House of the Hanging Jade (3 page)

My tour continued; near the door where I had entered the house there was a massive spiral staircase. Upstairs was the master suite, which occupied the entire top floor of the home.

“I shouldn't really be showing you this,” said Akela conspiratorially as we climbed the stairs, “but you've got to see it.”

It was a magnificent space with an airy bedroom, his-and-her bathrooms, two huge sitting rooms that doubled as closets, and a sauna. The entire suite overlooked the ocean, just as the rooms downstairs did. At the bottom of the spiral staircase, the lowest level of the home contained a huge family room, bigger than any I had ever seen, and more storage space than I could have imagined. The family room led directly to a lush ground-floor courtyard and a sparkling pool. We walked out to the pool and Akela indicated the guesthouse nearby.

“The guesthouse has two suites, each with its own bedroom and living room. The suites also share a workout room, a common den, and a huge common kitchen. Whenever guests stay here, they're invited for meals in the main house. They could cook in the kitchen in the guesthouse, but they usually don't.”

“Are there guests here often?”

“Yes. One of the doctors who works with Mrs. Jorgensen stays here all the time. He lives on O'ahu, so he only goes home once or twice a week. You'll meet him soon, I'm sure.”

“When will I meet the Jorgensens?”

“Mrs. Jorgensen will be here in a little while. She wants you to stay until she gets here. You'll meet Mr. Jorgensen eventually. Well, that's the end of the tour. I need to get back to work,” she said with a smile.

“Akela, do the Jorgensens have any pets?”

“No. Why?”

“It's just that I have this cat, Meli, who moved from Washington with me. I was wondering if I'm allowed to have her here.”

“I don't know. No one has ever had pets here. You'll have to ask.”

“Thanks.”

Akela returned to her duties and I found my way back to the kitchen, where I found a pad of paper and a pencil. I started making notes of things I wanted to ask Mrs. Jorgensen. I wandered out onto the lanai to find the small dining room Akela had mentioned earlier. It was indeed tucked right next to the kitchen, though there was no way to get to it directly from inside the house, making it a cozy and intimate space.

So far, I loved this job.

I
was checking cupboards in the kitchen again, taking stock of the pantry staples that were already there, when I heard voices coming through the living area. A high-pitched laugh was accompanied by lower, quieter tones.

A petite woman with long curly blond hair appeared in the kitchen. She walked over to me briskly on her very high heels, holding out her hand.

“You must be Kailani,” she said with a wide smile. “I'm Barbie Merriweather-Jorgensen and this is my colleague, Dr. Douglas Fitzgibbons.”

I shook hands with them in turn, then faced Mrs. Merriweather-Jorgensen. “I'm just acquainting myself with your kitchen. It looks like I have everything I'll need to get started whenever you're ready.”

She beamed. “Wonderful! Can you start now? We're
rav
enous!”

I was suddenly a little nervous, but I smiled and answered, “Of course. What can I get you?”

“Oh, surprise us. Just something light, though, since we both have to get back to work.” She motioned Dr. Fitzgibbons onto the lanai. I looked around and took a deep breath. I had seen chicken broth and dry soba noodles in one of the cupboards, so I reached for those. Normally I would have made my own chicken stock, but there wasn't time for that now. I searched in the refrigerator for vegetables and found carrots, mushrooms, and scallions. I threw together a quick soup, added some bread I had found, and lunch was ready in no time. I arranged the food with napkins and utensils on a large lacquered tray and carried it out of the kitchen carefully.

I found them seated across from each other at the large dining table farther down the lanai.

“I hope chicken and soba-noodle soup is okay for lunch,” I told them.

“Sounds de
li
cious!” gushed Mrs. Merriweather-Jorgensen.

Dr. Fitzgibbons made an
mmm
sound and nodded his agreement.

They still needed drinks, so I went back to the kitchen for iced tea and took it to them. Mrs. Merriweather-Jorgensen was putting down her spoon.

“Kailani, this soup is out
stand
ing!” she effused.

“Great!” the doctor agreed.

“Thanks,” I said, putting down the drinks. I returned to the kitchen, where I cleaned up from lunch and waited to collect the soup bowls from the table.

It wasn't long before the pair came into the kitchen again. “Kailani, thank you for the
won
derful lunch! I won't be home in time for dinner, and Lars and the children can fend for themselves. Can you start with breakfast the day after tomorrow? You can move your things in tomorrow.”

“Sure.” I paused. “Do you have any objection to me having a cat here?”

She looked doubtful. “You have a cat?”

“Yes. She's a small cat. I would keep her confined to my rooms. Her name is Meli.”

