but I have to tell them she is not involved.”
Jac reached for my arm, but I pulled away and bumped myself through the crowd to head up front. I shimmied this way and that, slipping my sunshmina-covered shoulders past mourners who were standing around as if they weren’t quite sure what to do next.
I got close to a small huddle of people and asked a young Hawaiian boy if the man and woman standing about ten feet away from me were Mike Hokama’s parents. “Yes, ma’am,” he replied, pointing at the well-dressed Hawaiian couple being comforted by the minister.
“Thanks.” Time to make my move.
“Hey,” the little kid said, looking at me like he knew me. Gosh, do people really think I’m some kind of celebrity in this hat and these sunglasses? Weird. I wiggled my fingers in a little wave and trudged forward through the sand.
Mike’s parents looked up as they noticed me coming. I slowed as Mrs. Hokama stared at me, hard. I took my sunglasses off before holding out my hand to take Mrs. Hokama’s. “Mr. and Mrs. Hokama, I am so sorry for your loss.”
Mrs. Hokama bowed her head, but Mr. Hokama leaned in for a closer look.
“Who are you?” he asked. “Did Mike know you?”
Oh, boy. This was going to hurt them a lot more than it was going to hurt me. I swallowed, feeling the blood run away from my hands and feet, leaving me wobbly.
“I am Jaswinder Park. I think you know my grandmother and I wanted you to know how very, very sorry we are about what happened—”
Mrs. Hokama’s red, swollen eyes widened before she hauled off and slapped me full across the face, knocking off my hat. I grabbed my cheek. “Please! I’m sorry. My grandmother had nothing to do with this and I just wanted you to know . . . Ooof.” Mrs. Hokama flung herself at me, and knocked me back into the sand. I twisted and turned, trying to evade her punching fists, especially the one with the giant diamond ring set in deadly prongs. Her legs scissored wildly, like a crazed high-school wrestler, trying to trap my body.
Mr. Hokama and Jac rushed forward to pull us apart. I couldn’t believe what was happening. I had taken a self-defense class before but the Tasmanian She-Devil pummeling me didn’t have any nuts to kick. Who would ever have expected some middle aged woman to attack? I’ve never been in a fight in my life, not counting fisticuffs with my sister when we were little. Or teenagers. I’m sure I stopped punching Josephine when I was in my 20s, although she did have a genius middle-knuckle maneuver guaranteed to cause a Charley Horse. I wish I would have strong-armed her into teaching me how she did it. I sure could have used it on that beach.
I had no offense and just rolled around in the sand trying to dodge Mrs. Hokama’s blows, as Jac stepped between us. Brave man. Mrs. Hokama reached around him and pushed my face down into the sand. I flung out my arms to push myself away. The gritty grains scraped my pink skin like sandpaper.
Jac helped me up and Mr. Hokama held Mrs. Hokama tightly from behind as she continued to claw and fight. She was spitting mad, spewing hate at me. We stared at each other, panting.
“Whore! Did you kill my son? Did you? Whore?”
“What? I’m so sorry about your son. My grandmother—”
“Your grandmother probably put you up to it!” She heaved.
“She didn’t put me up to anything. I only met your son once.”
“I know that.” Mrs. Hokama bared her teeth. “He would have nothing to do with someone like you. Haole! He had more class in his little finger than you have in your whole disgusting, white body.”
“Come on, Jaswinder. Let’s go.” Jac pulled me close.
I started to back up as a group of people gathered behind the Hokamas. They all looked at me like I was some sort of criminal. So much for getting to know local folks and looking for clues. If I observed this whole scene from a puffy cloud above or watched it on TV, I would point to the hatless blonde woman with the
Jac reached for my arm, but I pulled away and bumped myself through the crowd to head up front. I shimmied this way and that, slipping my sunshmina-covered shoulders past mourners who were standing around as if they weren’t quite sure what to do next.
I got close to a small huddle of people and asked a young Hawaiian boy if the man and woman standing about ten feet away from me were Mike Hokama’s parents. “Yes, ma’am,” he replied, pointing at the well-dressed Hawaiian couple being comforted by the minister.
“Thanks.” Time to make my move.
“Hey,” the little kid said, looking at me like he knew me. Gosh, do people really think I’m some kind of celebrity in this hat and these sunglasses? Weird. I wiggled my fingers in a little wave and trudged forward through the sand.
Mike’s parents looked up as they noticed me coming. I slowed as Mrs. Hokama stared at me, hard. I took my sunglasses off before holding out my hand to take Mrs. Hokama’s. “Mr. and Mrs. Hokama, I am so sorry for your loss.”
Mrs. Hokama bowed her head, but Mr. Hokama leaned in for a closer look.
“Who are you?” he asked. “Did Mike know you?”
Oh, boy. This was going to hurt them a lot more than it was going to hurt me. I swallowed, feeling the blood run away from my hands and feet, leaving me wobbly.
“I am Jaswinder Park. I think you know my grandmother and I wanted you to know how very, very sorry we are about what happened—”
Mrs. Hokama’s red, swollen eyes widened before she hauled off and slapped me full across the face, knocking off my hat. I grabbed my cheek. “Please! I’m sorry. My grandmother had nothing to do with this and I just wanted you to know . . . Ooof.” Mrs. Hokama flung herself at me, and knocked me back into the sand. I twisted and turned, trying to evade her punching fists, especially the one with the giant diamond ring set in deadly prongs. Her legs scissored wildly, like a crazed high-school wrestler, trying to trap my body.
Mr. Hokama and Jac rushed forward to pull us apart. I couldn’t believe what was happening. I had taken a self-defense class before but the Tasmanian She-Devil pummeling me didn’t have any nuts to kick. Who would ever have expected some middle aged woman to attack? I’ve never been in a fight in my life, not counting fisticuffs with my sister when we were little. Or teenagers. I’m sure I stopped punching Josephine when I was in my 20s, although she did have a genius middle-knuckle maneuver guaranteed to cause a Charley Horse. I wish I would have strong-armed her into teaching me how she did it. I sure could have used it on that beach.
I had no offense and just rolled around in the sand trying to dodge Mrs. Hokama’s blows, as Jac stepped between us. Brave man. Mrs. Hokama reached around him and pushed my face down into the sand. I flung out my arms to push myself away. The gritty grains scraped my pink skin like sandpaper.
Jac helped me up and Mr. Hokama held Mrs. Hokama tightly from behind as she continued to claw and fight. She was spitting mad, spewing hate at me. We stared at each other, panting.
“Whore! Did you kill my son? Did you? Whore?”
“What? I’m so sorry about your son. My grandmother—”
“Your grandmother probably put you up to it!” She heaved.
“She didn’t put me up to anything. I only met your son once.”
“I know that.” Mrs. Hokama bared her teeth. “He would have nothing to do with someone like you. Haole! He had more class in his little finger than you have in your whole disgusting, white body.”
“Come on, Jaswinder. Let’s go.” Jac pulled me close.
I started to back up as a group of people gathered behind the Hokamas. They all looked at me like I was some sort of criminal. So much for getting to know local folks and looking for clues. If I observed this whole scene from a puffy cloud above or watched it on TV, I would point to the hatless blonde woman with the
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