Page 14 of Hula

I park the Ford in the closest space to the entry and then question my choice.

“Wait. I’ll get closer to the steps, Mom.”

“No. This is fine. I need to move. Alana, give me a hand, please.”

Kanaka is let loose to wander, as we exit. I look around at the almost empty parking lot. One lone car in a sea of spaces. Shit. The chef and the manager are supposed to be here by now.

“Which one’s here?”

“Oscar. Maybe they came together. Jimmy has a problem with schedules sometimes.”

As we walk to the steps, I am shaking my head.

“Your manager is unreliable? That can’t be, Mom. It’s ridiculous.”

“I know. I had to hire whoever was available. He’s here most of the time.”

“Well he’s not going to be here much longer.”

“This is not my wheelhouse, son. Your father handled everything except the books. That’s my contribution.”

Her sharp tone defending the indefensible tells the story. This is worse than I thought. But I shelve that issue for now. I need to see all the problems, before I have my stroke.

“Okay. Let’s just pull back the curtain and really see what we’ve got. Don’t worry.”

I take her arm and help with the climb. It is only six steps, and she is holding back how difficult it is, but we all see what is happening. Neither leg seems strong. Alana runs ahead and opens the door.

The smell hits us first.

“God! What is that?” Alana says grimacing.

“It’s awful!” Mom says, covering her nose.

Walking inside we are greeted by the dark entry where the hostess’ podium stands.

“Why aren’t the lights on?” I call.

A voice from another room answers.

“We lost power! It’s a mess in here!”

Floodgates are released. A tear runs down my mother’s face and her lip begins to tremble.

“This is too much.”

Coming around the corner, through the white Roman pillars, Oscar motions us forward. Through the dining room, in all its faded glory. Open aired on three sides to the glorious view, it is a contradiction in what diners can expect. A hopeful first impression destined to disappoint. Many made that point in their negative reviews.

“It’s a total shitshow. Refrigerator went out who knows when. Everything is spoiled.”

“What about the generator?”

“It doesn’t work, bro.”

Oscar does not look like the clean chef he really is. A dirty apron covers his shorts and t-shirt and beads of sweat run down a reddened round face. He looks stressed.

I put an arm around Mom and he gives me an assist.

“We will take care of it, Nani.”

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