33
Second Dinner
Amene
What you say at the end of a prayer.
Thursday evening, all the way to Uncle Kahana’s apartment, my shoulder blades spasmed as if tiny spiders inched along under my shirt. I felt unnerved and edgy, although nothing looked out of the ordinary.
The Chocks’ front yard was littered with bikes. Laundry snapped on a clothesline at ‘Alika’s grandmother’s house, and I could hear somebody picking out Waimanalo Blues on an ‘ukulele in the backyard.
The parking lot near the beach pavilion was empty; a Foodland grocery bag floated across the asphalt and stuck to the bushes next to a broken bottle. I picked up the rubbish and tossed it into the dumpster near Hari’s store.
The street lights were on, but it wasn’t quite dark enough for them to make a difference. Twilight shad
