by Frankie Bow
I’d heard that one shouldn’t make a pregnancy public until the third month or so. I wondered whether such discretion were possible in Mahina.
On the way back into the house, I stopped to check the mailbox. My parcel from Honolulu must have been delivered right after I’d left for my appointment with Doctor Ishimaru. The brown paper was warm to the touch, as if the package had been baking in the metal box all morning. My lipstick was certainly melted by now. I brought the mail inside and put the unopened package in the refrigerator. When it re-solidified, I could still use it with a lip brush. I didn’t want to go through the hassle of sending it back, and I wasn’t about to throw away a forty-dollar tube of Russian Red.
In addition to the ill-fated lipstick, the mail contained a bill from the electric company and another flyer from Chang’s Pizza Pagoda, advertising their new Kung Pao Pizza Rolls. I threw away the flyer and dropped the electric bill into the bill box, a repurposed lauhala tray that had once contained a gift basket of cookies and coffee.
I had never heard of a bill box until I met Donnie. My approach had been to tuck bills away in a drawer or someplace where they wouldn’t clutter up the house, forget where I’d put them, and then swing into action when red envelopes started showing up in my mailbox. I had to admit, Donnie’s approach was better.
I noticed the envelope from Mahina PD lying there unopened. As long as I was paying the electric bill, I might as well send in our insurance claim. Then the bill box and my mind would be clear. I could spend the afternoon working on my book chapter. I was about to pick up the envelope when my phone rang.
“Hello,” said a woman’s voice. “Who’s this?”
“Who is this?” I knew better than to give out my personal information to some random caller I didn’t know. She sounded faintly local, but the phone’s caller ID showed a Bay Area prefix.
“This is Gloria,” the voice said.
“I’m afraid you have a wrong number.”
“Is Donnie there?”
“Donnie? How do you—Oh, Gloria. You’re Donnie’s sister.”
“Yeah.”
“This is Molly. Molly Barda. Donnie’s wife. How are you?”
“Oh yeah, Molly. I’m doing great, thanks. Is Donnie there? Can I talk to him?”
“No, he’s at work. Can I take a message and have him get back to you?”
“No need. He wasn’t answering his phone. I’ll keep trying.”
“Good luck getting in touch with him. The Drive-Inn’s probably busy right now. Gloria, I do hope we have a chance to meet in person at some point. You know you’re always welcome to visit here.”
Donnie and I hadn’t really worked out a formal houseguest policy. In fact, this exact issue had come up recently because he seemed to think it was okay to invite Davison to stay with us without consulting me first. Davison, Donnie had explained after the fact, was “family.” Well, Gloria was just as much “family” as Davison, and if Donnie could invite family to stay, so could I.
“In fact,” I added, “Davison is staying here right now.”
For a moment, I thought the line had gone dead.
“Davison is there?” I thought I heard Gloria’s voice falter. “In Mahina?”
“As we speak. I guess he decided not to take the internship in Maine. I know. I was surprised, too.”
“Molly, you mean it? I can come visit?”
“Of course. I’d be—we’d be delighted.”
“Maybe I will, then.”
“Well, great. Davison’s staying in our guest room right now, but we have another spare room. Really, any time you want to come.”
I normally wouldn’t have welcomed the idea of my little house filling up with guests, but I wanted to meet Gloria. I was tired of Donnie being so secretive about his family. I know he hadn’t had an ideal upbringing, and he probably wasn’t keen to relive it. But here I was married to him, and he hadn’t yet introduced me to a single one of his relatives. It was only by chance that I had met his uncle Brian.
“Are you sure it would be okay with Donnie?” Gloria asked.
“You’re family. Of course it’s okay.”
I hung up the phone, immediately beset with second thoughts. Maybe there was a reason Donnie had been keeping his sister at arm’s length. Should I congratulate myself for my generosity in extending our hospitality to Gloria? Or had I just committed an act of deliberate mischief, to get back at Donnie for springing Davison’s visit on me?