“Is that a Hawaiian name?”

“Yes. It means
honey
.”

“Well, I guess we can give it a try. Bring her here and we'll see how it works out. But if she smells, she'll have to go,” Mrs. Merriweather-Jorgensen said, wrinkling her nose.

“Thank you,” I said, sighing with relief. She didn't seem too keen on the idea of having a cat in the house, but if I could keep Meli in my suite, it should work out.

I left after quickly cleaning up the remaining lunch dishes, then went back to my parents' house to make sure everything was packed.

They had finished up their baking for the day and were tending to the late-afternoon swarm of customers who came in to pick up a dessert or a loaf of bread to have with dinner. I helped the last patrons who straggled in at closing time and then returned to my mother's kitchen, where I never tired of watching her cook.

For dinner Dad had picked up a fish from a place down the road. The fisherman and his wife sold his fresh catch from a small porch off the side of their house; it's where my parents bought all their fresh fish. Mom cleaned it and roasted it whole, adding lemon slices and herbs. She never used a recipe; she just knew what tasted good and did all her cooking “by feel,” as she described it.

I went outside and picked a couple papayas for dessert, and the three of us had dinner with my sister and Haliaka. As always, it was fun and noisy and delicious.

I packed most of my things in the car after dinner. Haliaka bounced around, asking me all kinds of questions about my new job.

“Will you live there?”

“Is the house nice?”

“Is it near the water?”

“What will you cook for the people?”

“Can I visit you there?”

“Are there any kids?”

“Do they like you?”

I answered her queries dutifully and finally, laughing, I told her to go find Tutu and think of some questions to ask her. I knew my mother would indulge Haliaka's constant queries.

The next day I helped my parents with the morning baking, then set out with my full car and a cat carrier on the front seat, Meli meowing inside. She did not like cars.

When we arrived at the Jorgensens' house, I took Meli out first. I lugged her carrier to the front door. Once again, Akela was there to open it before I could even knock. She stepped back to let me carry Meli through the door and down the hall.

I let Meli out on the floor of my bedroom. She crouched low to the ground, sniffing and moving very slowly as she checked out her new home. Her ears were back, the classic sign of an anxious cat, but I knew she would eventually get used to living at the Jorgensen house. She didn't really have a choice.

I returned to the car for more of my things, this time accompanied by Akela. Together we took one suitcase full of clothes and three crates full of cookbooks to my rooms. There was a built-in bookcase in my den, so we placed the cookbooks in there. Meli walked over and wound between my legs while I was putting the books away. She seemed to be adjusting well already.

I hadn't planned to make any meals that day because I was supposed to start with breakfast the following morning. No one showed up wanting lunch, so I spent part of the afternoon unpacking all my things and getting them set up in my suite. I sat down in the den for a while with a pad and paper, jotting down ideas for menus. Since I hadn't met anyone in the household except for Akela and Mrs. Jorgensen, I didn't know what the family's tastes were. I did recall Mrs. Jorgensen telling me that her family liked heavy meals and that she was trying to get them to eat healthier, so I focused on lean meats, fish, and vegetables.

Once I had double-checked for ingredients in the kitchen and finalized my grocery list, I set out in my car for the nearest market, which was not far up the main road. I had never been inside this particular market, but it was typical of those in small towns on the island of Hawaii: lots of Asian ingredients, produce from local farms, a limited dairy selection, a nice meat and poultry section, and lots of fresh fish. Mrs. Jorgensen had set up accounts with all the nearby markets, so I didn't have to pay for the groceries myself. I also picked up a free local paper that I knew would list farmers' markets in the North Kohala district.

I unpacked the groceries back at the house. It was quiet in the kitchen. I watched the waves crashing down below on the lava rock as I put things in the cupboards. Suddenly someone coughed behind me. I spun around, startled.

A young girl was standing in the doorway to the kitchen. She was about nine years old, tall and skinny with a deep tan and dark brown hair pulled into a ponytail. She wore bright pink shorts and a white tank top. She was barefoot.

“Are you the new chef?” she asked with a tentative smile.

“Yes. My name is Kailani. You must be Justine.”

“Yes.”

“It's nice to meet you, Justine. Did you just get home from school?”

She nodded.

“I'll bet you're looking for a snack.”

She smiled and nodded again.

“I brought some papaya with me from my mom and dad's house. Would you like some?” Justine wrinkled her nose in response. “How about an orange? I brought some of those too.” Another nose-wrinkle.

“Do we have any chips?”

I knew Mrs. Jorgensen wanted her kids to eat healthy, but there
were
chips in the cupboard, along with cheese popcorn, candy bars, and barbeque-flavored onion rings. I suppressed a shudder. “Yes. Would you like them, or would you rather have some pretzels?”

