Chapter 12

Aunt Fae sat up and shook her blunt bob. Her thick silver hair flew around and settled; it looked great considering she trimmed it herself every month. "Just resting my eyes for a minute, honey. What was it you wanted?"

I nudged her feet, clad in green and red striped socks, to the side so I could sit on the ottoman in front of her. "I heard you sold a bag of cat food to a couple of girls who are not known to have a cat. I was wondering if you remembered anything about them."

Auntie knuckled her eyes and put her feet on the floor, then stood up with the grace and strength of a younger person. She stretched her arms overhead, bending backward, then forward to touch her toes. Finally she straightened up and put her hands on her hips, meeting my gaze. "Yes. What I remember is that those girls looked like they needed a bath and a good meal themselves and shouldn't be spending the little money they had on a cat."

I knew who the girls were immediately: Sandy and Windy Nakasone, eight and nine years old. They'd lost their mother in the last year and their father, depressed and struggling with grief, worked in Kahului and was seldom home. Their aunt Lani lived with them, supposedly helping supervise the girls, but she wasn't often around either—she had long shifts at the Hotel Hana as a waitstaff, especially during the holidays.

"Anything else you can remember?"

She tipped her head, looking up and to the left. "They both had long black hair that needed a good brushing. I asked them what kind of cat they had; I was trying to be friendly and make conversation. They said they didn't have a cat. When I asked where their parents were, the younger one made a very rude hand gesture and told me to mind my own business."

A horrible suspicion filled my mind—could the girls be out of food, and reduced to eating kibble?

I'd heard desperate people sometimes used cat or dog food as a protein source, but the idea of little girls having to do so turned my stomach. "Thanks, Auntie. Can I get some of your cookies? I have to go visit someone in Old Ohia."

"Sure. I made up some platters already." She went over to our pantry and opened it. "Grab any of these and pass them on when you want to spread holiday cheer."

Each festively printed cardboard plate was piled high with a variety of tasty cookies and then wrapped in transparent red cellophane. I took two platters. "Great. I'll try not to steal any. How do you feel about attending Keone's family's luau on Christmas Eve?"

"Excited," Auntie said instantly. "Ask them what we should bring."

I grinned. "That's what I hoped you'd say. I won't be gone long."

I took the golf cart we'd inherited with the house as the thing was charged and ready to go. With the wrapped cookies on the passenger seat, I drove through the park and out the pretty rock waterfall gate with its sign that had been converted to read "NEW OHIA STATE PARK" in gold letters.

I trundled in the golf cart for a brief and harrowing few moments down narrow, busy Hana Highway with its streams of tourists. I gritted my teeth and pushed the pedal to the floor, soon turning into the dirt parking lot in front of the Ohia General Store with a sigh of relief and a honking of horns.

Artie took up Opal's spot behind the counter with his assistive technology scanner to do checkouts after I arrived at the store in the golf cart to talk to Opal about what I had discovered from Aunt Fae.

Opal went into action as soon as she heard my theory about the cat food. "It's been a while since we took groceries over there. Let's grab some things and take them over together, along with your cookies," she said. "That ought to get them to talk."

We loaded the grocery bags on the cart and got in, drove across the lot, and turned up Hibiscus Street. As usual, the little town was quiet on a Sunday afternoon.

The girls' house was not far down Plumeria Street, midway up the slope to the top of the hill crowned by a church and graveyard that defined the highest point of Ohia.

A patchy, weed-choked lawn led to a small older plantation style home, as most of them were in Ohia—but this home spoke of the family's financial and time struggle through peeling paint and a sagging porch.

"Their father works in construction," Opal said, glancing around at the neglect. "You know the old saying: it"s the cobbler's children that go barefoot."

"Actually, I haven"t heard that one," I teased. "What"s a cobbler got to do with bare feet? I thought it was a tasty baked dish, usually made with peaches, but sometimes around here, with mango."

