by Frankie Bow
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
No part of this work may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.
Published by Kindle Press, Seattle, 2016
A Kindle Scout selection
Amazon, the Amazon logo, Kindle Scout, and Kindle Press are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
DEDICATION
For everyone making an effort to be nicer than they really are.
CONTENTS
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
CHAPTER FIFTY
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
TRUST FALL
SINFUL SCIENCE
ALICE MONGOOSE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Many thanks to the family, friends, beta readers, artists, editors, critics, noodges, kibitzers, and everyone else who made this book possible.
CHAPTER ONE
Today was going to be a productive day. At least, that was my plan.
The living room curtains were shut, letting the hazy morning sun filter in, but blocking my view of the quaint pre-WWII bungalows and neat lawns on Uakoko Street. Not that my quiet neighborhood in downtown Mahina was exactly teeming with distractions.
I sat at my workstation in the corner of the living room, fresh cup of coffee in hand. The word processor and stats package lay open side-by-side on my computer monitor. My coauthor had just sent me the cleaned-up data file. Submitting the completed book chapter by the end of July would be a piece of cake.
Just as I congratulated myself on my anticipated productivity, a shadow fell across my keyboard.
“Eh, Molly, you busy?”
I pointedly kept my eyes on the computer monitor and my hands on the keyboard.
“Good morning, Davison. Yes, I am busy, actually. Did you need something?”
My name is Molly Barda. I teach in the College of Commerce at Hawai`i’s Mahina State University, where, according to our radio spots, “Your Future Begins Tomorrow.”
I’ve had many wonderful students during my time there. Then there was Davison Gonsalves.
In the first week of my Intro to Business Management course, Davison copied a classmate’s paper word-for-word and turned it in as his own. My “student-centered” dean had blocked my report to the Office of Student Conduct and had forced me to give Davison a free do-over instead. For the rest of the semester, Davison came in late, missed deadlines, skipped class, and worse.
You may wonder what my least-favorite student was doing in my living room. In a twist of fate that might seem hilarious if it happened to someone else, Davison was now my stepson.
“You know where the coffee machine is. And we have Spam in the pantry, rice in the rice cooker, and eggs in the fridge if you want to cook some for yourself. Oh, and the paper bag on the counter is full of papayas if you want something sweet.”
Davison was old enough to buy beer. He could certainly fix his own breakfast.
“No more, the eggs.”
“The eggs are gone? I just bought a whole—okay, I’ll pick some up at the store after I get some work done here. For now, you can fry some Spam, and there’s rice.”
“Rice is gone, too.”
I worked for a while, ignoring my stepson, who continued to hover behind me. Finally, I swiveled my chair around and looked up to face him.
Davison was tall, like his father. He had Donnie’s thick black hair and strong features. Thankfully, their personalities were nothing alike.
“I’m not hungry anyway,” he said. “I wanna ask you something.”
“Yes?”
“Where’d Dad get your ring?”
I glanced at the platinum band on my left hand.
“We bought our rings at Fujioka’s Music and Party Supply.”
“How come it’s so plain? Didn’t you want one all covered with diamonds an’ li’ dat?”
“No. This is the style I prefer. Why do you ask?”
“Could you drive me there, Molly?”
“You want to go to Fujioka’s?”
“Yeah.”
“What, right now? You’re not even dressed.”
Davison wore cutoff sweatpants and a tank top, whose purpose seemed to be to show off his muscles rather than to cover anything. The brown skin on his arms and the sides of his neck was blotched with pink where his father had made him get his tattoos lasered off, right before he had packed Davison off to military academy.
“I don’t got a car, that’s why. And Dad’s not gonna be back from work till late.”
“Davison, I’m at work, too. I just happen to work at home.”
“You get summer vacation, but.”
“No. Vacation is when you get paid and you don’t work. I get summer unpaid, and I’m still working. It’s the exact opposite of vacation. I still have to produce research, which I don’t have enough time to do during the school year. Look, just hang on and let me finish this one thing.”
I pulled down the “analysis” menu. I could sense Davison still lurking behind me.
“Davison, why don’t you fix yourself a cup of coffee?”
“Nah. I’ll wait.”
I tried to ignore him for a few more minutes, and then gave up. I sighed, saved my work, and shut down the program.
“I still have to upload final grades before six. Don’t let me forget. You’re really ready to go? Right this minute?”
“Yeah, I’m ready.” He lifted his elbow and sniffed his wiry black armpit hair. Evidently, the result was satisfactory.
I stood up and retrieved my purse from the hook by the front door.
“Okay. Let’s get this done.”
“I like drive the Thunderbird.”