I decided not to worry about it. You can tie yourself up in knots agonizing over stuff like this.
I dialed Pat Flanagan’s mobile number. The phone rang a few times and then went to voice mail. He might be hiking in the Santa Cruz Mountains by now, or driving through the Caldecott tunnel.
“Pat, it’s me. Molly. Hope you’re safe and having fun. So, I just invited Donnie’s sister to come stay with us at our house, and it sounds like she might actually take me up on the invitation. I don’t know anything about her. Could you put on your news reporter hat for maybe an hour, check up on her, just to see if she’s a nutcase, or what? Her name is Gloria. . .”
I realized I didn’t know Gloria’s last name.
“Her maiden name is Gonsalves, and she owns some kind of spa in Los Gatos. That’s all I know. I don’t mean to saddle you with extra work on your trip, but if you find out anything, please call me. Hope you’re having a nice time.”
I put the phone away and settled in to finish the bills. I paid the electric bill online, threw away the paper statement, and saved the envelope. Then I rummaged through the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet until I found our homeowner’s insurance policy. I set it on the desk, and finally opened the envelope from Mahina PD.
It was not what I’d expected.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I heard Donnie pull into the carport and was on my feet by the time he walked through the door.
“Thanks for picking up the mail,” Donnie said. “Was there anything—well, hello to you, too.”
I released Donnie from a tight hug. “I have great news.”
His face lit up, and he hugged me back, gently, as if I were a raw egg.
“Oh, Molly, already? That’s wonderful.”
He kissed me on the mouth. Then he took my hand and guided me to the couch.
“How are you feeling? Are you all right? Can I get you something?”
“No, I’m okay.” I sat down and waited for him to join me.
“Maybe you’re hungry.” He was still standing, hovering. “Are you craving anything? Are you thirsty?”
“Well, as long as you’re offering, how about a glass of that Sangiovese?”
Donnie looked confused. “Wine? Are you sure it’s okay? What did the doctor say?”
“The doctor? What does the doctor have to do with. . .oh. I see. Sorry, that wasn’t my great news. I’m not pregnant.”
“Oh. No, it’s okay.” Donnie’s disappointment showed on his face.
I stood up and went into the kitchen. “I’ll get the wine. So I had my first appointment with Dr. Ishimaru today.”
“I’ve heard he’s good.”
“I hope so. He’s the only OB-GYN on our plan.”
“So how did it go? No, the glasses for red wine are to the right. They’re the taller ones, with the round bowls.”
“This isn’t a red wine glass?”
“No, that’s a chardonnay glass. Here, I’ll do it. You sit down and rest.”
I put my hands up in a gesture of “it’s all yours” and sat back down on the couch.
“The office visit was okay, I guess. Ishimaru acted like trying to have a baby at my—under my circumstances was a big deal. It was as if I’d strolled into his office and announced I was planning to climb into a barrel and throw myself over Niagara Falls.”
Donnie brought the two (proper) glasses of wine back and sat next to me on the couch. I pulled two coasters from the stack on the coffee table and set down my glass on one of them.
“So wh
at was your big news, then?” Donnie asked.
I took a sip. “This is good. Must be because it’s in the correct glass. No, really, thank you for the wine. My news is that Mahina PD wants to hire me.”
Donnie slid a protective arm across the back of the couch. “What do you mean, hire you? Don’t you want to stay at Mahina State? You just got tenure.”
“Donnie, stop looking so concerned. No, I’m not giving up my job at the university. They’re hiring me as a consultant.”
“The police department?”
“It’s not that strange. I already have a relationship with them, kind of.”
“What relationship is that?”
“What do you mean, what relationship is that? As you know, there have been occasions where I’ve helped the police resolve an otherwise intractable crime. I mean, of course I wouldn’t take all the credit, but no one can deny I’ve been helpful. And now, finally, they’re taking steps to acknowledge it.”
