Strong Like the Sea, стр. 10

The screen door rattles, and I look up quick in case it’s my mystery clue person, but it’s only Auntie Tanaka. “Alex? Hello?”

“Coming!” I run to hold the door for Auntie, who kicks off her slippers at the foot of the stairs before coming inside. Balancing a paper grocery bag in one arm, she carries three more cloth bags dangling from the other.

I grab the paper bag as she bustles past. With Dad working at the school in Kahuku then teaching dive lessons till late, and Mom working overseas, Auntie took over some of the dinners. No matter what kind of grindz she makes—Spam fried rice, shoyu chicken, Kalua pork, sweet rolls, or whatever—it’s all delicious.

“Ho, thanks, sweet girl. Help me put things away, ’kay?” She sets the bags on the counter and pulls out some dry noodles, cans of Spam, and vegetables. With a shrug, she slides her denim jacket off and hangs it by the door, her green and blue floral sundress flowing down to her calves. “Ooh, kinda chilly today.”

“Small kine maybe.” Anything below seventy-two is cold for our Auntie. I slide a package of dried seaweed into the cupboard. “What are you making?”

“Snozberries and rainbow drops.”

“Ugh. Enough with the snot berries,” I groan. Mom was always saying that, like it was the funniest thing ever, but it makes no sense at all. “Aw, come on. For real.”

Auntie laughs at me. “Pork and noodles tonight. Tomorrow probably shoyu chicken. Matthew wants chicken katsu with curry and vegetables again, but I keep telling him there’s more than one kind of food.”

It’d be hard to convince him of that, ’cause Uncle Matthew Tanaka loves curry almost as much as my friend Jack loves chicken ramen—and that’s saying something.

Uncle used to come over with Auntie, but now he mostly stays home. Sometimes I think he likes his marine biology work for the university more than he likes people. It’s still okay, though, because Auntie loves us well enough for both of them. When Mom was little, Auntie and Uncle sort of adopted her parents and stepped in when they had trouble. They welcomed Mom into their home until the line where our family ended and their family began blurred so much it didn’t matter anymore. With Mom as their hānai child, our family is defined by love instead of blood.

Auntie’s phone chimes and her ringed finger slides across the screen before putting it to her ear. “Hello?” She glances at me and then toward my room. “Is Malia here?”

“Yeah, she’s in my room.”

“Better get her. Her mom says she’s got practice.”

And that seems easy, but Malia is crashed out, her fingers loose around the pillows. Her feet dangle off the bed as I shake her awake. “Malia? Your mom called. You gotta go.”

“Five more minutes?”

“Um . . . she called Auntie.”

“Ugh. Fiiiine.” She rolls out of bed and staggers toward the lanai.

“See you at school.” I hold the door for her and check the street for anyone else, but nope. No mystery clue-holding people anywhere.

Sigh.

I help Auntie in the kitchen until dinner is almost ready, and Dad’s car pulls into the driveway . . . alone. Still no mystery person.

He gathers dive equipment out of the trunk and locks it in the shed before kicking off his slippers and giving me a side hug. “Mmm, smells delicious in here.”

“Of course it does!” Auntie calls from the kitchen. “I cooked it, didn’t I?”

“Good day?” I ask Dad, and glance at the empty street once more before letting the door close behind us.

He saunters toward the bathroom. “Yeah, but only one client ended up diving. The other got seasick before we even got to the reef. What about you? Get that report figured out?”

“I’m working on it. But I think maybe Mom was confused about someone bringing a clue, ’cause nobody’s come all day. Nobody’s even tried. I’ve watched.”

“What do you mean nobody’s come? I’m here, aren’t I?” Auntie shakes a spoon at me.

“I know you are,” I laugh. “But a mystery person was supposed to come bring me a clue, and they never came.”

Dad chuckles while Auntie huffs, “Mystery? How am I a mystery? You’ve known me your whole life.”

“Well, of course I know you—wait, do you have a clue for me?”

She gives me a sly smile, and I hurry across the tile floor.

“You do! Why didn’t you say anything? I’ve been dying!”

“Pfft. You look plenty alive. And why would I say anything? You neva ask.”

“Auntie, please.” I clasp my hands together. “Can I at least have a hint?”

She raises the spoon again. “Too late to ask me now. Dinner is ready. Eat first. Talk story with your father.” She winks. “Then we see.”