“Sorry. According to the Hawai`i State Motor Vehicle Code, you need a special license to drive any car built before 1960.”
“Not.”
“Do you want a ride or don’t you?”
CHAPTER TWO
I drove through downtown Mahina and then turned up a narrow street into an older neighborhood. The jungle had grown so lush, the tin-roofed bungalows were hidden from the road. Davison rolled down the window and propped his elbow on the doorframe.
“Let’s put the top down.”
“No. It’s about to rain.”
“Aw, Molly, you never put the top down. How come you went buy a convertible if you never put the top down?”
“Because when I bought this car on the mainland, I didn’t anticipate moving to a town with four times the annual rainfall of Seattle.”
I didn’t care for Davison’s calling me by my first name, but I couldn’t think of a better alternative. He wasn’t my student anymore, so I couldn’t insist on the delightfully impersonal “Professor Barda.” I wasn’t about to let him call me “Mommy,” something he occasionally suggested just to annoy me.
I took a deep breath and tried to feel less cranky. Life was going well. I could afford to be gracious to my irritating stepson. I’d just been awarded tenure, which was a huge relief. Contrary to popular belief, tenure didn’t guarantee a job for life, but it meant the administration couldn’t fire me without making up a good reason first. I wasn’t stuck on any year-round committees, so I had the whole summer free to work on my research. And today was a beautiful, overcast day, the strong Hawaiian sun diffused through a layer of mist. Traffic was light. Just one dark blue pickup truck behind me, and no one ahead.
“Davison, buying a ring usually means something serious. Are congratulations in order?”
“I don’t wanna say yet. It’s gonna be a surprise.”
“A surprise? So you’re not going to tell me who the lucky lady is?”
“Nuh-uh. Not yet. Soon, but.”
I felt a pang of foreboding. Not Sherry Di Napoli. Surely, Davison wasn’t back together with Sherry.
“Okay. Here we are.” I pulled into Fujioka’s narrow parking lot alongside the compact cinderblock building. The exterior had recently been repainted white; red script lettering adorned the road-facing wall. Fujioka’s Music & Party Supply since 1949. The abandoned lot behind Fujioka’s was overgrown with skeletal Albizia trees and dense strawberry guava. Odorous maile pilau twined through the ramshackle chain link fence.
I checked my reflection in the rear-view mirror. A coil of hair had sprung free from my ponytail. I undid the hair tie, pulled a brush out of my glove compartment, and fastened my hair back into place. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the dark blue pickup truck enter the lot and pull into a parking spot near the door. Davison, demonstrating his usual gracious manners, hopped out of the passenger seat and went inside, leaving me alone in the car.
I locked up and followed Davison. The heavy glass door set off a doorbell tone from the back of the shop when I pushed it open. Davison was already at the far end of the store, examining the fine jewelry case under the watchful eye of a uniformed guard. I lingered by the door and watched the blue truck through the glass. No one got out. It seemed odd, the truck just idling there, waiting, but I shrugged it off. Maybe the driver was simply waiting to give someone a ride. As long as I was on a break from work, I might as well enjoy myself and have a look around.
While Davison perused the jewelry case, I examined the guitars and ukuleles displayed on the walls. The last time I’d really played guitar was in grad school. This summer might be a good opportunity to take it up again.
A small instrument caught my eye. At first, I thought it was an ukulele, but closer examination revealed six strings, not four. It was a scaled-down guitar. The body and headstock were black, and the neck was rosewood. The price seemed surprisingly reasonable. I took it down from the display and strummed a D-major. It wouldn’t win any awards, but then neither would my playing. It sounded like a real guitar. And it was adorable.
Davison materialized at my elbow.
“Did you find anything you liked?” I asked.
“Nah. Everything they got here is too plain.”
I looked down at my simple platinum band, identical in design to Donnie’s. I liked it. It had been an easy choice to make, as no other wedding set in Fujioka’s inventory was even remotely to my taste.
“Too plain? If you don’t like plain, what about the gold nugget horseshoe ring?”
“Nah. That’s a man’s ring. I wanna get her something classy an’ girly kine. Like all different color diamonds and li’ dat.”
“Well, I’m sorry you didn’t find anything up to your exacting standards. Fortunately, this wasn’t a wasted trip. I think I’m going to get this guitar,”
“That little thing? Looks like a ukulele. What about a real guitar? Like the one up there? Wit’ the flames on it?”
“An electric guitar?”
“You could crank it, Molly.”
“I don’t need to crank anything. I’d prefer an instrument not dependent on electricity, so when the Zombie Apocalypse takes out our power grid, I can still play.”
