Ava drove the utility terrain vehicle down the lane. Last night’s rain, coupled with heavy semi-truck traffic, had created more than a few potholes. She gripped the steering wheel tighter as she jostled back and forth. She neared the packing shed and pulled to a stop, then killed the engine. “Hey, Mig.” She waved at Miguel Nakamoto, the farm manager at Pali Maui.
Mig was nearly a fixture at Pali Maui, having worked at the pineapple plantation longer than anyone—nearly as long as Ava. His responsibilities included managing the fields and the packing operation and supervising the employees. He was good at his job and highly respected. Ava was grateful to work alongside him, especially now that her husband was gone.
“Well, well…is that a new UTV, Miss Ava?” he asked, grinning.
“It’s for you,” she announced, grinning. “We couldn’t have you driving your classic down these bumpy roads, now, could we?” she teased, knowing he would never drive his baby down the plantation roads or in the pineapple fields.
Mig was extremely proud of his red and white 1955 Chevy Bel Air, decked with wide white sidewall tires and rear wheel skirts. Everyone knew how much that car meant to him.
Mig laughed. “No, my Bel Air does not go off-road,” he agreed.
Ava climbed from the UTV. “Well, Christel said we needed to use up some cash before the end of our fiscal year, for tax purposes. So, I thought I’d surprise you.” His old UTV had blown a head gasket last week. They had a choice of paying for expensive repairs or investing in a new unit.
“Whoo-eee! She’s a beaut,” he said, whistling his appreciation. Mig walked around the farm vehicle, inspecting and admiring it.
Ava smiled and handed him the keys. “Did the shipment of sealer wax come in?
He nodded. “Yesterday.”
“Good,” she said as she followed him inside the packing shed. “I put a rush on it. Unfortunately, we’re running against some shipping backlog from the mainland.”
Mig hung his baseball cap on a peg and both he and Ava donned disposable hair caps before moving for the conveyers. Workers picked pineapples off the moving belt and placed them in cardboard shipping boxes.
While the pineapple harvest ran year-round, the heavy fruiting season ran primarily from March until June. It took two to three years for a single pineapple to reach maturation. This meant Pali Maui had to run like a well-oiled machine. Mig was a big part of making that happen. That did not mean that Ava was hands-off. She helped direct the planting and harvesting.
Lincoln often criticized and said her oversight was unnecessary. She disagreed.
After Lincoln passed away, she heard the rumors. Gossip went around suggesting she wasn’t up for running the entire operation without her husband. Little did they know she had always run this operation. Lincoln was only the masthead.
When they’d finished looking over the packing effort, Mig followed Ava outside. “So, I hear Shane popped the question.”
Ava broke into a wide smile. “Yes, and Aimee said yes.”
Mig laughed. “Does this gal know what she’s in for?”
“Do any of us know what to expect when we marry?” Ava countered.
The farm manager’s deep-brown skin crinkled at the eyes as he laughed again. “No.” He shook his head. “I don’t suppose we do.” Mig had been divorced for nearly a decade. His ex-wife was known as the “plate thrower.”
They walked in the direction of the fields. A tour bus filled with visitors slowly passed, speakers blaring. “Pali Maui is self-sufficient, even down to the fuel used in the trucks. The seeds from those sunflowers along the river are harvested and used to make biodiesel.”
Ava and Mig exchanged glances. This is where fascinated tourists threw their hands up with questions—all of which would be answered by the bus driver as the bus leaned around the tight corner and headed for the first field.
“How is Christel?” Mig asked.
“She really did a number on her ankle,” Ava answered. “It wasn’t broken, but she sure sprained it good. But you know Christel. She never missed a minute of work. She simply propped the wrapped ankle up on an empty printer box and soldiered on.” Ava stepped over a dip in the roadway that was filled with muddy water. “What do you hear from your daughter, Mig?”
“Leilani is a good girl. She calls me every week even though she’s very busy. Her PR firm recently landed a contract with a big-selling romance author who lives in Seattle.” Mig kicked a rotting pineapple off the road with the toe of his boot. “Who knew those romance authors made that much money?”
“Yeah?”
“Oh, yes. Leilani says bare man chests really sell.” He broke into his signature laughter.
“Maybe that’s your problem, Mig. You keep your shirt buttoned up,” she teased.
Mig was quick to wave her off. “Ay, ay, ay…that field’s been harvested long ago. I’m not about to replant it.”
Ava reached her arm around her farm manager and gave him a little hug. “I’m right there with you, friend.”