Page 28 of No Time Off

I had several burning questions on the tip of my tongue. I wanted to ask her about the assassination attempt, including how she was feeling, whether they’d gotten any useful information from the assassin, and if the attempt was related to the Chinese. But I didn’t ask because of the kids. I didn’t know how much they knew, and discussing the attempted murder of their mother didn’t seem appropriate dinner conversation. A glance at Slash and a tiny shake of his head confirmed he, too, had decided now was not the time to bring up the topic. Hopefully there would be an opportunity to discuss later.

“That’s a beautiful pin on your lapel,” Slash said to Petra, and I followed his gaze to a large, sparkling red, yellow, blue, and white pin. “What does it symbolize?”

She smiled proudly. “It’s the coat of arms of the Cook Islands. The blue shield and circle of stars are a part of our flag, with the fifteen stars representing the number of islands we have. The fish to the left of the shield is our famousmaroro, a flying fish, and it’s supporting themomore taringavaru, which was a club used by orators during traditional island debates.”

She then pointed at what looked like a yellow bird with wings outstretched. “This is thekakaia, a small seabird that represents Christianity and is shouldering a red cross. As you can see, the fish and the bird are holding up a yellow banner that reads ‘Cook Islands.’”

“What’s the fuzzy red ball above the shield?” I asked.

“It’s thepare kurahelmet,” she answered. “It’s a traditional headdress made of red feathers, and it symbolizes the rank system our island had for many years. It’s long been tradition for this pin to be presented to each prime minister of the Cook Islands in a special ceremony and passed down. It is my honor and privilege to wear it.”

“It’s stunning,” I said, and Slash agreed.

We strolled around the room, admiring the paintings on the walls and making some small talk. The decor was lovely and tasteful. A long table was set with exquisite plates and crystal glasses—the centerpiece a vibrant display of tropical flowers. The dinner aroma was intoxicating, a tantalizing mix of local delicacies and fresh island fruits. My stomach growled loudly, and I flushed, making my cheeks even more noticeably red given the sun I’d had today.

Rangi disappeared, and we finally took our seats, me next to Slash, thankfully. My earlier nerves melted a bit in the face of the Askaris’ genuine hospitality. As the first course was served, a salad and a lovely white wine, Petra raised her glass in a toast, the flickering candlelight casting a warm glow over the table.

“To new friends,” she said.

“To new friends,” we echoed, lifting our glasses. The kids lifted their water goblets and the young boy, Noa, gave me a shy smile.

Lani, with her long, dark hair neatly braided and her eyes sparkling with intelligence, leaned forward slightly. “So, what is it like living in the United States?” she asked Slash, her voice a mix of excitement and formality. “Is it as big and busy as it looks on television? Do you get to see celebrities all the time?”

I guessed she was somewhere between twelve and fourteen years of age, and apparently not immune to Slash’s charm, because she blushed as she asked the question. Henry, Petra’s husband, opened his mouth to say something and then closed it, letting Slash take the reins.

Slash smiled. “It can be very busy, especially in the big cities like New York or Los Angeles. But there are also many beautiful places that are quiet and peaceful, like our national parks and countryside. But you rarely, if ever, see a Hollywood or music celebrity unless you go to a concert or a Broadway show.”

I heard pride in his voice, and it occurred to me he loved his adopted homeland as much as it loved him.

“Really?” She seemed disappointed. “But you have so many magazines about famous people—I was sure that they must be everywhere in the big cities.”

“Do you have lots of superheroes?” Noa piped up eagerly. “You know, like in the movies?”

“Not exactly, but we do have a lot of people who do amazing things,” Slash responded, clearly amused. “Scientists, doctors, and teachers. They might not wear capes, but they’re heroes in their own way.”

Lani jumped back in. “Do you have big celebrations like we do here? With lots of food and dancing?”

“We do, especially during holidays like Thanksgiving, Christmas, and the Fourth of July,” he said. “There’s a lot of food, parades, and sometimes fireworks. But I suspect your celebrations are just as colorful and lively.”

Lani smiled, her gaze drifting to the long table filled with local delicacies, from fresh seafood to the famous coconut pie. “We do love our celebrations. And our food.”

The conversation remained light, and the meal was every bit as delicious as Petra promised. We ate an island specialty calledika mata, which Petra explained was fresh-caught fish marinated in lemon juice and smothered in coconut cream, onions, and chilis. Slash loved the grilledmaroro,and I particularly enjoyed the steamed taro leaves calledrukau.

After finishing off the meal with coffee and coconut pie, the kids were released and ran off to do whatever kids on the Cook Islands did. Curious, I asked Henry, and he told me they were off to play on their cell phones or video games. I guess life with teens and preteens in the Cook Islands was about the same as in the US.

“I’d like to invite you to adjourn to our library for what I promise is an excellent brandy and a few more minutes of engaging conversation,” Petra said. “Oh, and I apologize for Lani carrying on about celebrities. She is, as are many young teens, a tabloid and movie fanatic. She’s convinced she’s destined to meet a famous person and get her picture taken with them—that if she can get a unique photo of a true celebrity and post it on Instagram, it’ll go viral and all her dreams will come true.”

“But you’re the prime minister of a country,” I pointed out. “Isn’t that famous enough for her?”

“Oh, heavens no,” Petra answered. “I’m just her mom, who embarrasses her way too often.”

We all laughed and followed her out of the dining room. Once we reached the library, Henry opened the door for us. Just then, the house phone rang, and Henry went to answer it. We used the time to examine the numerous shelves of books. Petra had an extensive collection of history, political science, fiction, and biology titles.

“Are all of these yours?” I asked Petra.

“The biology books, yes. Oh, and the fiction books as well. I love a good mystery. The others belong to my husband. He was a professor in international relations at Oxford before joining me here.”

“How interesting,” I said. “Is he still teaching?”

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