“You gonna try start up your grad school band again?” Davison grinned. “Whaddaya think Dad would say about it?”
“I’m not planning to start another band, but I’m sure your father would be fine with it if I did.”
While Donnie and I were still dating, Davison found out about my grad school band. This was thanks to some sneaky internet sleuthing and the assistance of a much-smarter girlfriend—Sherry, in fact. He had gleefully ratted me out to Donnie, probably hoping to embarrass me and shock his conservative father.
To my amazement, Donnie hadn’t seemed bothered at all. He actually thought my short-lived musical career was “cute.” (And for the record, it wasn’t my idea to call ourselves Phallus in Wonderland. The name was Melanie Polewski’s idea. Ever since she’d discovered Lacan in our Psychoanalysis and Literature class, you couldn’t shut her up about The Phallus.)
“Are you sure you didn’t find anything you liked?” We stood at the counter. “Maybe you should go have another look. This is really the only place you’ll find a proper ring.”
A silver bell sat on the counter, a hand-lettered sign taped down next to it. Please ring for assistance. I hoped I wouldn’t have to, but I didn’t see any store personnel anywhere. I reluctantly tapped the button, sending a halfhearted ding reverberating through the store.
“Taking too long, these guys.” Davison pounded the bell four times in a row. Wendell, the manager, emerged from the back room, glaring at me. He rang up my purchase without a word.
The blue truck still sat in the parking lot when we exited the building. I tried to get a glimpse of the driver out of the corner of my eye as we walked out to my Thunderbird. The truck’s windows were too darkly tinted for me to see anything inside.
“So Molly, we going down to Modern Jewelers now?”
“Modern Jewelers closed when the Shigeokas retired, remember? Maybe you were away at school then. Fujioka’s is the only jewelry store left in Mahina. It’s why your father and I bought our rings here. Maybe you don’t want to buy her a ring just yet. What about a nice pair of earrings or something?”
Davison grumbled, but he didn’t argue. I was right. Fujioka’s was the only game in town, unless he wanted to start visiting pawnshops. We climbed into my car, and I nosed out to the road, paused, and signaled left. I could see the blue truck in my rear view mirror, still parked. The driver’s side door cracked open.
“What are you doing?” Davison asked.
“Just waiting to make a left turn onto the road.” If I told Davison about the suspicious truck, he’d probably turn around and stare. Or worse, hop out of the car and get into some chest-thumping dominance display with the driver.
“There’s no cars, Molly. What are you waiting for?”
In the rear view mirror, I wa
tched a man jump down from the driver’s side of the truck, and stand next to it, hand on the door, scowling at the back of my car. He looked to be in his forties, his solid prison-yard physique straining the seams of a green football jersey. Clipped black hair, broad nose, defined cheekbones and a strong chin. He might have been handsome if he didn’t look so mean. I could practically feel his gaze burning through his black sunglasses.
Davison finally caught on, and as I had feared, cranked his head around to stare at the man. My car did not have tinted windows. I floored the accelerator and squealed out onto the road, almost cutting off a minivan.
CHAPTER THREE
“Do you know that guy, Davison?”
Davison took a moment to catch his breath. “Nah. I don’t know him. Thought maybe it was one of your old boyfriends or li’ dat.”
“Very amusing. He was probably just interested in the car.”
People often stared at my car. It was the only 1959 Thunderbird on the island, and the turquoise-and-white paint job made it especially eye-catching. Earl Miyashiro, my mechanic, kept nagging me to trade in my beloved Squarebird for something more practical. Earl was a decent mechanic, but entirely lacking in imagination. Also, considering how much I’d spent at Miyashiro Motors over the years, you’d think he’d make an effort to be a little less judgmental.
“Listen, as long as we’re already out, I’m going to stop by the grocery store. I have to pick up some more eggs, apparently. Anything else we need?”
“You need more milk too,” Davison said. “You ran out already. An’ the rice, ah?”
I made a careful left turn onto the Bayfront road. The sherbet pastels of the Old West style storefronts glowed under the gray sky. From a distance, in a moving car, Mahina’s Bayfront looked cheery and vibrant and not at all shabby or termite-eaten. I pulled into a spot in front of the blacklight Bob Marley posters lining the windows of Sacred Herb.
We walked the few doors down to Natural High Organic Foods and stepped into the ginseng-and-five-spice scented interior. I grabbed a hand basket and headed toward the dairy refrigerator in the back.
“This place get beer?” Davison was close behind me. “If no, we gotta stop at Hagiwara’s.”
“I don’t want to stop anywhere else. I want to go home and get some work done on my book chapter.”