“Chips.” She walked over to the cupboard and pulled out a bag of potato chips. Taking the bag with her, she disappeared around the corner with a wave. “See you later!”

I went to my rooms in search of Meli. She was batting the dust motes that floated in the sunlight slanting into the bedroom. I sat down in the armchair in the den and she left her game to curl up on my lap. It wasn't long before I heard someone rummaging around in the kitchen. Meli rocketed off my lap and ran into the bedroom while I checked out the noise.

There was a young teenage boy with his hand in the chip cupboard. He obviously didn't expect me to appear, because he jumped when I poked my head in the kitchen.

“Don't do that! Who are you, anyways?” he demanded.

“I'm the new chef. I'm Kailani,” I said with a smile, hoping he turned out to be nicer than my first impression of him.

“Oh. Is there any Coke?”

“I haven't found any. There's water and tea in the fridge.”

“I want Coke. Can you get some at the store?”

“I don't know. I have to check with your mom first to see if that's okay with her.”

“Ugh.” He rolled his eyes and left.

And that's how I met Marcus.

Early that evening I made myself a salad for dinner and ate slowly on the lanai, watching the sun sink lower toward the horizon in the west. The sky was a brilliant tapestry of orange and yellow and burnished gold streaks before turning several shades of pink, then lavender, and finally a deep indigo that signaled the nearby bugs and
coqui
frogs to start their nighttime chorus. I was a little surprised that I hadn't seen any of the family for dinner, but maybe they were out. The rest of the house was very quiet. I went back to my room and opened a book.

It wasn't long before I heard faint voices coming from the lanai. I went through the kitchen and listened.

“She wouldn't buy Coke,” a surly voice said. Obviously Marcus.

“She tried to get me to eat something healthy after school,” a high-pitched girl's voice whined. Justine.

“Well then, hurry up and eat your burgers before the food sergeant comes out here and replaces them with celery,” said a man's voice.
That must be Mr. Jorgensen. Lovely,
I thought sarcastically.

Food sergeant.
Is that what they already thought of me around here? I groaned inwardly.

I spent the night tossing and turning, suddenly nervous about breakfast. What could I serve that Mr. Jorgensen and the kids would eat? Meli, curled next to my feet, glared at me whenever I moved, her eyes reflected in the moonlight coming through the blinds.

I was up before the sun and decided to make oatmeal with cream and sliced bananas. I found a kitchen torch and set it up to caramelize the brown sugar on top of the bananas for each family member as they appeared for breakfast.

Justine and Marcus rushed into the kitchen at 6:30, clearly in a hurry to get to school on time. They dropped their backpacks on the kitchen floor. The oatmeal was ready, so I quickly torched the sugar and bananas and served each child at the lanai dining table.

“Wow!” cried Justine. “This is really good! Can we have it again tomorrow?” I nodded, pleased that I had made at least one person happy. Marcus, who had been wolfing down his breakfast, looked up at Justine but continued eating in silence. I returned to the kitchen, where I made their lunches and set them on the counter. I gave them salads in plastic containers with dressing in separate small jars. They each got a slice of my mom's bread and a handful of strawberries too. I didn't know what they usually ate, but I supposed if they didn't like what I packed they would let me know after school.

The kids clattered into the kitchen and grabbed their lunches, then their backpacks, and were on their way out when a man appeared in the doorway.

He was stocky and clean-shaven with shaggy hair, wearing board shorts and a
Kaimana
T-shirt. His boyish looks made him appear younger than he probably was. His blond hair had the shine that came from spending lots of time in the sun and water and his eyes were a piercing blue. He kissed Justine before she headed out and told Marcus to have a good day.

He then held out his hand to me politely. “I'm Lars Jorgensen,” he said.

“Kailani Kanaka,” I answered.

“Nice to meet you. Have you found your way around the kitchen?”

“I'm starting to get my bearings.”

“Barbie said you're from Washington.”

“That's right. I was the sous-chef in a restaurant there.”

“Why did you come to Hawaii?”

Apparently he hadn't noticed my Hawaiian features. I had long straight black hair and dark eyes thanks to my Japanese-American mother, and olive skin and a broad nose thanks to my Hawaiian father.

“My family lives near Punalu'u,” I told him. “I was ready to come home.” He seemed surprised that I was a local.

He rubbed his hands together. “I'm starving. Got anything good for breakfast?”

“I made the kids oatmeal and caramelized some sliced bananas with brown sugar on the top. Does that sound okay?”

“Sounds great. Got coffee?”