Opal rolled her eyes as we pulled up the girls' driveway. We got out of the cart. I walked behind Opal, holding the two plates of Christmas treats stacked in one hand and a bag of groceries in the other, as she led the way up onto the porch. Two small pairs of battered rubber slippers beside the mat told us that the girls were home.

Opal knocked on the front door's splintery frame.

Almost immediately, it opened. The older girl, Sandy Nakasone, stared at us from behind an interior screen door. Her expression softened as she took in the bags of groceries we held, and she broke into a smile when she saw the cookies. "Aunty Opal, and Ms. Smith from the Post Office. Hi."

"Sandy, we thought you might need a few things for your holiday. Can we come in?" Opal asked.

Immediately, Windy, who had crowded in behind her, piped up. "No! We need to do some cleaning first."

I wanted to overrule this, but Opal gave me a tiny head shake. "I heard you girls bought some cat food at my store," she said, as she handed Sandy the bag of groceries when the girl opened the door. "So I put another bag of food in here. Did your family adopt a kitty?"

"I don"t know who you were talking to," Windy said in her surly way. She snatched the bag of groceries out of my hand. "We like to feed the mynah birds in our backyard. They love cat food."

This had a rehearsed sound to it, and nobody in this area encouraged the mynahs to hang around and be fed. They were as voracious and aggressive as crows were in Maine.

Windy must"ve seen the skeptical expression on my face because she put her little fists on her hips. "What?" she barked aggressively.

"Nothing." I held out the two plates of cookies, one stacked on top of the other. "My aunt made these for you. Don"t eat them all at once, or you"ll make yourself sick."

"Like you care." Windy snatched the treats and spun around, walking away into the depths of the house. The screen door banged as she let it fall behind her.

Sandy smiled tentatively at us. "Windy misses our mom a lot at this time of year."

"I bet she misses your mom any time of year," I said. "I lost both my parents when I was around your age. It never really stops hurting, I"m sorry to say."

Sandy"s face fell; clearly, she was hoping things would get better. Opal elbowed me in the ribs. "Time heals all wounds," she said briskly. "Don"t believe everything you hear. But in the meantime, where are your dad and your Aunt Lani?"

"They"re working, as usual." Sandy"s expression was wooden, shut down.

My attempt to form a bond had definitely backfired. I was clearly no good with kids. Removing myself was the best idea. "Let us know if you need anything. Anything at all," I said. "You know where to find me at the post office." I turned on my size eleven Nikes and went to the golf cart.

Opal stayed in the doorway, talking to Sandy for several more minutes. I sat in the cart, miserable. I'd rubbed salt in the poor girls' wounds.

Opal returned, I put the cart in reverse, and we rolled down the driveway in silence.

"I wish I hadn?t said that to them. I meant . . . they're not alone. In that loss." My voice trailed off.

Opal put a soft hand on my arm. I glanced down to see her knuckles, gnarled with arthritis, through a blur.

"I know you meant well, Kat. Sandy knows it too. So does Windy, even though she"s not ready to stop being mad at everybody. What you said was good, you said something real, while I told them ‘time heals all wounds.'" Opal shook her head. "When we both know it doesn't. I was able to modify our faux pas a little bit, by proposing an idea to take a wreath up to their mom's memorial plaque at the cemetery. Maybe you want to come with us?"

"I don"t think they would want me there," I said. "Especially Windy." Windy had a crush on Mr. K. She had warned me off of dating him several times and made her dislike of me clear.

"Maybe you"re right. I'll get the wreath and make sure something special is done for their mother on Christmas Day."

I blinked the moisture from my eyes, but too late. I sideswiped a trashcan that had been left out, sending it sprawling into the street with a clatter.

"Nice driving!" I heard in Windy's piping voice, followed by hollow laughter.

Without a word, I stopped the cart, got out, righted the trashcan and put the lid on it.

Windy Nakasone was free to mock me if it made her feel better, but I sure wasn"t buying the story that the girls were feeding cat food to the mynah birds in their backyard.