, focused, more like him in some ways. Too bad
about her child--that explained some of the seriousness in her face.
She wasn't bowled over by the great Joe Burke, but she was interested.
He pulled back on the stick and began to climb.

6

If a globe is turned