“I ordered a commercial appraisal earlier this year. You can see the paperwork, if you like.”
“Yes, please,” Tom and Uncle Hiroshi said, almost in unison. Margaret jumped up and hurried into another room, coming back with a small sheaf of papers. After Tom and Uncle Hiroshi studied it, they passed it to my father, and then it was mine.
I scanned the appraisal. 1 Kalama Street was a ratty-looking shack in the midst of weeds, and a line of type below listed it as a rental property owned by Pierce Holdings. The appraised value was five million dollars, which the appraiser had calculated based on the prospect of selling the cottage as a teardown property.
“You can go out there, see it yourself. Me, I got a court order to stay away from the place, so I can’t go there anymore.” Edwin turned to look directly at the men at the table. “So how about it? Do you want to help us? If I’m being too pushy, let me know. We’re family.”
To my surprise my father said, “I think we’d like to think about this…challenge you have presented. May we give you our answer in a few days?”
“Of course!” Edwin sounded aggressively jovial. “I didn’t mean to surprise you with too much news at one time, but you are just here for just a month. We got to use our time well.
No, I thought to myself. It’s not about using our time well. It’s about using us, period.
9
I BROKE THE law right away the next morning, by heading across the Pierce fields for my run. Everything I’d learned about the Pierce Holdings in the last day had predisposed me to dislike, and I seriously doubted the lands manager would shoot a small woman in a red running bra and purple shorts, if he came across me. I prepared an innocent response, in case I was confronted, but I was not. I saw nobody there, or in the plantation village, and I fairly swaggered into Aloha Morning and downed a bottle of ice-cold Fiji water while I waited for my latte, feeling the sweat cooling against my almost-bare back. It had been a wonderful run, largely because of the absence of traffic. The only car I’d had to watch out for had been a speeding Mercedes driving through Kainani, and I’d just let it pass.
On this, my second full day on the island, I felt myself falling into a routine. At the coffee shop I’d exchanged the shaka sign with Kainoa when I’d walked in; he’d grinned but remained in leisurely conversation with customers lounging on the lanai. While I waited for my coffee order to be made by a young, bleached-blond Asian surfer boy, I ambled around the shop, looking at the various things for sale. In addition to surfboards and macadamia nuts, there was a clothing section selling Hawaii-themed T-shirts, sarongs, board shorts and swimwear.
“You plan to swim home?”
I jumped at the sound of Kainoa’s voice. He was right behind me, with a paper cup in one hand. “Here’s your latte. I had Joe make it with a double shot, no extra charge.”
“Thanks.” I saw his eyes go to the small crocheted bikini in my hand. “Don’t tell me you’ve got nuns in a convent going blind making these?”
Kainoa laughed. “My cousin Leila crochets them, hanging out in her backyard while the kids play. They sell here and on the beach at Haleiwa, where of course the price is twenty per cent higher.”
“Cute, but a bit too young for me.” I put the bikini down, glad that my three-year-old Speedo was still serviceable. “So, where’s Charisse?”
“Didn’t show up.” Kainoa shrugged. “Second morning this week it’s happened. If she gets in, I’m going to have her give the espresso machine a good cleaning-I can’t handle this place all on my own, you know? And about the bikini, just take it home, yah? Forget your age, which is what, twenty-six?”
“Thirty. You’re a very good salesman,” I said, smiling despite myself.
“It’s not the only thing I’m good at.” His eyes held mine for a moment. “What are you doing tonight? I’m going over to a club on the North Shore, nice little hangout where Jack Johnson used to play. I hear he’s back on the island, which means he might even stop in and jam.”
“What a nice invitation.” I paused, thinking how I could rebuff him without causing offense. “I’m sorry, but I can’t go. Family obligations.”
“You got kids?” His thick eyebrows rose.
“No, but I’m caring for my father. He had a stroke recently, so I’m working on his physical therapy and diet every day, and I don’t like to leave him alone at night.” I’d poured it on a little heavy, but I didn’t want Kainoa to ask me out for another night. “My morning run is the one thing I do for myself, and I treasure it.”
Kainoa followed me over to the bar, where I decided to use a squeeze bottle of local honey instead of my usual sugar. He said, “All right then, I can take a hint. So how you getting along with your Hawaii relatives? Is your uncle still chasing waterfront property dreams?”
“He is-and no matter how lolo or annoying he may be, I’m sympathetic. So many Japanese-Americans lost property during the war. There are heartbreaking stories throughout California, where I grew up.”
“Hawaii’s totally different,” Kainoa said. “People here weren’t put in the camps. Nobody stole their land-”
“That’s not exactly true. If you look at the whole chain of islands in Hawaii, about twenty thousand were taken to camps on the mainland. In our case, Uncle Yosh worked at the post office, so he was accused of reading classified military mail.”
“Yosh Shimura-you talking ’bout the old buggah who raises koi? I didn’t know he was interned.”
“Yes, he’s the one.” I took a sip of coffee. “Hey, this latte is perfect. Maybe it was the double shot.”
“I’d think you would have ruined it with the honey you added,” Kainoa said.
“It’s my new habit; I’m trying to cut down on refined sugar.”
“Whatever,” Kainoa said. “And regarding your crazy family business, don’t even think about it no more. You got enough going on with your father. You don’t need more life troubles.”
“What do you mean by that?” His tone had startled me.
Kainoa looked at me. “You want to stay in good health, keep up your running, go swimming, try the honey in your latte. Where you might get hurt is going somewhere you shouldn’t, especially on this side of the island.”
“Are you talking about the Pierce lands?”
“No, I’m not.” Kainoa looked at me levelly. “I’m talking about the past. And it’s just a tip, because I’d hate to see a nice girl like you get hurt.”
HAD KAINOA BEEN threatening me? I wondered as I lounged in the pool with my father a few hours later. No, I decided. It was just the language gap between us. All of a sudden, I wished I really was a kamaaina, and not just another hapa-haole stumbling her way through misunderstandings.
The sun had warmed the pool to the most amazingly pleasant temperature, and the sky was beautiful and cloudless. The sun was high, but gentle trade winds kept me from overheating. From my supine position, I heard rumbling. Someone was talking; my father, no doubt. He was the only other person in the pool with me, and he’d been talking almost nonstop, all through the morning’s workout of exercises taken from my new bible, Move and Groove Past Your Stroke !
I felt a hand slide under my back, and I jerked upright to find myself looking not at my father, but a much younger Asian man with spiky, gangster-style hair and small eyes with a strange glint in them. His upper body was typically hairless, but it was puffy with flab, atypical for any Japanese man, especially one in his twenties. And, unbelievably, he kept his hands under my back.
“Need help float?” he said in a heavy accent-not pidgin, but Japanese.
“Get away!” I twisted away, sputtering, because I’d swallowed a bit of water at the shock of the touch.