Donnie sighed. “Molly, they had to mount the biggest rescue operation in the county’s history, just to pull you out of—”
“It could’ve happened to anyone. And I can’t believe it was the biggest rescue operation. What about all of those tourists who fall into the lava every year?”
“I thought I’d lost you. I almost did lose you. Please don’t do anything dangerous.”
“It’s not dangerous at all. Here, I’ll read you the letter.”
I retrieved it from the desk and returned to the couch.
“Dear Professor Barda,
“Thank you again for offering your consulting services to Mahina PD.”
“When did you offer Mahina PD your consulting services?”
“I don’t remember, exactly. Maybe I mentioned it to Detective Medeiros at some point.”
“Sorry for interrupting. Go ahead. What else does it say?”
“The purpose of this letter is to notify you of our new meeting time. We will meet Monday, May 18 at ten a.m. The location has not changed. New meeting time? That’s weird. This is the first I’ve heard from them. I guess bureaucracies move in mysterious ways.”
“What do they want you to do for them?”
“I assume I’ll analyze evidence and statements. It’ll probably be qualitative research. Like I did for my dissertation. Well, I think it’s great news anyway. You don’t seem particularly thrilled for me.”
“Molly, if you’re happy, I’m happy. I just want you to be safe.”
“Thank you.” I lifted my wine glass and touched it to his.
“Are you sure it’s okay for you to drink that wine? While we’re, um, trying?”
I set my glass down on the coaster. “Yes. I’m sure.”
“Okay, as long as you—”
“A review of forty-six peer reviewed papers found consuming up to ten-point-four units of alcohol per week, while pregnant, was associated with no increased risk of miscarriage, stillbirth, premature birth, or birth defects. That’s about ten small glasses of wine. I can print out the paper if you want to read it. “
“Okay, I was just—”
“Emma’s the one who found the paper for me. Emma Nakamura is a biologist. She knows this stuff. Oh, Donnie, I almost forgot. Did your sister ever get in touch with you?”
“Gloria? No. Why? Is there a problem?”
“Not that I know of. She called and asked for you. It sounded like it was important.”
“Hm. I suppose if it’s so important, she’ll try again.” Then Donnie smiled. “I have some good news too.”
“Wonderful. I love good news. What is it?”
“Davison is going to extend his stay.”
“What? I thought he was just here for a couple of days. When did he tell you that?”
“This morning, right before I left for work. You were still asleep.”
“This certainly is a surprise. Did he find a summer job in Mahina?”
“Not yet. But since he’s here, I can get him started at the Drive-Inn. He needs to learn the ropes sooner or later.”
“So, you assume Davison will take over the Drive-Inn?”
“Who else? If anything happens to me, I don’t think you’re going to want to run it. Davison is our only. . .oh. I see what you’re saying. The baby.”
“Well, there’s no baby yet. I guess we can cross that bridge when we come to it.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
I sat in my car in the parking lot of St. Damien’s with the windows rolled down, watching the sanctuary through the open doors. The parishioners were just starting to retake their seats when my phone started to ring. Pat Flanagan was calling me back, finally.
“Do I have the time right?” Pat asked. “If my calculations are correct, you’re down at church already, but you haven’t gone in yet because you’re waiting for the Passing of the Peace to be over.”
“They’re just finishing up. I didn’t realize you knew my schedule so well.”
“If you hate interacting with your fellow faithful so much, you should just do what I do. Never go to Mass.”
“I’m not going to stop going to Mass. Just the Passing of the Peace stresses me out. Wandering around the sanctuary, beaming at people, trying to make eye contact, calculating whether you can get away with a handshake or you’re going to get caught in a hug. You know how I feel about hugging strangers.”
“Oh, honey, I hear you.”
“And why do we have to walk around randomly? At least they could make an orderly line or something, like they do with Communion. So were you able to find out anything about Donnie’s sister?”
“Yeah, that’s why I’m calling. I’m in Los Gatos right now.”
