Page 3 of The Wrong Sister
She pauses while our food is set in front of us, taking a moment to snag some fries. The scent of fried potatoes makes my stomach grumble noisily. “It was when we were renting in Kailua before they bought their house in Ka‘a‘awa. We hadn’t lived there long. The house was on a cul-de-sac and we had a fully fenced-in yard with a gate at the end of the driveway. Fordham was sick and we had run out of medicine. Safeway was right around the corner. Mom left Catherine in charge and ran out to get him a fever reducer. She was in a hurry and she didn’t close the gate; whether that was intentional or not, I don’t recall.”
She snags another bunch of fries, eating enthusiastically before continuing.“Anyway, Ford was dozing on the couch and we were watching something. Simon took the opportunity to go exploring. When Mom pulled up a few minutes later, he was playing at the end of the circle. She said one of the neighbors was standing in her driveway, arms crossed, glaring at Simon. Mom grabbed him by the arm, talking to him about not going out of our yard while she got him back home. She was closing the gate, then the neighbor was there, in our driveway, saying something rude about Simon being in the street. Mom told her that he wasn’t allowed to be out there, he had just slipped out,” she pauses to take a sip of her milkshake, purple lips pursed over the straw like something from a sexy ad campaign that would for sure sway me to whatever she was selling.
“The woman got sarcastic, asking if Simon was home alone. Mom snapped at her, saying, of course, she hadn’t left a 4-year-old alone, he got away from his sister. Mom closed the gate on the woman and went to deal with us. Catherine got in trouble for not paying attention, Ford got medicine, and Simon went to time out. End of story. Except the next day, the cops showed up. They saidsomeonehad called in and reported child neglect and endangerment.”
“Seriously?” I interject. “What the fuck?”
“Right? We both know what thatactuallylooks like!” She makes a frustrated noise and takes the opportunity to eat some of her lunch before continuing. “The cops did a spot check, said everything looked fine, but legally it had to be kicked to CWS. We had a caseworker come to the house to look everything over, interview all of us, talk to Mom. It was a whole thing. The caseworker was awesome, though.” Her face brightens, her passion for the subject evident. “She was very understanding and patient. She never made us feel scared or like we were in the wrong. She outright told Mom that it was clear there was no merit to the accusation. Mom did what anyone would have done in that situation. She didn’t want Ford’s fever to keep climbing, he needed medicine, the store was around the corner, and Dad was deployed. We had just moved! We didn’t know anyone yet. There was literally no one she could call for help! His command was so lax we didn’t even have a sponsor when we moved here!” She scowls.There’ssomething of the old Mina I recognize: she always could hold a grudge.
“The caseworker helped Mom not feel guilty about her choices. She kept Catherine from heaping all the blame on herself, and she worked her magic on Simon, convincing him that sneaking out to play was a bad idea. She told us that a lot of times she got called into scary situations, and sometimes she came into nice homes like ours, but no matter where she went her only goal was to make sure kids were safe and healthy and had people around them that cared. I thought she was a superhero. I decided right then, at 9 years old, that I wanted to be her when I grew up.”
We eat in silence for a few minutes, enjoying our food.
“What ended up happening?” I ask.
“Nothing, although it was a very long, stressful, drawn-out process. We had to jump through some silly hoops to be able to show, definitively, that we took the case seriously and were willing to make changes. Mom installed a bell on our gate so we could hear if it was opened.” She rolls her eyes dramatically. “Then we had to wait for CWS to hear the case and make their judgment. Ultimately they said the accusations were unsubstantiated and we were cleared. But then we had to do it all again for the Navy side of things which was even more ridiculous with more red tape. Mom spent most of the deployment dealing with interviews and paperwork before they finally had the official hearing and came up with the same conclusion as CWS. Not long after, Dad came home, and we moved out of Kailua.”
“Good thing you found better neighbors! That lady sucked.”
“She really did.” Some of that familiar Mina fire blazes in her eyes. “Mom was so hurt. And embarrassed. All that woman had to do, if she was genuinely concerned about Simon’s safety, was take him by the hand and walk him back to our driveway. But she didn’t help him at all. She stood there, staring and judging, and when Mom wasn’t sufficiently chastised, she called the cops. She didn’t care about Simon, she cared about being right. And she wasted the time and resources of the police department and CWS while pushing Mom to her breaking point when she was already alone, with four young kids, in a new place. I still get angry when I think about her.” Mina shakes her head, her shiny dark hair moving around her delicate face before she attacks her lunch with gusto. We finish our plates and sip our thick milkshakes while talking.
“Do you still live on the windward side, Griff?”
“Nah. I miss it, for sure, but it made more sense to be in town with work over here. I live in Kaka‘ako now.”
“No way! Where?”
“I’m in the Keahou Lane apartments.”
“I live in The Flats! We’re practically neighbors! How have I never run into you? Our buildings are right next to each other.”
“I stay pretty busy with work. Plus, if I saw you in passing, on the street, I don’t know that I would have realized it was you. You look…different,” I fumble lamely.
She glares. “What is that supposed to mean? Different? That sounds like a veiled insult.”
“No, I haven’t seen you in almost a decade! You just…don’t look like the 16-year-old kid I remember.” I think I did an adequate job dancing around that one, but I can feel myself blushing. I concentrate on my melting drink.
“Well I would recognize you anywhere,” she says quietly. I glance up and she looks frustrated again. I like to think of it as ‘Mina Default Expression.’ “Listen, it was nice catching up, but I need to get going. I have a lot of paperwork to take care of.” She starts digging in her big bag.
“Oh, ok. Well, let me get lunch.” I reach out and grab her hand to stop her. There’s a spark at the touch, as if I needed to be reminded of my improper interest. She yanks her hand away and stands up, tossing cash down on the table.
“How do you think your future wife would feel about that?” She takes a long sip of her milkshake and watches me for a moment, her smirk disappearing as if she sees something that transforms joking to full-out fury. Slamming her glass down on the table, milkshake splatters everywhere and she stomps out. I’m left sitting there, frozen, coffee malt soaking into my shirt and speckling my face.
Back in the office, Linda, the elderly main receptionist, takes one look at me and stands up to follow me into my office. She makes a beeline for the tiny coat closet where I keep an emergency set of clothing while I deposit everything at my desk.
“Accident, Mr. Simms?” she asks as she holds out a fresh shirt.
“I’m not sure you can call her that,” I grumble, taking the hanger from her.
She gives me a knowing look, pausing in the doorway on her way out. “You’ve always struck me as a level-headed man, Mr. Simms. It might do you good to think about what caused you to end up with someone else’s drink all over you.” I sigh, unable to come up with a single retort. “I have a bag out here if you want to bring me your shirt after you change. At least it will keep it from getting everything else in your briefcase dirty.”
“Thanks, Linda. I’ll get it back to you tomorrow, I promise.”
I can hear her muttering to herself as she walks back to her desk. “Imagine, Griffin Simms causing that kind of outburst…”
If I had thought about it ahead of time, Mina storming out pissed off, would have been an easy prediction for the end of that lunch. And yet, somehow, I’m still surprised.
4