“Oh, great. Thank you, Pat. I knew I could count on you.”
“It’s not great. It’s a yuppie hellscape of artisanal toy stores, overpriced coffee, and even more overpriced sandwich shops. I think I found Gloria’s spa, though.”
“Great detective work, Pat. What’s it called?”
“It’s called Gloria’s Spa.”
“Ah.”
“Yeah, it looks like some New Age spa/lifestyle thing for hipster yoga moms.”
“Dare I ask, did you venture in to this green-tea-scented oasis of serenity?” I envisioned Pat after a few days on the road, looking like a skinhead lumberjack who had been sleeping in his clothes.
“I did, and I asked for Gloria. She wasn’t there. Her last name is Kealoha, by the way.”
“Gloria Kealoha.”
“Must be the same one, right?”
“I would imagine it’s the right person. How many Hawaiian Glorias own spas in Los Gatos?”
“Entrepreneurial family you’ve married into.”
“Yeah, somehow none of that drive and industriousness made it down to my stepson. Okay, I have to go in to church now. Everyone’s sitting down already. Thank you, Pat. Can I call you for updates?”
“You can try, but I’m going to be hiking in the Santa Cruz Mountains, and my cell coverage is going to be spotty. Molly, you should find another church if this Passing of the Peace thing stresses you out so much.”
“No, I’m not going to. It’s what the Protestants do. That’s why there are a million Protestant denominations. Every time their church does something they don’t like, they go off and start their own. I don’t want to be a church-shopper.”
“Imagine you, not wanting to go shopping.”
“Not when it comes to this. To me, the Church is like, I don’t know, a beloved elderly relative. Like, maybe he’s a little out of touch, but he’s your Uncle Konstandin, and you’re going to invite him to Thanksgiving dinner again, even if your mother wants to lock him in the basement after the joke he told last year. That’s just a metaphor, by the way.”
“Hey, before I go, anything new in Mahina?”
“Yes there is, and thank you for asking. The Mahina Police Department wants to hire me as a consultant.”
“Molly, that’s great. What are you going to be working on? I wonder if they’re pull
ing one of their cold cases out of mothballs.”
“I honestly don’t know. I guess I’ll find out more at the first meeting. Pretty exciting though.”
“I know, keep me posted.”
“Sure, as long as they don’t make me sign a confidentiality agreement. Okay, I really have to go in to Mass now. Pat, be safe, and don’t worry. I’m sure nothing terribly interesting is going to happen before you get back.”
I made it all the way through Mass without having to interact with strangers. I walked out in a good mood, looking forward to meeting Emma at the Pair-O-Dice.
“Mrs. Gonsalves?”
I paused at the edge of the parking lot and turned around.
The man looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him. He wore church-appropriate attire, a red aloha shirt with a white pineapple print and khaki pants.
He held out his hand. “You don’t remember me. Andy De Silva.”
“Officer De Silva. I’m so sorry. I didn’t recognize you out of uniform. I didn’t know you attended St. Damien’s. I haven’t seen you here before.”
“I’m here every week, as long as my schedule allows.”
“Oh.”
“You usually come in right after the Passing of the Peace, right?”
“Sometimes it’s hard to get going on Sunday morning, but better late than never, right?”
“Do you prefer to be called Mrs. Gonsalves, or Professor Barda?”
“Professionally I go by Barda. You know, once you’ve started publishing under one name, it’s not good to switch to another one. It can mess up your citation count. Actually, two-part last names like yours, De Silva, are tricky too. Sometimes they count the whole thing as one word, and sometimes just one or the other is listed as your surname, so it doesn’t—sorry, that was probably more detail than you wanted. You can call me Molly. Or whatever.”
“Maybe we’ll stick with Professor Barda since you’re working with us now.”
“Oh, yes, I got the letter. I’m looking forward to it. So, will I be working on my own computer, or will you be providing the computing resources? I know there can be confidentiality issues as far as my doing the analyses at home.”
